Raw Human Nature...worth a watch
Okay, let me begin by saying that this movie could have been better. It
was not great. But somethings about it were great. If you are
interested in movies, watch this movie once.
Most of the dialogue is improv. thats cool. Unfortunately, the film is
rather boring. the sex is real. thats sexy (and unique, therefore worth
Is it porno? perhaps...nope...but if it is, then 9 Songs is
unquestionably the best porno film ever made, bar none. Seriously.
But 9 Songs is not pornography. Heres why: For me, the film managed to
capture something beautiful. It really showed the raw nature of a
relationship based largely on sexuality and a deep physical connection.
It showed what love can be, in its most primal and painful form...and
through their sex, the characters were presented expressively.
Moreover, pornography is made to help people get off. This film will
not help much with that, unless you are very desperate for some alone
time. This film may instead trigger deep personal memories of past
lovers and the smell of their hair and the way they felt under silk
This film hit me hard. It is so easy to lose all control over love,
especially when its so physical and so intense, like a drug more
addictive then crack, and with no comedown...until your system adapts
to the drug, and it wares off. but even then, it will have changed your
system forever...kinda...? they caught that. it was beautiful.
Then again, maybe its just really really good porno..
anoti watch S1m0ne movie
cowboys watch The Karate Kid movie
cowboys watch I Tried movie
liked the film quality.
cowboys watch Let's Stick Together movie
awesome movie .
lie to me: During the past decade, Fox has rarely been the place to go looking for the lessons in collectivism manifest on series like “The Unit” and “Lost” and “Law & Order,” all of which pay tribute to collaborative problem-solving on networks not owned by Rupert Murdoch. Fox doesn’t smell like team spirit. It is a Randian territory of lone saviors (Jack Bauer, John Connor, Gregory House) bushwhacking through impending catastrophe with the weaponry of a singular genius. The latest addition to the stable is the human polygraph Dr. Cal Lightman (Tim Roth). His gift is determining the criminality of white supremacists, wayward teenagers, Congressional ethics committee chairmen and any and all dubious-seeming Homo sapiens on the basis of shifting body language — “micro-expressions” — which has the effect of turning him into a one-man F.B.I.-municipal police force-Department of Homeland Security on the new series “Lie to Me” (beginning Wednesday). In addition to his law enforcement efforts, Lightman appears to be a hot ticket on the lecture circuit, where he offers a delicious flashback pageant of public impropriety and heinous misconduct, producing PowerPoint images of Kato Kaelin, O. J. Simpson, Eliot Spitzer, Saddam Hussein, whose sneers and sniggers and pursed lips he has studied like a rabbinical student hunkering down with the Book of Job. Lightman himself is a fruit basket of stereotype — cocky, infallible, petulant, divorced, burdened by his proficiencies — who has spent decades reading faces and pronouncing certainties: “If your suspect is surprised for more than one second, he is faking it.” The show further embeds the network’s individualist ideologies with a view that suggests private industry can always go the government suits one better. No line item for the Office of Management and Budget, Lightman operates under the auspices of his own consulting firm, the Washington-based Lightman Group, which the feds reluctantly seek out when they are tripped up, presumably by their own inexorable incompetence. The government minions forced to deal with Lightman on the ground swallow the idea like children forced to take castor oil. “Personally, I think what you do is a joke,” one of them lets him know. But Lightman has his own minions, and thus his own devotees, the people who work for him in his all-white-and-steel, airy-truth-palace of an office. Chief among them is Gillian Foster (Kelli Williams), a behavioral analyst saddled with the task of speaking in earnest exposition and made not to drink Lightman’s Kool-Aid so much as gulp it from the tap. “Lie to Me” is an invitation to follow her lead, and in some sense it isn’t all that easy to decline the offer. There is an appealing cheekiness to the show’s insistence on dressing up hunch work as the purview of serious science. And there is some legitimacy to the claim: the series is based on the research of Paul Ekman, a professor of psychology at the University of California, San Francisco, who is a specialist in nonverbal communication and what his publishers call deception strategies. Nancy Drew was pretty good at breaking down deception strategies, too. So was Reese Witherspoon in “Legally Blonde.” Throughout the history of modern popular culture we’ve gone in and out of defining female intelligence in terms of intuitive displays. I’m not sure what it means that television’s reigning intuitionists are now male (Lightman joins the strike force of Adrian Monk and “The Mentalist’s” Patrick Jane). And I’m not sure whether the regendering is a democratizing net positive for feminism or whether we should take offense that women’s intuition translates somewhere along the spectrum of cute while its male counterpart is meant to suggest the power of a mind brilliantly deducing. Against my better judgment, I suspect I’ll keep watching “Lie to Me” until I figure it out. 9 songs: Michael Winterbottom's latest experiment "9 Songs" mixes live concert footage with real sex. Already a scandal as "the most explicit film in British film history," it luxuriates in stolen moments of intimacy between Lisa, a young American (Margo Stilley) and Matt, an English glaciologist (Kieran O'Brien.) Previous attempts at incorporating unsimulated sex into fictional film (such as Catherine Breillat's "Romance") have been largely unsuccessful, coming off as exploitative and voyeuristic. But "9 Songs" is not just daring but also honest. Shot with a minimal crew, handheld camera, and an improvised script, the sex is a necessary way to get closer to the characters. At first, Winterbottom's storytelling seems elliptical: is "9 Songs" assembled from all the scenes that other filmmakers are happy to leave out? Moments that another film would focus on—-the couple's conflicting holiday plans, Matt's trips to Antarctica, and Lisa's brief time in England--are briefly sketched and passed over in favor of more sex and more rock'n roll. Ah, the rock'n roll: bands like Franz Ferdinand, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and Primal Scream play their hearts out in venues around London while Matt and Lisa blend into the crowd. The music has an unpolished edge that feels vibrant and dangerous. The crowded nights spent under flashing lights and deafening noise are an essential part of Matt and Lisa's history, and the music is crucial to the film's texture. By the end, it's clear that "9 Songs" is a story that can't be told without radical frankness. The couple's story–-the passion, the power-plays, the disenchantment, all of their best and worst moments together--happens in bed. For "9 Songs" to work, the sex has to be as real as the moments that come after: "I need to take a shower," Want some coffee?" and some loose, naked dancing. Nothing is gratuitous because what's on screen is the story, a story of lust, longing, and disappointment so intimate that it couldn't be told any other way. In the current cultural climate, the film is almost certain to get grief for its uncompromising openness, but "9 Songs" deserves credit for pushing the boundaries of cinema. The onscreen ejaculations might be more than mainstream audiences are comfortable with, but Winterbottom's intentions are pure..
Sex and Drugs and Rock 'n' Roll.
In 'the most sexually explicit film in the history of British cinema',
as the hype reads, Lisa (Margo Stilley) and Matt (Kieran O'Brien) spend
their free time snorting coke, looking rather bored at rock gigs, and
boning each other.
Needless to say, there are plenty of moments of graphic nookie between
stars Stilley (a little too young and inexperienced to be taking on
such a daring film role, maybe) and O'Brien (who, judging by his DVD
commentary, seems to have had a whale of a time), lots of rough and
ready music footage shot at various London gigs, and some pretentious
bilge about life in the Antarctic, all accompanied by a monotonous
Is 9 Songs a bona fide work of art, voyeuristic porn masquerading as
art, a realistic study of an intimate relationship, an exploitative
piece of trash, or a risqu.