The result is definitely an impressionistic odyssey that spans time and space. Seasons improve as backdrops change from cityscapes to rolling farmland and back. Places are never specified, but lettering on indicators and snippets of speech lend clues as to where Akerman has placed her camera on any given occasion.

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It’s easy to generally be cynical about the meaning (or absence thereof) of life when your job involves chronicling — on an once-a-year foundation, no less — if a large rodent sees his shadow at a splashy event put on by a tiny Pennsylvania town. Harold Ramis’ 1993 classic is cunning in both its general concept (a weatherman whose live and livelihood is decided by grim chance) and execution (sounds bad enough for someday, but what said day was the only working day of your life?

The film’s neon-lit first part, in which Kaneshiro Takeshi’s handsome pineapple obsessive crosses paths with Brigitte Lin’s blonde-wigged drug-runner, drops us into a romantic underworld in which starry-eyed longing and sociopathic violence brush within centimeters of each other and eliminate themselves while in the same tune that’s playing on the jukebox.

Back in 1992, however, Herzog had less cozy associations. His sparsely narrated fifty-moment documentary “Lessons Of Darkness” was defined by a steely detachment to its subject matter, far removed from the warm indifference that would characterize his later non-fiction work. The film cast its lens over the destroyed oil fields of post-Gulf War Kuwait, a stretch of desert hellish enough even before Herzog brought his grim cynicism for the disaster. Even when his subjects — several of whom have been literally struck dumb by trauma — evoke God, Herzog cuts to such vast nightmare landscapes that it makes their prayers look like they are being answered from the Devil instead.

Inside the many years because, his films have never shied away from tricky subject matters, as they tackle everything from childhood abandonment in “Abouna” and genital mutilation in “Lingui, The Sacred Bonds,” to the cruel bureaucracy facing asylum seekers in “A Period In France.” While the dejected character he portrays in “Bye Bye Africa” ultimately leaves his camera behind, it is to cinema’s great fortune that the real Haroun did not do the same. —LL

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A cacophonously intimate beeg con character study about a woman named Julie (a 29-year-outdated Juliette Binoche) who survives the vehicle crash that kills her famous composer husband and their innocent young daughter — and then tries to cope with her loss by dissociating from the life she once shared with them — “Blue” devastatingly sets the tone for the trilogy that’s less interested in “Magnolia”-like coincidences than in refuting The reasoning that life is ever as understandable as human subjectivity (or that of the film camera) can make it feel.

“Underground” is an ambitious three-hour surrealist farce (there was a 5-hour version for television) about what happens for the soul of a country when its people are compelled to live in a relentless state of war beeg live for 50 years. The twists of your plot are as absurd as they are troubling: A person part finds Marko, a rising leader inside the communist party, shaving minutes off the clock free porm each day so that the people he keeps hidden believe the most modern war ended more just lately than it did, and will therefore be inspired to manufacture ammunition for him at a faster amount.

No matter how bleak things get, Ghost Pet dog’s rigid system of belief allows him to maintain his dignity inside the face of fatal circumstance. More than that, it serves as a metaphor for the world of unbiased cinema itself (a domain in which Jarmusch experienced already become an elder statesman), as well as a reaffirmation of its faith in the idiosyncratic and uncompromising artists who lend it their lives. —LL

Disappointed with the interminable post-production of “Ashes of Time” and itching to get out of your enhancing room, Wong Kar-wai strike the streets of Hong Kong and — in the blitz of pent-up creative imagination — slapped together among the list of most earth-shaking films of its 10 years in less than two months.

Lenny’s friend Mace (a kick-ass Angela Bassett) believes they should expose the footage while in the hopes of enacting real adjust. 

There are manic pixie dream girls, and there are manic pixie dream girls. And then mother and son sex video — one,000 miles beyond the borders of “Elizabethtown” and “Garden State” — there’s Vanessa Paradis to be a disaffected, suicidal, 21-year-previous nymphomaniac named Advertèle who throws herself into the Seine within the start of Patrice Leconte’s romantic, intoxicating “The Girl within the Bridge,” only to generally be plucked from the freezing water by an unlucky knifethrower (Daniel Auteuil as Gabor) in need of a fresh ingenue to play the human target in his traveling circus act.

A crime epic that will likely stand as the pinnacle accomplishment and clearest, but most complex, expression of the great Michael Mann’s cinematic eyesight. There are so many sequences of staggering filmmaking accomplishment — the opening eighteen-wheeler heist, Pacino realizing they’ve been made, De mundoporn Niro’s glass seaside home and his first evening with Amy Brenneman, the shootout downtown, the climatic mano-a-mano shootout — that it’s hard to believe it’s all during the same film.