Two slow zoom on the face of Maggie Cheung dominate the end of the movie (if it is still a film to mind). That should be the genuine desire pictures that I never buy from the movie in my life. If they represent a desire, then for the last residue of longing for a world in a watercolor moved into Pixelbrei. The zoom would be enough to draw something, not one woman in particular, is so no matter how the man who desires her, but a reflection of skin, muscle movement that can physically recognize sympathize, can. But it would help anything that wins watercolor, Maggie Cheung turns again and again in their own pop-art screen printing, cut the man out of the canvas and hanging in a museum.
A strange, absurd film whose existence I can not explain. Downright brutal it feels like Wong Kar Wai's own images to break something, zukleistert, emptied, as he cuts the ribbon at the world with as much determination as unthinking gesture. (Not that the new film entirely without charm, there are some nice fetish scenes and dramatic lighting, but just actually seeing the panoramic shots from catastrophic). Somehow this is the final reification of the visual - pictures, the referential not only for its object, but equal to be alienated from themselves - but then the question arises, what is economically (and character-economic). The step in the direction of video art is not consistent enough, the voice-over narration turns still back each color blob in the narration, while Ashes of Time Redux works as a genre film - in fact at all: as a movie - just yet not at all.
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