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Anibal 2022-06-08 22:57:09
I like him to use two women to condense the concept of two cities. The so-called "freedom" is photographed with a great sense of irony, reflecting the tragedy of his own character in the end. How can it be free? Do not die for Paris today, and die for New York...
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Wilbert 2022-06-08 18:32:01
The 37-year film is so powerful, with two layers of narrative, one layer is realistic, the other layer is psychological, and the psychological layer gives the film a fable. The final ending is not so much to die for love silly, as it is to be unwilling to be confined to the cage, and would rather die than to show the determination to pursue a free man. That woman is not so much a lover as a call to freedom, the incarnation of a lost...
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Bo 2022-06-08 18:05:50
Several recurrent and important themes in the 1930s French films: Colonial expansion as a civilizing mission; Paris as the center, colonies as the periphery; fatalistic atmosphere; nostalgia (music hall) and modernity; mass entertainment and consumption; class...
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Ernestina 2022-06-08 17:43:17
The actor's charm is not convincing enough. The ending without love is always embarrassing. There is a kind of visual magic in the residential areas of Algiers, but it is not used to its fullest...
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Santos 2022-06-08 16:31:27
Light up. "You remind me of the subway" "-you smell so good" "-the subway smell"/ I want to say I love you, but I was blown away in the wind, suddenly turning around, you were there~~ I shouted your name, but you Covered his...
Pépé le Moko Comments
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Janvier: Pépé le Moko is still at large.
Meunier: Algiers isn't Pigalle.
Janvier: In Pigalle, he'd have been behind bars long ago.
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Meunier: The Casbah is like a labyrinth. I'll show you. You can say Pépé's gone underground. From the air, the district known as the Casbah looks like a teeming anthill, a vast staircase where terraces descend stepwise to the sea. Between these steps are dark, winding streets like so many pitfalls. They intersect, overlap, twist in and out, to form a jumble of mazes. Some are narrow, others vaulted. Wherever you look, stairways climb steeply like ladders, or descend into dark, putrid chasms and slimy porticos, dank and lice-infested. Dark, overcrowded cafés. Silent, empty streets with odd names. A population of 40,000 in an area meant for 10,000. From all over the world. Many, descended from the barbarians, are honest traditionalists, but a mystery to us. Kabyles. Chinese. Gypsies. Stateless. Slavs. Maltese. Negroes. Sicilians. Spaniards. And girls of all nations, shapes and sizes. The tall. The fat. The short. The ageless. The shapeless. Chasms of fat no one would dare approach. The houses have inner courtyards, which are like ceilingless cells that echo like wells and interconnect by means of terraces above. They're the exclusive domain of native women. But Europeans are tolerated. They form a city apart, which, step by step, stretches down to the sea. Colorful, dynamic, multifaceted, boisterous, there's not one Casbah, but hundreds. Thousands. And this teeming maze is what Pépé calls home.
