Tag: movies

Posted on

How Buster Keaton Broke His Neck & Reinvented Cinema: The Story of Sherlock Jr.

Imagine a man running on the edge of a rushing locomotive, staring up at a torrent of water about to crash over him-knowing he’s about to risk his life, not for glory, but for a laugh. This was Buster Keaton: the silent era’s daredevil, stone-faced genius, and master of audacious stunts.

Keaton’s journey began before he could read, working the rough-and-tumble vaudeville circuit at the age of three. Billed as “The Little Boy Who Can’t Be Damaged,” his act involved playing a child whose antics provoked his father into physically throwing him across the stage – smashing into the scenery, tumbling into the orchestra pit, sometimes even tossed into the startled audience.

While such a spectacle would horrify modern sensibilities, this hazardous upbringing cultivated in Keaton an exceptional physical resilience and an almost supernatural comprehension of comic timing. It served as perhaps the most rigorous and unconventional apprenticeship conceivable for any auteur. By the 1920s. Keaton was a writer, director, and luminous star.

His 1924 film Sherlock Jr. is a testament to both his artistry and his appetite for danger. Keaton plays a humble film projectionist with two aspirations:to learn the deductive skills of a master detective, and to win the affection of a young woman billed simply as “The Girl”. When a rival frames him for theft, Keaton’s character retreats to the theater where he works. As the film flickers before him, he succumbs to sleep, and here, the story takes a surreal and innovative turn. He dreams himself into the very film he was projecting, transforming into the sophisticated, heroic detective he yearns to be, suavely navigating a fictional world.

What unfolds within this “film within a film” is a cascade of thrilling action sequences and astonishing comic set pieces, all famously performed by Keaton himself.

The dangers were genuine. During the iconic water tank sequence the deluge drove Keaton down into the tracks below. Unaware of the severity of his injury, ignoring his blinding pain, Keaton simply continued, completing the film. His broken neck would only be diagnosed years later by X-ray, a stark testament to his unparalleled physical commitment and stoicism.
Yet, Sherlock Jr. is more than a collection of amazing stunts. The technical ingenuity required to realize the film’s central conceit: a dreaming projectionist attempting to navigate the constantly shifting cinematic landscape – demanded meticulous planning and mathematical precision. This playful yet profound exploration of the porous boundary between the audience and narrative, between perceived reality and cinematic fiction, marks the film as startlingly meta-cinematic, anticipating theoretical discussions by decades.
Too surreal for audiences in 1924 – achieving moderate success rather than the blockbuster status of Keaton’s broader comedies – Sherlock Jr. is now hailed by critics and arthouse audiences. Its audacious blend of physical prowess, narrative invention, and cinematic self-awareness led to its preservation in the United States National Film Registry in 1991.

Fortunately, Sherlock Jr. is in the public domain, allowing me to share a few grainy glimpses of its magic. However, to truly appreciate the startling genius of Keaton’s vision, I recommend experiencing the beautifully restored version available on the Criterion Channel.

Keaton’s legacy is not bruises and broken bones, but the way he expanded the language of film, inviting us to dream with our eyes wide open. What’s your favorite Keaton film? Let me know in the comments below.

Posted on

The Visionary Returns: Tsui Hark’s ‘Legends of the Condor Heroes’ 

Tsui Hark stands as one of Hong Kong cinema’s most formidable auteurs, his finest works deserving placement alongside the masterpieces of John Woo or Wong Kar Wei, yet with a filmography that is far more varied.

His latest offering, “Legends of the Condor Heroes: The Gallants,” has reached American screens after amassing an impressive $83 million over New Year in China. This sprawling fantasy unfolds from a carefully selected fragment of Jin Yong’s monumental literary universe, following the journey of Guo Jing as he ascends to martial arts mastery during the days of Genghis Khan’s.

The film demonstrates remarkable cultural authenticity by featuring actual Mongolian dialogue for Mongolian characters, who are portrayed with admirable complexity rather than as one-dimensional antagonists. Yet beneath this cultural sensitivity lies a familiar narrative structure where these characters ultimately exist to elevate the Chinese protagonist’s heroic journey. As Jeanette Ng has noted, it’s not uncommon for Wuxia to feature a Han variant of the White Savior trope.

Still, Hark navigates this with more nuance than the source material, and he delivering what has become his signature: a female character whose capabilities and complexity rival or surpass the male lead. Sabrina Zhuang inhabits this role with a compelling presence, I want to see more of her work in the future.

Hark’s directorial vision manifests through bold, distinctive choices in composition, lighting and color– visual poetry that speaks to his mastery of the medium. However, the film ultimately surrenders to the gravitational pull of CGI spectacle, with digitally rendered armies frequently overwhelming the intimate human drama.

But making Condor heroes is his passion project, after gifting cinema with revolutionary works, he has earned the right to command these virtual legions across his cinematic battlefield. For viewers seeking grand-scale action with artistic integrity, “The Gallants” delivers a satisfying, if occasionally overwhelming, experience.

Posted on

Singapore to Cuba: A Global Journey Through Sundance Shorts Program 3

Have you ever watched a film festival unfold from your couch?  Sundance 2025 made that a reality, offering its entire short film program online.



First up, Full Month by Goh Hua. Imagine returning to Singapore after a decade away, stepping back into the intricate dance of family expectations. This film beautifully captures the bittersweet reunion of a woman with her family, ostensibly to celebrate her niece’s birth. But the traditional Chinese postpartum practice – a month of confinement and rest – becomes a powerful symbol. It’s about the way families can simultaneously nurture and suffocate. Goh Hua crafts a story where the silences speak volumes, and the unspoken tensions are as palpable as the humid Singapore air.Trokas Duras, the winner of the Short Film Jury Award for US Fiction, isn’t just about trucks. It’s about the souls of  working-class migrants.  The film uses battered resliatn vehicles as breathtaking visual metaphors, showing us the beauty in what’s often overlooked, the quiet dignity of labor.

Claire Titelman’s Remember Me is a cringy, awkward comedy. We meet a woman in her forties, back home caring for her ailing mother, and clinging to a first date like a life raft.  It’s a raw, unflinching look at desperation, at the messy, sometimes pathetic ways we try to find connection. Titelman doesn’t shy away from the discomfort; she leans into it, creating a character study that’s both humorous and heartbreaking.”

Miss You, Perdularia transports us to Cuba, but not the postcard version. This is a glimpse into the lives of teenage girls adrift in a world of faded grandeur and limited options.  It’s a slice-of-life film that captures the aimlessness, the quiet rebellion, the search for meaning in a seemingly abandoned community.

In Almost Certainly False, Cansu Baydar introduces us to Hana, a young Syrian refugee in Istanbul.  She’s caught between two worlds – the fragile beginnings of her own new life and the weighty responsibility of caring for her younger brother.  The film is a delicate balancing act, portraying the resilience and quiet strength required to navigate a life uprooted by conflict. It’s a story of hope, shadowed by the ever-present weight of displacement.”

“Finally, Ragamuffine offers a fascinating counterpoint. We’re immersed in the world of a deaf 12-year-old motocross racer.  Beyond the adrenaline on the track, the film explores the tedium  race weekend with her distracted single dad. there’s a subtle sense of isolation, a feeling of being slightly adrift and disconnected.

Sundance had a solid selection of shorts, maybe you’ll have a chance to catch a few at your local festival.

Posted on

Decoding Godzilla: The Hidden Meanings Behind the Monster

What if the scars of history could manifest as a creature of unimaginable destruction? Godzilla, the original kaiju, is far more than just a monster; it’s a cultural artifact, a constantly evolving reflection of deep fears and anxieties. Over seven decades and across 38 films—33 from Japan and 5 from America—this iconic kaiju has been reborn, reimagined, and rebooted, each time offering a new lens through which to examine its era.


The original 1954 Gojira is a masterpiece, a somber, black-and-white elegy that birthed not only the kaiju genre but also Tokusatsu, the Japanese filmmaking tradition celebrated for its mesmerizing practical effects. The film opens with an eerie silence, shattered by the chilling disappearance of a freighter at sea. This wasn’t mere fiction; it was a haunting echo of the real-life tragedy of the Daigo Fukuryū Maru, a Japanese fishing boat caught in the fallout of an American hydrogen bomb test just months prior to film’s production. Godzilla, an unstoppable, city-leveling force of nature, emerges from the depths, powered by, and a symbol of, the very atomic energy that devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki less than a decade earlier.

But I’d argue the metaphor runs deeper. Godzilla isn’t just a symbol of atomic power; it embodies the specter of America itself—the sleeping giant that Japan, through its own actions, brought upon its shores. This complex relationship perhaps explains the creature’s evolution in subsequent films, transitioning from a terrifying antagonist to a reluctant, if  formidable, protector.

Following the original, the Godzilla franchise became a chameleon, adapting to the shifting tides of popular culture. Spy movie tropes, far-out science fiction elements, a bewilderingly cute offspring designed to broaden the films appeal to female audiences—nothing was off-limits if it promised box office success. These sequels, driven by commercial interests rather than thematic depth, eventually led to franchise fatigue.

Then came 1984’s The Return of Godzilla, a bold reboot that severed ties with 15 increasingly outlandish sequels, returning Godzilla to its terrifying roots. This film, launching the darker Heisei era, traded the WWII trauma for cold war anxieties and the looming threat of global annihilation. A rampaging monster attacking one city was no longer the primary concern; the real terror lay in the potential for this creature’s existence to ignite a nuclear conflict between the superpowers, ending everything, everywhere, all at once.

This cycle of reinvention continued, but let’s focus on a few iterations that offer particularly compelling thematic insights.

Godzilla Minus One, a recent and critically acclaimed retelling, transports us to the immediate aftermath of World War II. While the creature’s design is undeniably terrifying, the film’s heart lies in the human drama. We witness traumatized veterans grappling with the psychological scars of war. Kamikaze pilot Shikishima, for instance, wrestles with survivors guilt, having fabricated technical issues to avoid his suicide mission.

Narratively, this is compelling.

However, the film’s core theme—veterans uniting to defend a helpless Japan against political inaction—is deeply problematic. Japanese militarists were responsible for plotting coups, terrorizing moderates, killing politicians and dragging their nation into a devastating war, where the Imperial Japanese Army committed horrific atrocities.

In 1947, the very year Godzilla Minus One depicts a defenseless Japan, 30,000 Chinese civilians perished due to plagues weaponized by Japanese scientists and unleashed by the war criminals of Unit 731 after Japan’s surrender. Beyond the incredibly tone-deaf portrayal of Japanese veterans as saviors against a backdrop of political apathy, the reality is that Japan was occupied by half a million Allied troops at this time. Any response to a kaiju threat would have undoubtedly fallen to these forces, not a makeshift militia of recently disarmed and demobilized individuals following an unconditional surrender.

In stark contrast, 2001’s Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack reimagines Godzilla not merely as a mutated dinosaur but as a supernatural entity—a vengeful manifestation of the souls lost to the Imperial Japanese Army’s brutality in the Pacific War.

Perhaps the most intriguing reimagining is 2016’s Shin Godzilla. Set in the modern era, the ever-evolving monster becomes a metaphor for the Fukushima nuclear disaster. The film’s true focus, however, is a razor-sharp, often hilarious satire of Japan’s aging, bureaucratic government and its paralyzing inability to confront a crisis. You might come for the giant lizard, but you’ll stay for the scenes of politicians endlessly adjourning meetings, only to reconvene in identical configurations, simply to avoid making any actual decisions.The 70th anniversary of the original Godzilla has just passed. The original film, along with the 84′ reboot Return of Godzilla, are readily available on the Criterion Channel, alongside a wealth of other films from their respective eras. Shin Godzilla can be found on Blu-ray and occasionally surfaces on streaming platforms. As for Godzilla Minus One, it’s currently streaming on Netflix, and Toho has announced that a sequel is in the works.