With remarkable access, the film follows the Oscar-nominee as he announces his retirement from a successful film career in the fall of and sets off to reinvent himself as a hip-hop musician. The film is a portrait of an artist at a crossroads and explores notions of courage and creative reinvention, as well as the ramifications of a life spent in the public eye.
Joaquin Phoenix Casey Affleck. Dody Dorn Casey Affleck. Commonly misperceived as a documentary. No, this film is fiction. Clever, clever fiction.
Capturing the narrative in this gray area between satire and reality, the film makes for quite an uncomfortable experience, despite having the knowledge that this is a fake documentary. Meanwhile, even in a public setting, Joaquin Phoenix is still giving his all with an impeccable and outlandish performance. After Bobby and his best friend Kevin are kidnapped and taken to a strange house Kristen Stewart interview.
I'm Still Here TMDb Score. R 1 hr 47 min Sep 10th, Drama , Music , Comedy. I'm Still Here is a portrayal of a tumultuous year in the life of actor Joaquin Phoenix.
With remarkable access, the film follows the Oscar-nominee as he announces his retirement from a successful film career in the fall of and sets off to reinvent himself as a hip-hop musician. The film is a portrait of an artist at a crossroads and explores notions of courage and creative reinvention, as well as the ramifications of a life spent in the public eye.
Director Casey Affleck. Bruce Willis. Danny DeVito. Jack Nicholson. Original Language: English. All is wan and pale, drained of any bright color: black pines, grey oaks, bare blackberry vines, light-brown grass, soft-white gray birches.
The road is paved now with endless thousands of fallen brown-going-to-gray oak leaves, like massive rejects from a leather glove factory. Every now and then the paving changes to the golden needles of pitch pines or the bare six-inch-long seed stems of black locusts, or the burnt-umber, rounded, deeply-serrated leaves of the cottonwoods that resemble miniature horseshoe crab shells.
John Burroughs once said that the difference between experiencing nature in the East and in the West is that in the West, one looks up, but in the East one looks down.
I think that if I paid attention, I could tell the makeup of the tree canopy above me just from the fallen leaves on the ground. Last month the colors of the season shouted from the stands of trees, grackles cackled and swallows twittered.
Now, deep in the woods, there is no birdsong, no traffic noise, no voices, no splashes, nothing audible except for the halting shuffle of my feet through the crisp, fallen leaves.
There is enough of a breeze to stir the treetops into whispered conversation, but not enough for me to hear what they are saying. It is as if the world has gradually stopped, without my knowing it. Then, out of the silence, I hear it: that familiar, distinct Chip-chip-chip of the eponymous chipmunk.
Actually, it sounds to me more like a wooden Thock-thock-thock. The sound is familiar, yet still mysterious. What is its function, its purpose?
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