The Deer Hunter has created such controversy as a political entity that I think it would be valuable to consider it, briefly, purely as an aesthetic object. Certainly art affects us in many ways, but many of these effects are brought to the film by ourselves.
Da Nang è lontana da Montelepre. La storia di Salvatore Giuliano e la guerra del Vietnam non si consumano sotto lo stesso cielo. Ma, forse, le traiettorie della "blindatissima" Full Metal Jacket e la parabola fatale del Siciliano attraversano lo "stesso" cinema.
The Deer Hunter is a brilliant epic about the simple things of life. To its director Michael Cimino they are 'friendship, courage, dignity, grace' and through them the movie's Vietnam veterans turn into Homeric heroes. Chris Auty pays his respects, but wonders if this catalogue of rituals hasn't tried to make time stand still.
Something ominous has been going on since The Deer Hunter first made its appearance, and especially since it won an Academy Award: Certain activist groups, in an unfortunate misunderstanding of the film, have protested it as a kind of racist document that, as a New York Post article summarized it, “ . . . contrasts the innocence of American GIs . . . with the savage Vietnamese enemy they meet on the battlefield.”
This excruciatingly violent, three-hour Viet Nam saga demolishes the moral and ideological cliches of an era: it shoves the audience into hell and leaves it stranded without a map.
The Deer Hunter has done what The Green Berets could not do more than a decade ago: it has moved audiences to actively root for the American military fighting the Vietnam war.
Look who's back with a new movie: The Deer Hunter made Michael Cimino a winner, but his next film was the legendary failure Heaven's Gate. With Desperate Hours, the stakes have never been higher.
“Look, the film is not realistic — it's surrealistic. Even the landscape is surreal. For example, the little steel town we called Clairton is composed of eight different towns in four states. You can't find that town anywhere — it doesn't exist. And time is compressed.
For all its pretensions to something newer and better, this film is only an extension of the old Hollywood war-movie lie. The enemy is still bestial and stupid, and no match for our purity and heroism; only we no longer wipe up the floor with him—rather, we litter it with his guts.
C'è un patto di non aggressione tra la polizia e gli «anziani» della comunità cinese di Chinatown. Ma quando al posto dell'opimo William McKenna arriva l'agile Stanley White le cose cambiano.
I cancelli del cielo si aprono sull’inferno. Il film è il crack economico più disastroso di tutti i tempi e gode di un efferato ostracismo critico indigeno
Cimino fa sollevare le comunità cinesi d’America per la sua ritrattistica di una mafia gialla che tesaurizza tutta l’iconografia hollywoodiana in materia, da Fu Manchu in poi
Heaven’s Gate non è solo un film. È un affair, uno scandalo, un trauma. Un fatto che trascende il mondo del cinema. Forse un banco di prova o addirittura un nodo cruciale.