IF I WERE GUARDING the gates of heaven, I’d let in all the cinematographers, no questions asked. They toil for such piddling rewards here on Earth. No matter how transcendent their efforts, they answer to a director who may or may not know anything about lenses or color grading but gets the bulk of the credit either way. On the rare occasion that a cinematographer receives some mainstream attention, it’s usually because there’s something showoff-y about the work: Emmanuel Lubezki’s look-ma-no-cuts trickery for Birdman, say, or Roger Deakins’s for 1917, which transplants roughly the same technique
For the prudently (or perhaps cynically) inclined, the prolific and notoriously antagonistic author Harlan Ellison said it best when he wrote “love ain’t nothin’ but sex misspelled.” The notion of what constitutes love is multifaceted and inherently contextual, despite the significant cultural conditioning suggesting, not only universality, but the dangerous superficiality of the happily-ever-after syndrome … Heart(s) of Darkness: 20 Films Where Love Hurts, Love Scars, Love Wounds & Mars Read Mo