If you ask me, this is one of Steven Spielberg's greatest films, but he seems a little coy, even disparaging about it these days. Amongst the cast, the legendary French auteur Francois Truffaut beatifies the film in the role of Claude Lacombe. True, the aliens at the end are rubbery paper mache puppets with hands like marigold gloves, but even that gives them a quaint edge of consciousness dreaminess. Most of the film, however, has it's feet on the ground. This scene is an example of what I mean- the rhythm is perfectly tailored, and each line of dialogue is delivered with such crystal choreography that you can't help repeating it for days. Or maybe I've just watched it too often.
No comments:
Post a Comment