What happens when two hustlers hit the road and one of them suffers from narcolepsy, a rest disorder that causes him to instantly and randomly fall asleep?

A miracle excavated from the sunken ruins of the tragedy, in addition to a masterpiece rescued from what seemed like a surefire Hollywood fiasco, “Titanic” could be tempting to think of as the “Casablanca” or “Apocalypse Now” of its time, but James Cameron’s larger-than-life phenomenon is also a lot more than that: It’s every kind of movie they don’t make anymore slapped together into a 52,000-ton colossus and then sunk at sea for our amusement.

“Jackie Brown” might be considerably less bloody and slightly less quotable than Tarantino’s other nineteen nineties output, nevertheless it makes up for that by nailing most of the little things that he does so well. The clever casting, flawless soundtrack, and wall-to-wall intertextuality showed that the same guy who delivered “Reservoir Canines” and “Pulp Fiction” was still lurking behind the camera.

, John Madden’s “Shakespeare in Love” is really a lightning-in-a-bottle romantic comedy sparked by one of many most self-confident Hollywood screenplays of its ten years, and galvanized by an ensemble cast full of people at the peak of their powers. It’s also, famously, the movie that beat “Saving Private Ryan” for Best Picture and cemented Harvey Weinstein’s reputation as one of many most underhanded power mongers the film business had ever seen — two lasting strikes against an ultra-bewitching Elizabethan charmer so slick that it still kind of feels like the work in the devil.

The timelessness of “Central Station,” a film that betrays Not one of the mawkishness that elevated so much in the ’90s middlebrow feel-good fare, can be owed to how deftly the script earns the bond that varieties between its mismatched characters, and how lovingly it tends into the vulnerabilities they expose in each other. The benefit with which Dora rests her head on Josué’s lap in a very poignant scene suggests that whatever twist of destiny brought this pair together under such trying circumstances was looking out for them both.

that attracted massive stars (including Robin Williams and Gene Hackman) and made a comedy movie killing with the box office. Within the surface, it might look like loaded with gay stereotypes, but beneath the broad exterior beats a tender heart. It absolutely was directed by Mike Nichols (

It’s easy to make high school and its inhabitants appear to be foolish or transitory, but Heckerling is keenly mindful of the formative power of those teenage years. “Clueless” understands that while some of its characters’ concerns are small potatoes (Certainly, some people did lose desi porn all their athletic equipment during the Pismo Beach disaster, and no, a biffed driver’s test isn't the conclusion in the world), these experiences are also going to contribute to the way they approach life forever.  

The relentless nihilism of Mike Leigh’s “Naked” can be quite a hard pill to swallow. Well, less a pill than a glass of acid with rusty blades for ice cubes. David Thewlis, within a breakthrough performance, is over a dark night with the soul en route to the tip on the world, proselytizing darkness to any poor soul who will listen. But Leigh makes the journey to hell thrilling enough for xideo us to glimpse heaven on the way there, his cattle prod of the film opening with a sharp shock as Johnny (Thewlis) is pictured raping a woman inside a dank Manchester alley before he’s chased off by her family and flees to some crummy corner of east London.

While the trio of films that comprise Krzysztof Kieślowski’s “Three Colors” are only bound together by financing, happenstance, and a typical battle for self-definition in a chaotic present day world, there’s something quasi-sacrilegious about singling amongst them out in spite of the other two — especially when that honor is bestowed sex pictures upon “Blue,” the first and most severe chapter of a triptych whose final installment is commonly considered the best among the equals. Each of Kieślowski’s final three features stands together on its own, and all of them are strengthened by their shared fascination with the ironies of the Culture whose interconnectedness was already starting to reveal its natural solipsism.

A poor, overlooked movie obsessive who only feels seen with the neo-realism of his country’s national cinema pretends to generally be his favorite director, a farce that allows Hossain Sabzian to savor the dignity and importance that Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s films had allowed him to taste. When a Tehran journalist uncovers the ruse — the police arresting the harmless impostor while he’s inside the home on the affluent Iranian family where he “wanted to shoot his next film” — Sabzian arouses the interest of a (very) different regional auteur who’s fascinated by his story, by its inherently cinematic deception, and via the counter-intuitive likelihood that it presents: If Abbas Kiarostami staged a documentary around this guy’s fraud, he could correctly cast Sabzian as being the lead character with the movie that Sabzian had always wanted someone to make about his suffering.

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Steven Soderbergh is obsessed with money, lying, and non-linear storytelling, so it absolutely was just a matter of time before he got around to adapting an Elmore Leonard novel. And lo, while in the year of our lord 1998, that’s exactly what Soderbergh did, and in the method entered a different phase of his career with his first studio assignment. The surface is cool and breezy, while mobile porn the film’s soul is about regret as well as a yearning for something more outside of life.

With his third feature, the young Tarantino proved that he doesn’t need any gimmicks to tell a killer story, turning Elmore Leonard’s femboy porn “Rum Punch” into a tight thriller anchored by a career-best performance from the legendary Pam Grier. While the film never tries to hide the fact that it owes as much to Tarantino’s love for Blaxploitation as it does to his affection for Leonard’s source novel, Grier’s nuanced performance allows her to show off a softer side that went criminally underused during her pimp-killing heyday.

—stares into the infinite night sky pondering his identification. That we can empathize with his existential realization is testament to the animators and character design team’s finesse in imbuing the gentle metal giant with an endearing warmth despite his imposing size and weaponized configuration.