Love Is the Devil: Study for a Portrait of Francis Bacon movie plot
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Scarlett 2022-05-11 17:43:03
I love Daniel Craig. The thief he played was an angel destroyed by the painter. Appreciate this sentence "We are always gleefully drawn to prison, but choose to escape when responsibility arises; we are always addicted to the pleasure of the flesh but fail to see the pain and disappointment of others."
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Arne 2022-05-11 09:34:08
George is just a low-level mortal, although his strong body (Daniel Craig, I'm so good!) and innocent personality satisfied the painter Bacon's temporary sensuality, and also inspired him some creative inspiration, but the gap between the two has been a long time. It's becoming more and more obvious that people from different worlds can't be forced to twist together after all. Bacon was unmistakably selfish, and his indifference to George's emotional and psychological problems caused him to go further and further down the road of collapse. But is it because of his nature, or is it his creation, his gloomy, twisted, crazy art that makes him this way? Perhaps the two cannot be distinguished at all. The film’s cinematic language is very strong (the staircase’s rotation is instantly reminiscent of Vertigo’s stair-stretching shots), and although it doesn’t directly use an original painting, the cinematography uses mirrors, glass, and fisheye lenses, as well as some surreal psychedelic shots to create bacon. The exaggerated, deformed and distorted nightmare atmosphere of the work is very artistic in aesthetics!
Love Is the Devil: Study for a Portrait of Francis Bacon quotes
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Francis Bacon: [Opening line] Like a bomb exploding in reverse. Thoughts, ideas... fragments of images. Shards of memory, like shrapnel, all come back to me, and are forced back out in a cruel pastiche of experience.
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Francis Bacon: When I went into the house of pleasure, I didn't stay in the room where they celebrate acceptable modes of loving in the bourgeois style. I went into the rooms which are kept secret and I leaned and lay on their beds. I went into the rooms which are kept secret which they consider it shameful even to name. But there is no such shame for me because then, what sort of poet, and what sort of artist would I be?