01-13-2014, 03:56 PM
I needed a Tilda Swinton fix. Her unconventional beauty fascinates me, partly because of how it can turn on a dime, go grotesque in an instant, so you’re suddenly looking at some pale misshapen grub found under a log in the forest, and you can barely dare to prod it with a very long stick, ready to run if it squirms.
In this movie, it turns out that Tilda is experiencing an existential crisis. And might I add that a little existential crisis can go a very long way.
Tilda is Russian-born and of meager means, but married to a rich man who met her while traveling in Russia. So she’s ensconced in this big Italian estate, surrounded by servants, constantly dressing to the nines for exquisite banquets, and, well, she just never fits in. One day she meets her son Edoardo’s friend Antonio, a budding chef who charms the panties off her with a shrimp dish. They begin an illicit autumn-spring affair, eventually uncovered by her son, and still later she confesses the affair to her husband. He tells her, “You no longer exist,” and walks off. Tilda then packs and leaves. The end.
One notable scene has Antonio the chef cutting Tilda’s hair short. I suppose it symbolizes her rebellion against the cold unfeeling bourgeois family. But that’s when Tilda starts vibrating. That short hair hugely amplifies both her beauty and her grotesqueness. One can but gape in helpless horror at her dichotomous visage and hope to blink in time when the TV screen shatters, sending shards everywhere.
This film is not for the faint of heart. Please do wear safety glasses.
In this movie, it turns out that Tilda is experiencing an existential crisis. And might I add that a little existential crisis can go a very long way.
Tilda is Russian-born and of meager means, but married to a rich man who met her while traveling in Russia. So she’s ensconced in this big Italian estate, surrounded by servants, constantly dressing to the nines for exquisite banquets, and, well, she just never fits in. One day she meets her son Edoardo’s friend Antonio, a budding chef who charms the panties off her with a shrimp dish. They begin an illicit autumn-spring affair, eventually uncovered by her son, and still later she confesses the affair to her husband. He tells her, “You no longer exist,” and walks off. Tilda then packs and leaves. The end.
One notable scene has Antonio the chef cutting Tilda’s hair short. I suppose it symbolizes her rebellion against the cold unfeeling bourgeois family. But that’s when Tilda starts vibrating. That short hair hugely amplifies both her beauty and her grotesqueness. One can but gape in helpless horror at her dichotomous visage and hope to blink in time when the TV screen shatters, sending shards everywhere.
This film is not for the faint of heart. Please do wear safety glasses.
I'm nobody's pony.