Micransix Crappy film

CrawlerChunky In truth, there is barely enough story here to make a film.

Guillelmina The film's masterful storytelling did its job. The message was clear. No need to overdo.

Rexanne It’s sentimental, ridiculously long and only occasionally funny

chaos-rampant We kind of expect our artists to be haunted by demons, it is in tacit understanding that in their art we'll find the template to overcome ours. That, in visiting the dark place which is shared among all of us, we can defer to them for guidance, for the light that dissolves the shadows.Here we have the personal memoirs of one such artist. We see the demons, the hurt and anger generated by repressed homosexuality or a suffocating religion without answers. But they're up on the screen whole as dragged from the bitterest place, to be vexed than overcome. The manner is petulant, childish. Of course I agree with Davies for example about the obsolete, useless monarchy sucking the blood of the people, but how am I for the better by listening to his obvious, venomous attack upon it? I can get that in every forum online pending the royal wedding, from casual talk on the street.And what am I to make of the boy's dismay at the silence of god? Which the boy now not-quite grown up, perceives as indictment and completely ignores what comfort he was offered at the time by prayer. Surely, life is more complex than this.When by the end of this we get the realization of what matters, a life lived in the present without hope or love, it rings hollow because it hasn't been embodied in the work itself, which is riddled with an old man's angst.And this is not all of it. The elegy to the city and the time that shuffled it is too tricly, oh-so-sombre, so filled with yearnings. What emotion is here is so obvious, that Malick appears subtle by comparison to it. So easily, quickly digestible that in trying to sate so much, to gorge in it, it doesn't sate at all.What little of this works is the symphony of the city. The kind of film they were making in 1920's Berlin or Moscow to eulogize the booming architecture. With the twist that here, it is the uniquely British genius and propensity for creating a dismal urban landscape that appeals. The drab, grey routine. But I'd rather get this from The Singing Detective, which weaves it into a multifaceted story than a simple nostalgia. Or get the same experience Davies wants for his films from Zerkalo.I suspect this will fare better for the people who share his vexations with religion and society, and who can relax in them. Me, I can't relax in anything without consideration for what the images and voices in it mean. With movies that transport, I'm always interested in the place they transport to. This is not one of those places.

Malcolm Parker This film is a subjective essay, and if you like the Church, the Pope, and the Queen and enjoy a stereotypical view of a green and pleasant post-war Britain, then it probably isn't for you. The realities of slum terraces and the tenement blocks that replaced them are here refreshingly and honestly celebrated by someone with the wit and wisdom to look beneath the usual, superficial glazing of nostalgia that makes some people think that we're living in a Britain now that is broken in comparison to the good old days. The truth is exposed time and time again through these images, and the accompanying words and music. It covers the period from the time when polishing the doorstep was a back-breaking social necessity, up to the 1980's by which time the poor in Britain's cities were expunged of any remaining dregs of social interaction and when the new tenements - built to replace the slums - were already falling into slums themselves. In focusing on one city, and one set of memories, the film successfully captures an essence of place that goes beyond Liverpool. Its subheading is "a love song and a eulogy", but this simply conveys the way in which this film evokes emotion. In truth, this 'visual symphony of rhythmic images' is nothing less than a stunning work of art.

ikanboy This is, behind all the directorial flourishes, a view of working class Britain from above and beyond, and escaped. Davies' plummy voice tells us he has long departed from viewing his childhood home with any degree of warmth and instead drones on in sepulchurion disdain about the Church, his homosexual guilt, his artistic hauteur, as he hammers home, again and again from his dismal vantage point, an opinion complete in it's self absorption, self hate, projection, and most sadly heartlessness. C'mon Terry you must have had some mates, some fun, or at least some mentors who left you with some sense of the pulse of the place you grew up in!Next up Blackpool and all it's masses awaiting intellectual dissecting by a dried up soul.

gregking4 This evocative mood piece will resonate strongly with those who have seen Terence Davies' autobiographical film Distant Voices, Still Lives, a haunting portrait of a family in post-war Liverpool, which is widely regarded as one of the best British films of the past twenty years. This documentary tracing the history of Liverpool in the post WWII years is a deeply personal film for Davies, who explores the way in which the city has changed over 60 years. Drawing upon his own memories of his childhood and a wealth of archival footage, Davies explores the dichotomy of Liverpool – the character of the old city and the impersonal nature of the new – and the conflict between his Catholic upbringing and his homosexuality. Davies reveals how his love of movies and the wrestling helped save him. His rich, erudite and poetic narration adds a rich texture to the material, which explores how the working class city of Liverpool has lost much of its sense of identity over time. The film is filled with anecdotes drawing upon his childhood memories, all of which are beautifully illustrated by archival footage accompanied by popular songs from the era. This richly evokes a time and a place. Davies draws upon poetry, popular songs from yesteryear as source material for many of his quotes and literary readings. Davies also displays a wonderfully iconoclastic sense of humor, as he colorfully expresses his disdain for Liverpool's favorite sons The Beatles, and his contempt for the Royal family. The film is a melancholic memoir filled with a bitter tone of loss and regret. Of Time And The City is a much more accessible film than Guy Maddin's recent obscure My Winnipeg, which similarly attempted a nostalgic look at the city of his birth.