Greatest Ending (with music) (of recent era) (that's what she said)
While my paramours in the movie blogging hippity-hop, happidy-hap, or otherwise flim-flanger are atwitter about the Oscar nominations (which I completely forgot about until I got home, because, as always, I don't give a shit), all I can say is: cunnilingus will get you nowhere these days (wave to the camera, GoslingKunisMoore!), Barbara Hershey may take solace in the fact that at least she wasn't replaced by [insert baity supporting female performance you hated that wasn't nominated here], Andrew Garfield is my official favorite Woobie, the poor dear, let Scott Pilgrim's official cultdom commence, and according to general opinion, Waiting for Superman can kiss my ass. And now, your feature presentation.
OF COURSE THERE ARE SPOILERS, YOU IDIOT
I Am Love
After the funeral of her eldest son, Tilda Swinton's repressed Russian-Italian housewife of a powerful Milanese family, in a frantic, don't-think-about-it-before-you-chicken-out race, set to dramatic violins, rushes upstairs to change into sweat clothes, after having told her husband she was having an affair with her late son's chef friend...oh, jeez, nothing can top that final shot--the camera has turned away to catch the closeted daughter sharing a look, first with her mother, than with the rest of her family (who all have conflicted looks of sadness and you're-dead-to-me), and when the camera goes back, it quite literally jogs around the entrance, where we find that she is gone. Cut to credits.
Of course, I have nothing against the dream-like final-final shot, but I loved the regular final shot too much to have it sullied by closure.
What now?
OF COURSE THERE ARE SPOILERS, YOU IDIOT
I Am Love
After the funeral of her eldest son, Tilda Swinton's repressed Russian-Italian housewife of a powerful Milanese family, in a frantic, don't-think-about-it-before-you-chicken-out race, set to dramatic violins, rushes upstairs to change into sweat clothes, after having told her husband she was having an affair with her late son's chef friend...oh, jeez, nothing can top that final shot--the camera has turned away to catch the closeted daughter sharing a look, first with her mother, than with the rest of her family (who all have conflicted looks of sadness and you're-dead-to-me), and when the camera goes back, it quite literally jogs around the entrance, where we find that she is gone. Cut to credits.
Of course, I have nothing against the dream-like final-final shot, but I loved the regular final shot too much to have it sullied by closure.
What now?
