#123movies #fmovies #putlocker #gomovies #solarmovie #soap2day Watch Full Movie Online Free – Luo Hongwu returns to Kaili, the hometown from which he fled 12 years earlier. As memories of an enigmatic and beautiful woman resurface – a woman he loved and whom he has never been able to forget – Luo Hongwu begins his search for her. Past and present, reality and dream interweave in Bi Gan’s stunningly beautiful and highly innovative film noir.
Plot: Luo Hongwu returns to Kaili, the hometown from which he fled many years ago. He begins the search for the woman he loved, and whom he has never been able to forget.
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|7.2/10 Votes: 7,563|
|7 Votes: 138 Popularity: 10.572|
**_A luminous esoteric puzzle_**
>_Les lieux que nous avons connus n’appartiennent pas qu’au monde de l’espace où nous les situons pour plus de facilité. Ils n’étaient qu’une mince tranche au milieu d’impressions contiguës qui formaient notre vie d’alors; le souvenir d’une certaine image n’est que le regret d’un certain instant; et les maisons, les routes, les avenues, sont fugitives, hélas! comme les années._
>[_The places that we have known belong now only to the little world of space on which we map them for our own convenience. None of them was ever more than a thin slice, held betwe__en the contiguous impressions that composed our life at that time; remembrance of a particular form is but regret for a particular moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years._]
– Marcel Proust; _Du côté de chez Swann_ (1913)
>_The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return._
– Milan Kundera; _Ignorance_ (2000)
Marketed in China as a romance, _地球最後的夜晚_ [lit. trans. _Last Evenings on Earth_] was released on December 31, 2018, earning an unexpected $38 million at the Chinese box office on its first night. However, when the young couples looking forward to a mainstream romantic date movie to ring in the New Year found themselves watching a cryptic 150-minute labyrinthine meditation on the nature of memory, with the niceties of plot and character development very much subservient to mood, tone, and formal experimentation, they reacted with bemusement, to put it mildly. January 1 saw a flurry of angry social media posts, with “can’t understand _Last Evenings on Earth_” trending, and the forums of ticket merchant Maoyan flooded with negative reviews, earning the film an audience rating of 2.8/10. Needless to say, business dropped off somewhat thereafter, and when the film’s theatrical run concluded three weeks later, it had earned a total of $41 million, meaning that roughly 93% of its box office was earned on opening night.
And to be fair, I can understand the confusion and belligerency. Released in English-language markets as _Long Day’s Journey Into Night_, the film is the love child of Andrei Tarkovsky and Wong Kar-wai, garnished with a truly batshit insane salad-dressing made up of an unholy mixture of filmmakers such as Peter Greenaway, David Lynch, Guy Maddin, and Leos Carax, playwrights Samuel Beckett and Harold Pinter, poet Paul Celan, painters Marc Chagall, Francis Bacon, and Jackson Pollack, and novelists Franz Kafka, Marcel Proust, and Patrick Modiano; not exactly a compendium of the most accessible artists of all time. As unconcerned with formal conventionality as it is with narrative resolution, this is an art-house movie through and through, an esoteric puzzle made up of two distinct parts. Whilst the 2D first half is a measured, but reasonably conventional albeit non-linear noir, the second is composed of an unbroken 50-minute 3D shot that’s as aesthetically audacious as it is narratively elliptical, and I honestly do feel for those bewildered Chinese audiences expecting to ring in the New Year with a gently romantic film. Because it most certainly isn’t that. The second feature from 30-year-old self-educated writer/director Bi Gan, _Long Day’s Journey_ is aggressively enigmatic, and the absence of character arcs, the formal daring, the languorous pacing, and the resistance to anything approaching definitive conclusions, will undoubtedly see many western audiences reacting similarly to their Chinese counterparts – equal parts bafflement and infuriation. However, if you can get past such issues and go with the film on its own terms, you’ll find a fascinatingly esoteric examination of the protean nature of memory, a film that in both form and content seems to belie its writer/director’s youth and relative inexperience.
_Long Day’s Journey_ tells the story of moody loner Luo Hongwu (Huang Jue), a man haunted by his past. In 2000, he met and had a brief but memorable relationship with the mysterious Wan Qiwen (Tāng Wéi), whom he has never been able to forget. When he returns to his home city of Kaili to bury his father, he finds himself attempting to track down Qiwen, as the story of their relationship is told via flashbacks, revealing her involvement with karaoke-loving gangster Zuo Hongyuan (Chen Yongzhong) and Luo’s own unresolved trauma concerning the murder of his friend Wildcat (Li Hóngqí). However, it soon becomes apparent that just because Lou remembers a thing doesn’t necessarily mean that that thing happened. When his search leads him to a dingy movie theatre, he puts on a pair of 3D glasses and falls asleep, finding himself in an abandoned mine from which his only hope of escape is to beat a young version of Wildcat (Feiyang Luo) at ping pong. The rest of the film takes place in his dream world. Or in the 3D movie playing in the theatre. Or in an amalgamation of both. Or in something else entirely.
_Long Day’s Journey_’s biggest selling point is unquestionably the aesthetically audacious second hour. The film starts as a garden variety noir – the world-weary voiceover, the femme fatale revealed through flashbacks, smoke-filled rooms, the back alley meetings, the dangerous gangster, the troubled friend, the darkly fatalistic tone. There’s even a clue written on the back of a photo. However, all of these genre markers are jettisoned when Luo enters the cinema, putting on his 3D glasses, just as the audience is prompted to do likewise. The film’s title card then appears onscreen for the first time (a full 70 minutes in), and the movie adopts a far more elliptical and esoteric stance than the investigative noir structure of the first half.
Unlike ‘single-take’ films such as Gaspar Noé’s _Climax_ (2018), Erik Poppe’s _Utøya 22. Juli_ (2018), and Sam Mendes’s _1917_ (2019), which use long-takes and ‘hidden’ edits to give the effect of a single-shot, the second half of Long Day’s Journey follows films such as Alexander Sokurov’s _Russkij Kovcheg_ (2002) and Sebastian Schipper’s _Victoria_ (2015) insofar as it was legitimately shot via one single take. And not only that, but it’s a complex and visually layered shot too, featuring drones, Steadicams, intricate blocking, elaborate external locations with multitudes of people, practical effects, complex interior locations, even a lengthy sequence set on a zip line. Considering the scope, it would be an impressive enough technological accomplishment in 2D, but that it was filmed with bulky 3D cameras is almost unbelievable, and that three cinematographers (Yao Hung-I, Dong Jinsong, and David Chizallet) worked on the project is unsurprising – Hung-I shot half of the 2D material, Jinsong shot the rest of the 2D material and planned the 3D sequence, whilst Chizallet actually shot the sequence.
What’s especially laudable about the sequence, however, is how it never becomes gimmicky. Most movies released in 3D have no real thematic justification for being in 3D, nothing in their content to justify their form, whilst films such as _Victoria_ have no real thematic justification for being single-shots. _Long Day’s Journey_, however, justifies both decisions – the single-shot works in tandem with the 3D to create a vibrant and complex world of depth and vitality, but one that never seems completely real; there’s always the sense of an artifice, something highly ‘subjective’ getting between the audience and the on-screen images, as if we’re not seeing things objectively but instead seeing an individual’s interpretation of things – it’s reality, but it’s mediated reality, with all the subjective distortions that such a thing implies.
This is a film about memory, specifically the idea that memory can be deceptive, and may have as much to do with dreams as with objective reality. In this sequence, as memory, reality, and dream seem to blend into one another, with even identity itself dissolving (several of the main actors re-appear in completely different parts), Gan shows us something that approximates a dream as well as anything you’re ever likely to experience, outside actually dreaming. Any film can throw something surreal onscreen and call it a dream scene, but _Long Day’s Journey_ manages to convey not just the content of a dream, but the illogical _texture_ of a dream. You replace the 3D images with 2D images, or you replace the single-shot with edited content, and you fundamentally lose that texture; the 3D/single-shot form is as important as James Joyce’s removal of punctuation is in creating the impression of a mind on the brink of falling asleep in the last episode of _Ulysses_ – restore the punctuation, and the interrelatedness of form and content is lost.
Speaking of literature, although the film may seem unrelated to Eugene O’Neill’s 1941 play (the Chinese title similarly references a short story collection by Roberto Bolaño), a common theme is memory and the all-consuming power of time. The conventional first half of the film concerns itself not just with memory, but with the imperfect nature of memory, essentially suggesting that obsession is nothing more than a trick of the mind, an attempt to reattain something that may never have existed in the first place (also an important theme in the play). In the film’s press notes, Gan explains;
>_it’s a film about memory. After the first part, I wanted the film to take on a different texture. In fact, for me, 3D is simply a texture. Like a mirror that turns our memories into tactile sensations. It’s just a three-dimensional representation of space. But I believe this three-dimensional feeling recalls that of our recollections of the past. Much more than 2D, anyway. 3D images are fake, but they resemble our memories much more closely._
Indeed, it’s worth noting that the most recurrent visual motif in the film is that of reflection – not just in mirrors, but so too in puddles, which act as slightly more distorted (subjective?) versions of the relatively perfect reflection one gets from a mirror. So even here, one can see that Gan is examining the distortions of memory and the fault line between objectivity and subjectivity.
All of which will probably go some way to telling you whether or not you’re likely to enjoy _Long Day’s Journey_. Make no mistake, this is an esoteric film that isn’t especially interested in plot or character, and which uses form to explore complex issues such as memory, subjectivity, and obsession. It’s rarely emotionally engaging in a conventional sense and the minimalist plot can result in some rather glib moments. The storyline is elliptical, the characters archetypal, the themes subtle, and, all things considered, the very aspects which one person will find transformative, will completely alienate another. You either embrace the emphasis on mood and tone, or you fight it, trying to find a linear narrative through-line. Personally, I loved its formal daring and admired Gan’s confidence and the singularity of his vision, but at the same time, I found each section outstayed it’s welcome a little, and felt the first half could lose a good 15 minutes, and the second around 10 or so. Gan also walks a very fine line between emotional detachment and emotional alienation, and it’s a line he crosses a couple of times. Nevertheless, this is an awe-inspiring technical achievement, an ultra-rare example of a film which perfectly matches form to content, and a fascinating puzzle that trades in the undefinable nuances of memory. If you have the patience to work with it, the rewards are many.
‘Long Day’s Journey into Night’ is certain to test the patience of some audiences. It may be too esoteric, too inward, too meditative, perhaps appear too aimless. However, there’s was something about it that fascinated me, whether it was the protagonist’s myth-like search into his physical and metaphysical past (played with weary longing by Jue Huang) or the uncompromising and careful manner of Gan Bi’s storytelling. The film is much more than its famous set-piece, and at the same time all about that set-piece; a feat of filmmaking that is as impressive as it is dramaturgically vital, where dream and fantasy and longing flow together like a river, one that invites you to step in and float along with it, wherever it takes you.
– Daniel Lammin
Read Daniel’s full article…
Vertiginous Labyrinth of Reflected Memories
“Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” alternatively known as “Last Evenings on Earth,” indeed, is a bewildering movie. Partially, I consider it even a mind-game, or puzzle, picture, as defined by the likes of Thomas Elsaesser. Yet, while there are other avenues through which to interpret it all, and there are some other, fine reviews that do just that, the main means by which I came to grips with Bi Gan’s enigmatic tour de force is by way of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Vertigo” (1958). Most movies are memories of other movies to a large extent, with the originality being in the re-arrangement, or remembrance, of the former one. Even many supposedly “revolutionary” reels are such in the original sense of the word of returning to a prior place. Undoubtedly, there are other demonstrable influences here, which others have mentioned, including the films of Andrei Tarkovsky and Wong Kar-wai, and there’s also the emphasis on the green book doubling the picture’s alternate titles that recall the prose of Eugene O’Neill’s play and a short story by Roberto Bolaño. Perhaps, if not surely, due to my greater familiarity with Hitchcock’s film than with some of those other benchmarks, the prominent references to “Vertigo,” however, especially stand out here. Most blatant of these are the woman’s green dress and the much-imitated revolving “Vertigo” kiss near the end. More vitally, this reflexivity aids in making sense of the picture.
“Vertigo” is a more accessible and mainstream film that has been around for a long time, infinitely analyzed and so is seemingly easier to decipher. It’s a stolen love story, as is the stolen green book here, as is “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” despite the supposed deception of its marketing campaign that brought in the lion’s share of its box office. Both are shadowy noir (reinforced by the voiceover narration here) in vibrant color where the detective protagonist searches for, to reclaim, that past, lost and stolen love. He is thrust into a vertiginous maze of spinning doppelgängers, dreams, ghosts, memories, time and regrets. Hitchcock’s hero literally experienced debilitating vertigo, as well as a psychotic break, amid the rolling hills of San Francisco and up the bell tower; whereas in Bi’s picture, the green book’s spell is said to make the room spin and spinning a ping-pong paddle makes one fly over the labyrinths of staircases and mineshafts of Guizhou province where the hero here follows in circles redoubled ghosts and women.
As with “Vertigo,” too, this one is split into two parts. In the first part, for both of them, the detective shadows the woman, or femme fatale, and investigates the mystery at hand. More so with Hitchcock’s camera, but here, too, this is largely composed of the system of looks Laura Mulvey termed the “male gaze.” With Hitchcock, this took the form of shots/countershots–i.e. shot of man looking followed by shot of woman he’s looking at. Bi doesn’t work in the tradition of classical continuity editing to emerge from Hollywood back in the 1910s and which largely continues to this day, though. His, one might say, international art-house style is of a slow cinema (I would agree oft too slow–that elevator lift sequence where the camera operator blatantly waits for his seat to track the character down especially tries the spectator’s patience), where mise-en-scène takes prominence over montage. In lieu of edited scene dissection, however, there is camera movement, as well as the role of the camera in shifting between a neutral observer and a shared perspective with a character–almost always the male protagonist. Hence, we see shots of women where the man’s presence is acknowledged as off-screen, out of frame, sharing his and the camera’s gaze with the spectator. Frequently, these views are photographed through glass, mirrors and puddle reflections, to reinforce the voyeurism and the intentionally artificial perspective as seen through one character and the camera’s lens.
This first part is fragmented, non-linear and, here, as based on memories as rusty as the otherwise perplexing views in the movie of rust and damp and dilapidated structures. Clocks are broken. Rain drops. Makeup smeared. Trains stopped by the dislodging of mudslides. Earth mined out. A glass falling off the table to shatter into pieces. Perhaps, this reflects the chaptered, at the reader’s own pace, nature of written stories and even told ones, remembered as they are–many characters telling each other stories or stories about being told stories in this one. Thus, the focus on the green book, as well as the photographic snapshot hidden within a broken clock, in the first part. In “Vertigo,” too, there was the art of painting, the appreciation by one of the women (Judy) and the designing of by the other (Midge). In both pictures, then, they move from watching, from voyeurism–that is, from our position as spectator–to filmmaking itself in their second parts.
The break in “Long Day’s Journey Into Night” is even greater than the nightmare of “Vertigo,” with the putting on of the glasses for its virtuoso 59-minute one-shot in 3D and the delayed reveal of the title. This is the Buster Keaton in “Sherlock Jr.” (1924) moment (or is it the reverse of “The Purple Rose of Cairo” (1985)?), where he enters the movie of the cinema he’s sitting in, watching and dreaming, recalling past movies and other artworks as we should’ve been following along with, too, throughout. It’s where extraordinary planning and nimbleness in tracking with the bulky 3D camera meets the dolly-out combined with zoom-ins of the “Vertigo” effect shots, along with its dream sequence visuals and even those dated rear-projection process shots. Showy, sure, even, perhaps, distracting, but the effects have their functions. Motion pictures depict time like no other art form. It may be cut up (as in “Vertigo”), fragmented beyond the point of normal narrative (the first part here), and presented in real time. Characters continually followed and reappearing (including that humorous donkey), mazes unraveled, the past revealed in cinematic ghosts and the doppelgänger characters of the already reproduced images of motion pictures. Karaoke kept on track by pre-recorded music. “Vertigo” kiss. A firework marking the passing of time.
I’m not quite sure this is a great movie so much as it’s a great mystery story–perhaps, such distinction is needless. I mean, the cinematography is some of the best in recent memory, but the deconstruction of its function and that of the narrative itself seems far more rewarding than any mystery therein. It’s hard to say that anything meaningful comes from the realization of the child as a ghost from a past murder, the mother and the femme fatale, or the woman of his dreams reappearing, let alone whether what the protagonist experiences is dream or reality. “Mind-game films,” for which such checks several boxes, weren’t a theoreticized genre in Hitchcock’s day. There’s hardly any of the psychosexual pervsity found underneath “Vertigo” here, Mulvey’s psychoanalytic junk regarding castration anxiety and all included (the limbs of Jimmy Stewart broken were never as vital to the story as they were as metaphor). Hitchcock’s film was a mature work, recalling memories of his past features (namely, “Rear Window” (1954)), whereby he reconstructed those dreams and remembrances, remaking his trademarks such as the Hitchcock blonde in the process. Never bravado for its own sake. Nary an obscure reference necessitating shared eclectic tastes. Little lingering to force confronting the confusion of the picture’s lack.
Nevertheless, to say “Long Day’s Journey Into Night” doesn’t rise to the level of “Vertigo” is a slight criticism, indeed. It remains a picture of many levels to appreciate. Even if sense can’t be made of it, there are beautiful compositions and motifs, staggering craft and intelligent themes to admire. The destination doesn’t so much matter, except that it’s exquisite, too, for the journey is what’s important. Not so much what was or will be–paying much head to the story here seems an errant errand–but how, including the cinematic reflexivity, one remembers and dreams.
I had a hard time following the first half of the movie, it felt more like shattered memories than cohesive story/narrative. It felt to long although it had it’s moments like the karaoke part… Then that one hour long take came and it blew me away. The camerawork and visuals in this movie are astonishing, it added to that hypnotizing feeling of the whole movie. With few rewatched the rating might go up!
Original Language zh
Runtime 2 hr 18 min (138 min)
Rated Not Rated
Genre Drama, Mystery, Romance
Director Bi Gan
Writer Bi Gan
Actors Tang Wei, Jue Huang, Sylvia Chang
Country China, France
Awards 16 wins & 45 nominations
Production Company N/A
Sound Mix Dolby Atmos (3-D part), D-Cinema 48kHz 7.1 (2-D part)
Aspect Ratio 1.85 : 1
Camera Arri Alexa Mini, Zeiss Super Speed Lenses, Red Helium, Zeiss Super Speed Lenses (one long take)
Film Length N/A
Negative Format Codex, Redcode RAW
Cinematographic Process ARRIRAW (3.4K) (source format), Digital Intermediate (2K) (master format), Redcode RAW (5K) (source format) (one long take)
Printed Film Format D-Cinema (also 3-D version)