At its very surface, Sex and the City is replete with expressions of feeling toward time—passing too fast or too slow, comprising paralyzing pasts and unforeseeable futures.
The Set-Up is a 72-minute cinematic poem. Director Robert Wise, who cut his teeth in Hollywood as an editor, strips away many of the fight-film conventions that his contemporaries used quite liberally. There is no training montage, no meteoric rise and fall, no climactic bout between the fighter and his hated rival.
Mirai captures with astute tenderness the ways in which time can be a fickle thing, a slippery substance that escapes your grasp before you’ve even had a chance to comprehend it.
With The Winter's Tale in mind, it's possible to see why there have to be two stories, with two endings, in Twin Peaks: The Return.
How do two people recognize that at some future point, imperceptible to their current selves, they might break up—and still choose to love each other without boundary or trepidation?
Springsteen on Broadway restores and replenishes, briefly buoying our battered hearts and reminding us that we are capable of so much more.
In First Avenger, all Captain America had for a compass was the dream. In Winter Soldier, he had the past. By Civil War, he’d seen both of these totems fall apart in the face of an America certain that it knew better than he did.
Dr. Zhivago makes me think of how my own parents measure time: before the revolution, and after it.
If The Last Picture Show is a movie about savoring your precious misery, Texasville is a movie about having a bad case of the blues.
For all his admissions that memory is spurious and structured by lack, filmmaker Chris Marker (La Jetée, Sans Soleil) still found something beautiful in “the moss of time.”
