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🔴 Watch Increadible Jude Law, Liev Schreiber, And Elle Fanning In A Rainy Day In New York (2019) Full Movie

watch increadible jude law, liev schreiber, and elle fanning in a rainy day in new york (2019) full movie
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Uploaded by: urban
Date: 2020-03-24 14:34:30
Viewed: 153 times - 1 day, 11 hour, 59 minute, 41 second ago

So? How is this new old Woody Allen movie? Is it really "better than the previous" as the reflected Pavlovian induces to affirm at each exit ("what is the previous?" Is the question that follows, punctual)?


Summary: very much in love with New York cinema (first television recoveries and Zelig's vision then, in a shabby high school cineforum - school year 1983/84 - which was a baptism from a thousand points of view), I have cultivated this passion with dedication after film. Never let go, even when by now every ardor had died out, the director presented himself in my eyes like the proverbial pepper: what had become a magnificent obsession (attending the weekly events of the city cineforum: at least two), meant that his works I always saw them on the big screen. So in the Nineties my mirroring words of disappointment had always become the same, even when critics threw fireworks in the air (The goddess of love, Harry in pieces). The chapters of the opus of the new millennium, then, went far beyond: for myself, it was the dried-up reminiscence of situations, themes, characters, mechanisms almost always proposed better previously. Of course, I never pretended that Woody Allen would make a different cinema, because who forgets it Goffredo Fofi (I love you for many reasons and in spite of everything) who writes on Panorama: «We would like Allen to let go of his navel a little , his family, his analysts and the construction of the periodicity of the releases, and he looked around and looked in the mirror without the reflections and shadows of a narcissism now intolerable. Woody can not take any more of the problems of a rich, cultured and psychoanalyzed bourgeoisie », a symptom of that bad habit that a lot of critics have not limited to analyzing the film they have seen, but to discussing the film that the director, in his opinion, should or should have directed. Nor have I ever contested the fact that, having earned its place on the Olympus of the greats, everything now made sacrosanct broth, being precisely that constant, undeterred, admirable (for tenacity, lucidity, ability to manage) to guarantee the annual appointment with his film true Allenian masterpiece. Regardless, as Totò would have said. How much this compulsive fertility - regular in quantity and unequal in results - is an exceptional figure that marks our cinematic time (like Mina's albums that of Italian pop music) we will remember it, regretting it when we no longer have it.

On the detail, however, think the critics what they want, I said to myself, they have every right, but let me express my skepticism even in the face of generally acclaimed episodes (the Match Point blunder above all) and to resize these samples modular cinema with the same ease with which we incense or reevaluate them remotely: the strategies - opportunistic as often are those at the basis of recovery at any cost - vary in this sense; an example: (re) looking at Allen's latest not as auteur cinema, but in all respects industrial - and the agreement with Amazon, which then failed due to the well-known events on which I do not dwell, was a solar confirmation -, and consider the director as a pure trademark that offers his series-branded products. Plausible, of course, but, apart from the interesting perspective, which tells us how and where to place the works, the argument seems to me a pure magic to cheat the cards, because then, once these senile works have been placed on a new shelf, it is always and only with the individual titles and with what they are (and do not represent) that we compare, right?

So? How is this new old Woody Allen movie?


In A rainy day in New York the American reapplies (recycles?) The holiday mode (in random order, as I am: London, Barcelona, ​​Rome, Paris, Venice etc - discover the films I am referring to -) which he had allowed to export a troubled format to his homeland and to propose it away (with evident repercussions also in the USA: Midnight in Paris becomes his maximum success at the box office and earns him yet another Oscar).
This time the excursion concerns a New York crossed by an idealizing gaze (and still touristy, with all the typical accessories of the case, starting with visits to the museum). Now, it will be that New York is his city («and it always would have been» tear in black and white), but the exploration appears to be much more centered, less pretentious and cartolinesque than the previous ones because the route that is put in place has its logic not nailed to the obvious showing the attractions of the metropolis, but which intends to adhere primarily to the inner evolution of the characters. This explains why the outcome is much happier than that of the twin episode (for both of them Fellini's inspiration is clear - The white sheikh, ça va sans dire -) seen in To Rome with Love, an average film massacred, but which to me seems completely in line with the Allenian production of the period - to say how it is always necessary not to believe in anything other than your own eyes

We therefore have two parallel paths (that of Gatsby and Asleigh) that lead to only apparently different outcomes, because for both of them the result (to separate and go each one in its own way) is to indulge one's own nature, embrace authenticity.


So Ashleigh, the young provincial of Tucson, probably a Republican, a film student who gets charmed by the Celebrity and seduced by the idea of ​​the Scoop, gradually moves away from Gatsby, the good scion that comes from the metropolis and that has nothing to do with that girl, even if the family, criticized as much as you want, is strong enough to convince him otherwise. The distancing of Asleigh occurs through three stages outlined, also symbolically and metacinematographically, with great precision: the director (the spiritual attraction), the screenwriter (the emotional attraction) and the actor (the physical attraction, with an embrace that only adverse circumstances avoid). If at the first stage the presence of Gatsby in his life is still correctly reported, in the last, which would lead her to sexual betrayal, it becomes a negligible detail. The reunion in the hotel then is only the prodrome of a not at all traumatic break (at the first moment of bewilderment, the easy pulling in the carriage follows).


Gatsby for its part approaches the Mother / New York to reconcile with it. For him too, the path is a sort of overall existential reconsideration through the comparison with the past: the visit to the brother is a remediation of family arrangements; the meeting with Chan leads him to a critical review of a signing love story, lived with her sister. And the role that cinema has on this narrative line is mirrored to Asleigh's path: the set, with that kiss given on stage and pretending (to direct the action is the young filmmaker Josh, Woody's obvious avatar) which will turn into a real attraction that directs Gatsby to his true vocation: an unplanned, adventurous life, out of conventions, like that of the parent. Art, through fiction and artifice, reveals where the truth is. Meanwhile, the inner work that resulted in the fatal weekend is rendered with a detail that summarizes it: the incomprehension of a verse by Cole Porter ("In the roarin 'traffic's boom / Silence of my lonely room", from Night and Day, that Asleigh attributes to Shakespeare [!] and that Chan would surely have caught on the fly) convinces Gatsby to drop the girl out of the blue (the Italian version, senselessly translating the lyrics of the song instead of returning it to the original, makes the quote unintelligible for anyone ).

And, in this regard, the characterization of this non-existent youth seems to me to be very successful, with models, rhetoric, behaviors (underlined: think of smoking with a cigarette holder) that do not belong to this world, but to that of fantasy built by a filmmaker octogenarian, a world in which the protagonist sings a pop standard of the 40s on the piano and has the unlikely name of Gatsby Welles to pay homage to two cornerstones of American literature and cinema that most of the twenties of today would have difficulty recognizing. As completely out of time, after all, it is the same idea of ​​New York that is returned (from the title, which evidently winks at the 1949 film - stuff from 70 years ago, not 7 - by Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly, One day in New York with the three licensed sailors, led by Frank Sinatra, walking around the Big Apple): a distant view of Central Park, the museum rooms, the Carlyle bar, the Delacorte clock, places that evidently aim to portrait of a city immune from contemporaneity and - given the references, also declared in the text - purely cinematographic. An impression of unreality in celluloid and mythology - which Vittorio Storaro's saturated photograph (far from the changing patina, because clearly didactic, of the previous The wheel of wonders), contributes to feeding - which does not affect the paradoxically veristic precision of the inner portrait : the New York of this film is evidently a place of the author's soul and memory. And the dazzling jokes, which in recent years seemed like jokes (also happy) placed between gigantic brackets, called to revive limping creations, this time they are rare, preferring, ours, a dialogic tone going with motion. Of course, then there is the job (the gags of laughter and hiccups, some cold old style reinforcement - "my best friend loves you like the morning after pill" -), but which do not hinder the fluidity of inspired dialogues , supported by an oiled narrative mechanics that casually holds the proliferation of the tracks and the characters, the romance-like voice over and the sudden gravity (the revelatory dialogue with the mother, a far too explicit turn, enough to force the construction).


All well-tested ingredients, from training kits - both clear and minor works are spoken of - but mixed with a grace that has been dormant for a while in the plethoric filmography of our own.

As for the actors, reading the interviews of the American filmmaker it seems that he does not direct the actors, that he gives two general indications and then lets them do it. I do not know whether to stick to these statements given that, if there is an aspect in which Allen's cinema has never lost an ounce of his glaze, it is precisely that of acting (all the awards obtained in recent years also attest to this by her actresses - Wiest, Sorvino, Cruz, Blanchett, all darkened -). A rainy day in New York is no exception: the cast is superb, and I am not referring so much to Timothée Chalamet, but above all to the best Elle Fanning seen so far (amazing comic times) and to Selena Gomez, authentic revelation of the film.


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