Christopher Nolan you little genius shit - Inception / The Dark Knight

↳ “A lot of it is being done in commercials and music videos. I’ve never done them, but I think that those are forms in which cross-cutting and parallel action are absolutely standard and accepted as a mainstream language. Film-makers like myself enjoy the fruits of that experimentation and absorption by the mainstream. I think people’s capacity to absorb a fractured mise-en-scene is extraordinary now compared to forty years ago”

(Source: gordonlevitting)

(Source: imthecontingency)

leonardo dicaprio meme → 7 films [ 2/7 ] | inception

Finch discovers Arthur knows Root. Reese doesn’t like what he has to say about her. (dorkbait)

“I don’t want you listening to him,” Reese tells Finch when they’re alone, in the library, and unseparated by earpieces; he has his hand on Bear’s head like the two of them have come together to talk sense into Finch, “You know what she’s capable of — her manipulating — what’s to say she hasn’t found Arthur in order to get closer to you?”

“She hasn’t,” Finch says, rather abruptly, from behind his desk and standing for a change, “Mr. Cixous has been aware of Ms. Groves for longer than you or I, and this could present an opportunity for the benefit of both parties,” he raises his voice slightly, which is more than often associated with an attempt to school Reese in whatever latest lesson he seems loathe to learn, “We may need more to combat the late Ms. Stanton’s virus than myself, John.”

“You’d trust her with your Machine?” Reese asks, “After everything she’s done to get access, you’d let her in, just like that?” and Finch doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no, either, only shakes his head and mutters something about security measures and failsafes - all distractions, Reese knows, that in other words tell him that he is out of this one, that the decision has been made above his station and he can either press Finch until he snaps or bend his leg and kneel to him for once.

dorkbait:

in Sao Paulo, after the job. 2011, watercolor, acrylic, graphite & colored pencil on bristol board.

dorkbait:

glottophagie, 2013. Graphite, watercolor, gouache, acrylic & ink on 9x12” Stonehenge paper. Gift for Leslie who won my art giveaway.

dorkbait:

shut it tight like my briefcase,graphite, watercolor, acrylic, ink & white gel pen on vellum bristol. 9x12”, 2012.

this is such a stupid roundabout non-answer to a question

The more Robert drinks, the more interesting the guy at the other end of the bar gets. He walked in and sat down about half an hour after Robert got here, by himself, but other than a few glances and a half smile Robert’s way (well, and his drink orders, which don’t count), he hasn’t interacted with anybody else in the place. Not that Robert can blame him, because the place in question isn’t filled with very interesting people. Except for this guy at the end of the bar.

He’s wearing something expensive, with mother-of-pearl cufflinks and shiny brown boots, and he has that air of corporateness that Robert knows very well, except that this guy also has some air of indefinable danger about him that could also just be Robert’s fourth drink talking. And, well, he’s attractive, an angular face with dark, intense eyes, and very nice hands.

So eventually, Robert reaches a point where he’s just drunk enough to walk over but not drunk enough to fall over. He slides onto the barstool next to Tall, Dark, and Corporate. “I figured at this point you’re either lost or a corporate spy,” he says, “but right now I don’t really care. What’s life without a few chances taken, huh?”

The other guy has the good graces to at least look startled. “Don’t worry,” Robert says, “that was a joke. My name’s Robert. Robert Fischer.”

“Nice to meet you,” the guy responds, sticking out a hand to shake Robert’s own. “I know who you are. I’m Arthur.”

The name sounds familiar, but Robert can’t place it. Up close, Arthur is actually better-looking, or maybe that’s just the hint of cologne and the way he smiles wryly. Either way, Robert doesn’t care. “I don’t really do things like this, normally,” he says. “But I just did something crazy today, and I guess — what’s the point of doing one crazy thing if you don’t follow it up with another, right?”

“Are you trying to pick me up?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow. “What if I really am a corporate spy?”

“Like I said, I don’t really care.” Robert pulls his wallet out of his jacket and pays the bartender for both of their drinks. “I have a hotel. Do you want to —?”

He spends half the cab ride just looking at Arthur and trying to figure out what the appropriate next move is, until Arthur makes a disgruntled noise and grabs him by the lapels of his coat, pulling him halfway across the seat for a kiss. It’s a good kiss, too, just enough tongue, Arthur’s lips lingering a bit before he pulls away.

He pays the cabbie enough that he hopes it won’t show up in any gossip rags tomorrow, although considering how the night has gone so far he’s not sure that’s a bet he should be, or even needs to be, making. When he gets Arthur into his suite, Arthur slips out of his coat and hangs it up neatly, his strides long and smooth across the carpet toward the bed. He’s undoing his cufflinks, looking over his shoulder at Robert. Robert’s mouth is dry as Arthur undoes his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt and pulls it off over his head, revealing a body that Robert is just self-conscious enough to be half jealous of, half aroused by.

He settles on the latter, and starts in on his own shirt; as he climbs onto the bed, he reaches for Arthur, and Arthur’s hands cradle his face, one thumb pressed against his pulse point where his carotid throbs insistently, and —

He wakes up the next morning feeling like he has a mouthful of cotton balls, more hungover than he has any right to be, with no memory of the night before. His wrist is sore; he rubs it, and when he looks at it, he thinks he sees faint pinpricks there, marks that didn’t exist the night before. There’s a note on the bedside table, along with an unopened bottle of champagne. Sorry, it says, in an exceptionally neat hand. I had to be sure.

#sorry

and then this was in my inbox

I’m really excited for Wally Pfister’s directorial debut, “Transcendence”.

thenerdnetwork:

It’s a present-day science-fiction film, in the vein of 2001 and Inception, revolving around a man who creates a computer that develops a malevolent awareness. Johnny Depp is in the running to play a husband who gets sucked into the computer (although Pfister is making changes to the script.

While that idea seems a little cliched, and I’m not the biggest fan of Depp, the rest of the talent involved give me a lot of confidence. Pfister’s cinematographic work on Christopher Nolan’s movies is absolutely outstanding, plus it’s produced by Nolan and Emma Thomas, and other stars have been approached like Noomi Rapace, Tobey Maguire or James McAvoy (I’m hoping for the latter for this role) and Christoph Waltz.

Consider me intrigued!

Source.

(Source: cityofpearl)