Amour = PTSD.

Writing this while it’s still fresh in my mind.

First thoughts; holy fuck. What did I just put myself through. I went into this film knowing nothing about it except that it had two semi-sweet looking old people on the covershot. I don’t even really like old people at the best of times. They make me think about the reality of dying, destroying my self-illusion that I’m psychologically on top of that idea.

The film itself is brilliant; perhaps faultless. The camera work is minimalist and subsequently cutting; still-set shots dominate, and I can barely remember a moving shot. On top of this, the films leading man and lady are astounding, able to deliver on screen for long periods of time without cuts, making the most of the bold camera work. Basically, the director/director of photography threw all their eggs into the actors’ basket, and they weren’t let down.
The colour and lighting is interesting, and with the entire film shot in pretty much one place, compliments the melancholy very well. Its not really until the penultimate scene that you realise its the first time there hasn’t been one of the two leads in the shot; big presence. Pretty much run out of superlatives for the quality of the acting.

The plot itself. Holy Shit. I almost couldn’t take it. It’s ridiculously real; I just wasn’t ready for a film like that and I don’t think I’ve watched one that has felt so damn human, ever. The rawness of emotion and the no-holds-barred, nigh on brutal depiction of ageing is intense. More real than real. It struck a raw nerve with what’s going on at home, too.

Can’t even score this one, it tore me up inside so much. Deserving of every laurel it receives but, quite honestly, I couldn’t watch it again if you paid me.


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