I had the opportunity to write for a website I really enjoy called Cinema Shame. If you are a cinephile as I am, I think you’ll love the podcasts there especially, delightful romps through films that are very popular but which the writer’s had not seen before.
Here is mine, after watching Raging Bull for the first time.
The movies I watch most frequently, roughly 80%, are subtle, full of dark images, deep thoughts, and painted with smoke, mirrors, and chiaroscuro. The movies I tend to walk around, to avoid, even when given four-star reviews, are bloody, action flicks, brutal and gruesome, cruel and angry. My best friend might argue with you, that is exactly what I watch, a mixture of the usual top-ten noir films we’ve all seen with Bogart and Mitchum and their splendid ilk. But I also watch a lot of 1940’s crime films with twisted femme fatales, and a mixture of characters with seemingly no conscience and no regrets. I suppose there is a discrepancy there but we all have our limits and I never did well with brutal, unless it was painted up pretty and put in stockings and a ball gown.
Enter Raging Bull, the top daddy on many critics’ lists, including…
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