Khrustalyov, My Car!

BlexInfinity3.0

Знаете вот это чувство, когда ты только проснулся и секунду назад видел просто ебанутейший, но очень уморительный сон с ахуй событиями. И проходит еще секунда, как образы из того сна рассеиваются и ты начинаешь путаться в хаотичности тобой увиденного, воспоминания коллапсируют на грани и сон уже не кажется тебе таким рассудительным и интересным.Этот фильм как раз тот момент между первой и второй секундой.

yasos4.5

За весь фильм понял примерно слов 10. Ахуенно.

Edgar Cochran ✝️🍋5.0

*Twitch Redeem by Seventh_Persona.*The Zulawski apprenticeship keeps growing, from early Makhmalbaf to this contemporary Russian titan which recent death has bummed the arthouse community: Aleksei German, the definitive political auteur of Stalinist Russia.Falsehood of sociopolitical security, delusions, abuse of power and human irrationality pervaded by serpentine tracking shots, most of them moving backwards, to visually transmit the illusion of dominance characters had, from actual abusers of authoritative power to those living in a personal bubble until the regime in power strips you from that false security: “the regime cannot touch me”. Yuriy Tsurilo is a total beast of acting, a wrecking ball in and out of the camera, whose influence at his workplace and family intoxicates you until the bigger regime fish eats you like shark with a single chump.The film is absurdly close to flawlessness; the Stalinist paranoia spreading the Doctor’s Plot as a paranoid antisemitic conspiracy theory against Jewish medical specialists potentially planning the execution of Stalin, is the main context of this showcase of madness. Aleksei constructs the entirety of this leviathan as a fever dream, swaying between scenarios, sometimes running in circles for the sake of the illusion of repetition (man is famous for stumbling upon the same rock more than once, let alone repeating experiments, ceteris paribus, expecting a different outcome), as the black-and-white stylistic starkness engulfs all souls into destruction.And yet, with this nonstop sense of persecution dread, and with the ruthlessness of the irreversibility of time, this is one of the funniest films ever made: it’s a Kusturica-like parade of irrationality and contained disorder, of controlled chaos within Aleksei’s lens, with a camerawork that traverses physically and psychologically throughout the turmoil as a higher force that knows exactly where to go, at what time, and the angle required so the magnitude of the absurdity is magnified to magnificent extents.The third act doesn’t shy away from shocking abuse and imagery, but never loses the comedic grasp and uses Deus Ex Machina mechanisms to make a sharp commentary on physical appearance substituting identity and individuality, especially during times where any phrase you uttered hypothetically carried a political connotation for which you had consequences to pay, with one of the greatest prices being your life (there are far worse prices than death).The madness emanated throughout just shows the madness of a totalitarian and delusional, racist regime, but the breaking point comes when you see Stalin at his most vulnerable state and the film takes you back to a breathing brake where you can reflect on mortality for once and extrapolate it to our existence, and how that existence fits in the grater scheme of things we currently belong to, ad-hoc to our generation, country, form of government and transnational sins.99/100