
Incidentally, the movie is really impressive and was co-written by Joan Didion and her late husband John Donne. The movie has no soundtrack and most reviews of it use words like "grim," and "stark," which are certainly apt. And certainly more refreshing than hammy stuff like "Requiem for a Dream," in that I don't think there is a latent sermonizer hiding behind the camera. The final scene, a jittery, long shot featuring Wynn waiting for Pacino's release from prison, conveys all the desperate claustrophobia of their condition, their young and beautiful energy totally dissipated, good intentions evaporating into death and disease. She turned him in to keep from doing time. We surmise that she has prostituted herself, again, while he was in prison, in order to feed her habit. When Pacino is released, he walks out fuming, shot out of a cannon. He pointedly walks away from her, and the camera stays a few steps ahead of him. We see her looking dejectedly after him, and she breaks into a slow jog, calling out his name. The dynamic holds for several seconds, seemingly interminable. You wonder if they have finally been torn apart by the depths of their own addictions. He finally stops walking, and gives her a furious look as she catches up with him. "Well?" he shouts. Cut. Credits roll.
1 comment:
lean on chyoung, when you're not chyoung, ill be your chyoung, i'll help ya chyoung onnnn.
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