jeśli twoje dziecko najbardziej na świecie kocha filmy, a ty najbardziej na świecie kochasz swoje dziecko, to kup mu cinema speculation - w świątyni, rozdział 06:

But the curse of eighties cinema wasn’t that they wouldn’t let you shoot somebody jerking off to Mario Bava’s Blood and Black Lace. It was that the complex and complicated lead characters of the seventies were the characters that eighties cinema avoided completely. Complex characters aren’t necessarily sympathetic. Interesting people aren’t always likable. But in the Hollywood of the eighties likability was everything. A novel could have a low-down son of a bitch at its center, as long as that low-down son of a bitch was an interesting character.
But not a movie. Not in the eighties.
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As in the fifties, this juvenilization of cinema was a distinctly American problem. Other countries were still making movies for adults. Hong Kong, France, Holland, Japan, and especially England. Alan Clarke’s Made in Britain, Alen Cox’s Sid and Nancy, Stephen Frears’ London Trilogy (My Beautiful Laundrette, Prick Up Your Ears & Sammy and Rosie Get Laid).
All of Almodóvar’s Spanish films and Verhoeven’s Dutch ones.
Every year Nicolas Roeg came out with some crazy movie starring Theresa Russell. Ken Russell still did whatever the fakk he wanted to do, even when he went to America (Crimes of Passion).
Still, discovering a heartless, lethal, uncompromising character like Parker, during that fakking wasteland of a decade, was a breath of much needed foul air.