Quote:
With Unit 7, Alberto Rodriguez paid homage to his native Seville whilst producing a fine urban thriller. Now he does the same for rural Spain, moving an hour south to the marshlands of Andalucia. While 7 was explosive, Marshland is noirishly tense on different levels, its tight focus on character, its realism, it’s sense of place and its social critique adding up to a grippingly intense whole — and that’s not to mention it’s satisfyingly twisting plotline. Though puzzlingly it’s been overlooked by the Spanish Film Academy as the country’s foreign film nomination, Marshland merits international exposure as an example of both one of the year’s best Spanish-language films and of how to fold significance into genre.

The lingering silent final shot of the two miserable anti-heroes at the end of Unit 7 suggested that Rodriguez and his long-term writing partner Rafael Cobos had more to say about cops with issues, and with Marshland they say it. It’s 1980, during the political transition period when Spain was negotiating the change between dictatorship and democracy. Juan (Javier Gutierrez) and rookie Pedro (Raul Arevalo) have traveled from Madrid to Spain’s deep south to investigate the mysterious disappearance of two sisters after a local fiesta. (The sisters had, a local cop informs them, a “reputation.”) A crucifix inset with images of Hitler and Franco on their hotel wall suggests that the law may be about to encounter some conservative resistance to their enquiries from a community happy to turn a blind eye to the occasional disappearance of a girl or two.

Initially they are led to the sisters’ father shifty, suspicious father Rodrigo (a typically focused Antonio de la Torre, from Grupo 7 and more recently from Cannibal), and to his understandably downtrodden wife Rocio (Nerea Barros), who hands over a few damaged negatives of the semi-naked girls in a bedroom. Soon the sisters’ bodies are discovered and they enlist the help of isolated local Jesus (comedian Salva Reina, here anything but comic). When a drunken man with a rifle stumbles into the hotel seeking justice for his own dead girlfriend, a pattern of deaths starts to emerge. Inevitably, but sadly credibly for this region, the issue of drug smuggling soon raises its head.

Underpinning the tensions between the outsiders and the pueblo are the tensions inside the pueblo itself, with the mayor aggressively seeking to keep the peace in a town where the workers are already on strike, complaining about low wages following a failure of the rice harvest. And crucially, there is tension between the cops themselves. The violent, insecure Juan interrogates by hitting first and asking questions afterwards: he represents the old way of doing things. The more hesitant and circumspect Pedro is the future, believing for example that justice is more important than blood ties, but disgusted at having to take orders from the older man, whose past he seeks to uncover in a separate side-mission.

There is nothing remotely special about these cops: when we first meet them, their car has broken down. They proceed in a plodding, methodical way without any sudden, mysterious flashes of insight to strain credibility. Much of the quality of Marshland is rooted in such realism, deriving not only from research but from insider knowledge, from the ferries which transport both legal and illegal cargo to the remoter outposts of the river system, to its sometimes absurdist dialogue, down to the local cuisine (river crabs), or — and this is really one for true connoisseurs — the crucial distinction between a Citroen Dyane 6 and a 2CV.

Characters float in and out of the story, but there’s detail in all of them. Among them are the local journo (Manolo Solo) and cockily defiant Quini (Jesus Castro, from recent Spanish B.O. hit El Nino). Performances are classy across the board, though of the leads it’s Gutierrez, too often a standby in forgettable comedies, who stands out in the role of his lifetime so far.
The script uses the thriller format to lock together the personal, the social and the political in what adds up to not only a darkly ambiguous thriller but a portrait of an isolated community, and a whole society, in flux: a marshland. Here nothing is solid and everything is slippery — not least the distinction between cop and criminal. The sordid discoveries between the apparently normal surface that Juan and Pedro uncover are not, Twin Peaks-like, grounded in weirdo psychology, but in real social events: among its themes, one with contemporary resonance, is that of changing attitudes to child abuse.

Visually and atmospherically, Marshland is suffused with an eerie oppressiveness, entirely at odds with the region’s reputation for light-hearted alegria. Many of the carefully-composed shots of this visually active film are delivered from ground and water level. One hauntingly poetic image has Juan awakening from being knocked out to look out groggily at a richly-colored, hazy sunset, the sky dotted with ducks. It is beautiful but surreal, encapsulating the film’s visual tone generally. At moments of high tension there are strangely-made aerial shots, intriguing for both their rich color and their geometry, which allow the story some breathing space and provide some perspective on the terrible human events unfolding below.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/3CCDA39C3870C4E/Alberto_Rodriguez_-_%282014%29_Marshland.mkv

http://keep2s.cc/file/97d4ce99b820d/Alberto_Rodriguez_-_%282014%29_Marshland.mkv

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Synopsis:
“Savage Grace,” based on the award winning book, is the incredible true story of Barbara Daly, who married above her class to Brooks Baekeland, heir to the Bakelite plastics fortune. Beautiful, red-headed and charismatic, Barbara is still no match for her well-bred husband. The birth of the couple’s only child, Tony, rocks the uneasy balance in this marriage of extremes. Tony is a failure in his father’s eyes. As he matures and becomes increasingly close to his lonely mother, the seeds for a tragedy of spectacular decadence are sown.

Review:

Based on the real life story of the Baekeland family and the themes of sexuality, socialization, incest, and acceptance, Savage Grace is a richly toned film, but muddles itself in too many inconsistencies to establish what it sets out to accomplish.

The story spans from 1946 to 1972, and follows ex-actress, now socialite Barbara Daly Baekeland (Julianne Moore), who is married to Brooks Baekeland (Stephen Dillane), who is the very wealthy grandson of the actual inventor of plastic. As the film opens in New York City with Barbara now having an infant son named Tony, she still irritates Brooks with her yearning to be accepted in the social rich class society. As the film shifts to numerous European countries and years, a now adult Tony (Eddie Redmayne) sees his parents’ relationship dissolving. Eventually, an ex-fling of Tony named Blanca (Elena Anaya) actually steals away and marries his father. Barbara turns her suffocation for acceptance and happiness to Tony, who struggles to understand his mother and his sexuality. Brooks denounces Tony once he does learn that he is homosexual and Barbara does anything to give him comfort, which includes jumping in bed with him and a bisexual art dealer. Madness and confusion ensues which leads to a tragic and mysterious story of a really challenged and wealthy family.
As one can tell by the synopsis of this film, Savage Grace has a lot of baggage and director Tom Kalin does his best to sort through all of it. Kalin beautifully photographs the film from all the different locations of the family and he does pace the film on its emotions. However, so much indifferent themes hamper the film’s melodrama, and Kalin choices become drenched as well.
Based on the novel by Natalie Robins and Steven M.L. Aronson, screenwriter Howard Rodman also bashes the audience with one more disturbing concept of psycho-biological problem after another. Once Brooks takes off with Blanca, the film shifts to total focus on Barbara and Tony and it almost takes no time to get to the ‘shocking’ climax, with hardly any depth or structural roads to get there. Other choices become bleak as well, such as the drowsy voice over narration by Tony, which supposedly was crucial to the novel, but is a wasted concept in the film. The themes of the film are not for the faint at heart and not for everyone, but it is what happened with this dysfunctional family.
Julianne Moore returns to the screen with her best role in years and she masterfully holds one’s attention as the very complex Barbara. Stephen Dillane is stellar in his few scenes as Brooks, who is embarrassed by his wife and looks for an outlet with his son’s ex-flame. As Tony, Eddie Redmayne struggles with the role and his performance is nearly a cut out cardboard, when his character is the most important to the film. His climatic character discovery is neither surprising nor as effective as the script calls for it to be.
The courage of director Tom Kalin is evident in tackling a story as weird, challenging and disturbing as Savage Grace. The film is made well from a directing standpoint and has a terrific performance by Julianne Moore. However, the script adaptation stumbles and crashes trying to juggle too many elements and structural aspects of this melodramatic real life mystery.
Savage Grace has made its way around the film festival circuit; it opens in the United States on May 30, 2008 and in the United Kingdom on July 18, 2008.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/4B41DED6182B172/Savage_Grace.avi
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http://keep2s.cc/file/9ed65b36cdebb/Savage_Grace.avi
http://keep2s.cc/file/9a3b7fa52becf/Savage_Grace.srt

Language(s):English, French, Spanish
Subtitles:English

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Quote:
Returning to the dysfunctional family dynamic and generational saga of Anna and the Wolves in its psychological exposition into the root of ingrained human cruelty and repression, Mama Turns 100 Years Old is a wry, eccentric, and provocative, if underformed satire on the latent trauma and moral repercussions of emotional subjugation, manipulation, and corruption. On the eve of the indomitable family matriarch, Mama’s (Rafaela Aparicio) centenary, former domestic servant Ana (Geraldine Chaplin), now the happily settled wife of a devoted, bohemian husband named Antonio (Norman Briski), has received a personal invitation from Mama herself to stay as a guest in the secluded family estate and celebrate the festivities – an unexpected request that, as Mama subsequently reveals, stems from the inescapable conviction that her family, goaded in part by her conniving daughter-in-law, Luchi (Charo Soriano) and enabled by her dotty, gullible son, Fernando (Fernando Fernán Gómez), has been underhandedly plotting to kill her before she reaches the all-important milestone. However, as Ana and Antonio alternately settle into their awkward roles as accommodating guests of absurd, idiosyncratic rituals and bemused observers of a deeply rended (if superficially intact) familial intimacy, the couple, too, inevitably becomes caught up in the corrosive atmosphere of petty infighting, superficial civility, aimless distraction, nebulous alliances, and emotional deception (a figurative entrapment that is visually encapsulated in Anna accidentally stepping into a rabbit trap within the estate grounds).As in Anna and the Wolves, Saura seamlessly interweaves oneiric images (including the addition of excerpts from the preceding film) and elements of magical realism to illustrate the integral correlation between psychological trauma and physical (and behavioral) manifestation. Concluding with the truncated shot of Mama figuratively casting out the scheming relatives from her immediate circle, the surreal parting image becomes that, not of banishment from paradise, but a reluctant liberation from the performance of a grotesque, dehumanizing charade.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/AAA66D511C70585/Carlos_Saura_-_%281979%29_Mama_Turns_100.mkv

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Quote:
Marisa Paredes is Leocadia (“Leo”) Macias, a woman writing “pink” romance novels under the alias of Amanda Gris that are very popular all across Spain. Unlike her romantic novels, her own love life is troubled. Leo has a less than happy relationship with her husband Paco, a military officer stationed in Brussels then later in Bosnia, who is distant both physically and emotionally.

Leo begins to change the direction of her writing, wanting to focus more on darker themes such as pain and loss, and can no longer write her Amanda Gris novels, whose publishers demand sentimental happy-endings, at least until her contract is up.

She begins to reevaluate her life through her relationship with her husband, her supposedly best friend Betty, her “crab-faced” sister Rosa and her bickering elderly mother. She also meets Angel, a newspaper editor who quickly falls for Leo and her writing.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/E564001930444EC/Pedro_Almodovar_-_%281995%29_The_Flower_of_My_Secret.mkv

Language(s):Spanish, French
Subtitles:English

Quote:
The closing act of the New York Film Festival, and one of the season’s most rewarding films, Talk to Her strikes a variety of chords: It’s uproarious, whimsical, sad, preposterous–sometimes sequentially, sometimes all at once. The one-time provocateur and lover of garish pop culture shows a growing maturity in this film, mining darker, more emotionally resonant territory that gets deep under the skin even as its loopy unpredictability makes it wildly entertaining. At issue here are loneliness, loss, communication, male friendship, and the different forms love takes, all embodied with the wacky imagination for which Pedro Almodžvar is noted.

The plot, when described, has as much plausibility as a telenovela on acid, but here goes. Following a chance encounter at a performance of a Pina Bausch dance piece, two men, Benigno (Javier Cámara) and Marco (Dario Grandinetti), meet again at a private clinic where Benigno works as a nurse. He’s caring for Alicia (Leonor Watling), a ballerina rendered comatose by a car accident. And as chance would have it in the world according to Pedro, Marco is visiting another comatose patient, girlfriend Lydia (Rosario Flores), a bullfighter who was horribly gored in the ring. During this period of suspended time in the clinic, the lives of the four characters fluidly play out through titled flashbacks and forwards (‘Benigno and Alicia,’ etc.), cut with present scenes of the two men’s burgeoning friendship. Benigno pursues the logical culmination of his passion for his comatose patient. She’s found to be pregnant. Benigno’s imprisonment leads to a heart-rending denouement, as Alicia, Sleeping Beauty-style, awakens, and the narrative pirouettes into a hopeful future.

The film’s richness comes, in part, from a tapestry of art and performance that includes bullfighting (and a fascinating glimpse of Lydia the toreador getting kitted up before the fight), dance, and a song sung live by Brazilian superstar Caetano Veloso. And rather than assault viewers with a scene of sex with a comatose partner, Almodovar has devised the brilliant device of The Shrinking Lover, a hilarious black-and-white silent film-within-the-film that obliquely predicts the event and refracts a distasteful act through burlesque comedy.

Benigno (for ‘benign’) and his passionate devotion to Alicia, on whom he lavishes such loving care, remains one of Almodžvar’s most indelible portraits. A virginal innocent who lives in a parallel universe by his own rules, he manages to make do and even find joy with so very little. Before Alicia, his life was devoted to caring for his crochety, ailing mother; now his love object can’t speak or respond. But as Benigno says, in a line both
droll and heart-rending, ‘We get along better than most married people.’

Through Benigno, Almodžvar suggests that love can be nourished by the most barren sources–indeed, is largely a product of the imagination. Perhaps he’s also mischievously proposing that knocked-out (and acquiescent) is how men would prefer to have their women. And, for ‘communication’ to flourish, it’s actually desirable for one partner to be silenced. He’s saying, too, that barring the usual dialogue, a lover’s monologue is an equally valid form of communication. But perhaps the film’s emotional fuel comes from the never explicitly examined love between Benigno and Marco, which hauntingly continues to flower, fairy-tale-style, with the plot’s final turn.

Open-ended and composed of layer upon layer, Talk to Her is a cinephile’s feast, an invitation to countless interpretations.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/AFED89AD98C7C7D/Pedro_Almodovar_-_%282002%29_Talk_to_Her.mkv

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Quote:
The wag who first suggested running the trailer for Bad Education before screenings of The Passion of the Christ in southern France deserves a rosette for provocation beyond the call of duty. But while the region’s priests have responded with predictable outrage, they should have taken a closer look at the film itself. To the character of the paedophile Father Manolo, Pedro Almodóvar extends the same compassion and pity with which he regarded the various sex offenders in Matador (1986), Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! (1989) and Talk to Her (2002). Almodóvar has the most democratic sensibility in cinema since Andy Warhol. Whatever passes before his camera is met with curiosity or understanding.

This creates some unusual difficulties in Bad Education. The slow-motion footage of pubescent boys frolicking in a river invites us to see the children from Manolo’s perspective, when in fact he is not observing them at that point – the erotic reading of their horseplay belongs uniquely to Almodóvar. Similarly, the movie’s most hypnotic image – an overhead shot of rows of white-vested boys exercising in the schoolyard – would be problematic in its echoes of the homoeroticism of 100 Days Before the Command (1990), Like Grains of Sand (1995) and Beau Travail (1999), even if it were not the case that, once again, it is Almodóvar, not Manolo, who is investing the children with sexual properties. Unless, that is, the elevated camera hints that a higher power is complicit in this voyeurism, an idea that surfaces in comic form when a priest who is reminded that God has witnessed his wrongdoings remarks: “Yes, but He’s on our side.”

If the Catholic church is not placated by the film’s generosity toward its errant servants, it might take consolation from the fact that Bad Education is more concerned with the traffic between past and present, life and art, sin and forgiveness. From its credit sequence, which plays like Saul Bass animating a Gilbert & George catalogue defaced by Joe Orton and Kenneth Halliwell, the film aspires to the texture of a collage or mosaic. It’s there in the layers of faded, half-peeled movie posters outside the derelict Olympo Cinema, where the boyhood friends Enrique and Ignacio once masturbated one another as Sara Montiel loomed on the screen before them.

And you can see it in José Luis Alcaine’s deep-focus photography and Antxón Gómez’s art design, particularly in the office of the adult Enrique, now a successful film director. Ignacio arrives there clutching a story (‘The Visit’) based on their school days, while around them the segmented background and foreground compete in an ongoing and symbolic war of mise en scène reminiscent of The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant (1972). Mosaics are most strongly represented on the exterior of Ignacio’s apartment building, with the same patterns inside on the walls and curtains. The suggestion in these mosaics of a gaily coloured puzzle, of unruly pieces put together without ever quite fitting, could not be more appropriate.

Then there are the characters’ slippery identities to contend with. In Enrique’s film of ‘The Visit’, Ignacio hopes to play the transsexual Zahara, whose real name is Ignacio, who in turn poses as her own sister to confront her abuser, Father Manolo; Ignacio himself goes by the name of Ángel, but is later revealed to be Juan, brother to the actual Ignacio. Some characters, like Zahara’s friend Paquito, don’t actually exist outside ‘The Visit’, while others, such as the leather-jacketed Enrique with whom Zahara has sex, are alternative incarnations of characters we have already met. Scenes from ‘The Visit’ are played out as flashbacks, though they are no more definitive in their version of events than the erroneous account of Ignacio’s death that is corrected when Father Manolo arrives under his real name, Berenguer.

Any description of the plot, which incorporates flashbacks within the film within the film, risks becoming a pointless itinerary. When a film-maker exercises this much control, there is an enormous gain, but a small loss too. And for all its authentic Almodóvarian passion, the movie sometimes resembles a clinical experiment in storytelling. The most potent antidote to this is the miraculous four-sided performance by Gael García Bernal, who plays Zahara as well as Juan-playing-Zahara, Juan-posing-as-Ignacio, and plain old Juan. Bernal not only looks divine in everything from platinum wigs to retro sportswear, he also displays an emotional dexterity to match his frequent Gaultier-designed costume changes. When the film gets in a spin, Bernal is its compass.

Without him, the movie’s symmetry and self-reflexiveness could have squeezed the life out of the material. Moments that provoke a strong connection are likely to be those that have the most clarity and simplicity – Manolo’s hunt for Enrique and Ignacio in the school dormitory, or the subtle editing that articulates Ignacio’s abuse (to the heartbreaking strains of ‘Moon River’), or the fraught poolside scene in which the adult Enrique is silently rebuffed by the man he believes to be Ignacio.

These episodes are marked by a spare visual style, an emancipation from physical clutter, and the characters themselves are on the same quest to strip away unnecessary embellishments. Audiences who find themselves short of breath during parts of Bad Education, as on a climb to high altitudes, will notice a shift in the final section, which peters out quite deliberately, like All about My Mother (1999) and Talk to Her before it. As the truth about the demise of the real Ignacio comes to light, the movie lets out a sigh of resignation; the multi-layered facade that had kept us entertained for nearly two hours is packed away, literally during the scene in which the camera retreats from a movie set as the lights are extinguished one by one. Truth brings its own rewards to the characters, but for Almodóvar it also represents a small death. In the final image, Enrique clutches Ignacio’s last, incomplete letter and slumps against his gate. The eye can’t help but experience a kind of anti-climax as it registers the first plain shot in this whole vibrant movie. Ryan Gilbey, Sight and Sound, June 2004

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/3E9D44FE4F0D104/Pedro_Almodovar_-_%282004%29_Bad_Education.mkv

Language(s):Spanish, Latin
Subtitles:English

Quote:
Curious, seeing this after the smash hits of “Todo Sobre Mi Madre” and “Hable con Ella”, because this movie sort of prepared the viewers to what was coming. Grabbing a solid and original story, Pedro Almodovar creates a movie that revolves around a strange set of characters, and on the process gives an excellent essay on the effect time has on people’s lives. All the actors are top notch, specially the commanding Javier Bardem, who would later become an Oscar nominee with “Before Night Falls”. Great music, cinematography and direction give this movie an even more satisfying look, and make this a well-achieved movie that ends up being the first part of an unofficial trilogy of Almodovar’s best works.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/D4A3C55DE6185FD/Pedro_Almodovar_-_%281997%29_Live_Flesh.mkv

Language(s):Spanish, Italian, Bulgarian
Subtitles:English

PLOT
Welcome to La Residencia, a borderline reform school packed with over-blossoming maidens and presided over by a whacked-out head-mistress played to the hilt by Lili Palmer. It’s true that the murder “mystery” is instantly guessable, but this is a beautifully made gothic chiller with superb performances all around. Also features great cinematography and music. The award-winning script is steeped in classical references and reveals a swirling morass of sexual and political repression. A moody, spooky masterpiece.

Quote:
A lavish Spanish production much more in the style of Henri-Georges Clouzot than, say, Jess Franco, this is a real find, an underrated, virtually forgotten thriller undeserving of the pithy treatment given the picture by Elvira & Co. Though its denouement is a disappointment, it’s a class production all the way though the poor if letterboxed transfer hardly does the film justice.

The picture, released in Spain as La Residencia (“The Residence”), may have been an influence on Dario Argento’s Suspira (1977); both are set at an all-girl academy and Lilli Palmer’s icy headmistress, Mme. Fourneau, is very much like Alida Valli’s similarly austere character in Argento’s picture. Set in late-19th century France, the story mainly follows new girl Theresa (giallo star Cristina Galbo), the daughter of a single-mother cabaret dancer (and/or prostitute), shipped off to the boarding school Fourneau runs with an iron fist.

Theresa adjusts to her new life fairly well all things considered, though sadistic head girl – and coded lesbian – Irene (Mary Maude, whose looks suggest Barbara Steele) plots to humiliate her. Meanwhile, Isabelle (Maribel Martin), in love with Fourneau’s teenage son, Luis (John Moulder-Brown) is brutally murdered, her throat cut, but as her body never turns up it’s assumed that the girl has merely run away. Later, Theresa likewise befriends Peeping Tom Luis after he’s trapped in a boiler room vent trying to get a looksee at the girls taking showers, but soon thereafter plans to run away herself to escape Irene’s brutality.

Directed by Narciso Ibanez Serrador (Who Can Kill a Child?), The House That Screamed surprisingly was condemned in Phil Hardy’s Encyclopedia of Horror Movies as “cynically sexploitative” and “offensively misogynist.” Beyond the irony that Hardy’s book heaps mounds of praise on many of Jess Franco’s inept and far more crassly-made horror-sex films, the reality is The House That Screamed is almost too restrained and tasteful for its own good. It’s certainly nothing like Hardy’s book suggests: though ultimately downbeat the picture is nearly as Victorian as its setting – the girls even take showers demurely clothed in undergarments.

After a slow start, the film builds to some enormously atmospheric set pieces that are genuinely creepy, approaching in the style of Jack Clayton’s The Innocents (1961) and Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963). Key to this are the film’s stunning Franscope cinematography and Waldo de los Rios’s moodily effective score. Manuel Berenguer’s (King of Kings, 1964’s The Thin Red Line) camera backwardly tracks through the school from room-to-room a la Stanley Kubrick, and the superb lighting exemplify the obvious care that went into the production.

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/6E40DC915B1BB5D/La_Residencia_%28reconstruction%29-CG.avi

Language(s):English
Subtitles:None

Synopsis:
Furtivos (Poachers) is a 1975 Spanish film directed by José Luis Borau. It stars Lola Gaos, Ovidi Montllor and Alicia Sánchez. The script was written by Manuel Gutiérrez Aragón and José Luis Borau. The film is a stark drama that portraits an oedipal relationship and its dire consequences. A great critical and commercial success, it won best picture at the San Sebastián International Film Festival in 1975. Furtivos is considered a classic of Spanish cinema.
@wiki

Two excerpts from “Oedipus’s Family in José Luis Borau’s Furtivos and Icíar Bollaín’s Flores de otro mundo” link

“When it comes to the critical analysis of Furtivos [Poachers] (1975) by Spanish director José Luis Borau, it becomes difficult to sep- arate the realms of history, politics, and the symbolic. After a quarrel between the censors and the production company, the film had an eventful release in the San Sebastián Film Festival, less than three months before the death of General Francisco Franco. Spanish film critics Esteve Riambau and Carlos Fernández Heredero called this time “the years of the metaphor” (Riambau “cine” 109), a historical moment in which “the fight against censorship polarizes a great deal of the en-
ergies dedicated to create film in a democratic and politically conscious manner” (Fernández Heredero 741).1 As a consequence, the study of Furtivos has been shaped by analogies between the storyline of the film
and the politics of the time. Thus, the Oedipal relationship between the main characters, Ángel, a poacher, and Martina, his mother, has been interpreted as a straightforward metaphor for the relationship between the Spanish population and the Franco regime. At the time, family was frequently presented as a microcosm of the nation’s own situation. This kind of reading was encouraged by the director himself, who told the critics that he had also drawn inspiration from a female version of the mythological figure of Saturn devouring his children, created by Span- ish filmmaker Luis Buñuel (Fernández Heredero 740; Kinder 234). Furthermore, the presence in the plot of such an authority figure as the loosely named “governor,” with his privileged access to restricted hunt- ing grounds, opened the door to a direct association between what the spectators were watching on the screen and the inequalities that charac-
terized the Franco regime.2”

“The countryside where the action takes place involves sharp criti- cism of both the clichés of the rural in the Francoist discourse and the alleged modernization upon the arrival of democracy. In Furtivos, the environment in which the action occurs is not what such historians as Sebastian Balfour characterize as Franco’s dream of “a peaceful forest” (Evans 117), part of “a mythologized Castilian countryside” (Balfour 266). To the contrary, it is a private hunting ground for those who are entitled to unfair privileges. From the early versions of the screenplay, the governor appears making comical references to how peaceful the
environment is (Borau and Gutiérrez Aragón 39) and also how pure the air is (94).4 As a contrast, the final version of the screenplay has the local guards concerned because Ángel has apparently killed what they
think of as “the Governor’s deer” (242).5”

See also an article on Furtivos in the “Quarterly Review of Film Studies.” The article starts on page 76. link

http://nitroflare.com/view/DFDFD1C9FFD9CAF/Furtivos.mkv

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Quote:
Ostensibly framed as a restoration of a degraded found film recovered some 70 years after the sudden and unexplained death of its creator, a Parisian attorney and amateur filmmaker named Gérard Fleury at a lake in the village of Le Thuit in Normandy, Tren de sombras (Train of Shadows) is a dense, sensual, and richly textured exposition of José Luis Guerín’s recurring preoccupations: the nature and subjectivity of the image-gaze, the permeable borders between truth and fiction, the role of architecture (and landscape) as palimpsest of hidden histories. By placing the discovery of Fleury’s last shot footage of his home and family within the context of the ambiguity surrounding the circumstances of his death after a seemingly innocuous scouting trip early one morning to find suitable lighting conditions to incorporate into his home movie, the found film becomes both a curious artifact of the early days of cinema in its informally staged performances that suggest the whimsical, created illusions of Georges Méliès (in a performance of dancing ties and magic tricks), and also a non-fiction, historical record that can be deconstructed, reconstituted, and re-analyzed to glean further information into the real-life mystery.

The dual nature of film is similarly suggested in the multilayered transitional shot between Fleury’s footage from 1930 and modern day Le Thuit – the image of a caretaker sweeping leaves at a sidewalk corner overlooking a cemetery as schoolchildren cross at the intersection, a folding billboard advertising a cinémathèque program featuring pioneering filmmakers propped against a lamppost on the edge of the frame – visually repeating interchangeable themes of decay (fallen leaves, graveyard, film nitrate) and renewal (children, film revival, the act of sweeping). Interweaving depopulated, still-life compositions that alternately show ethereal images (casted shadows, lake mist, clouds, rays of light poking through occlusions, reflections on mirrors and windows) and physical objects (landscape, architecture, framed photographs, clocks, period furniture, camera equipment), Guerín further expounds on the idea of film as a medium of materiality and immateriality, where filmmaking itself becomes an act of creation (in capturing images that do not physically exist), destruction (in the chemical degradation of the medium), and transformation (in the projection of material into light). Moreover, by introducing sequences that overtly demonstrate the image manipulation of Fleury’s unfinished film (with the apparent motive of finding hidden clues to the mysterious death) – splicing damaged footage, matching cuts that illustrate parallel gestures and expressions, freeze frames and zooms that provide detailed observation – Guerín not only reflects on filmmaking as a godlike process of suspension and reanimation, but also on the inherent responsibilities (and limitations) that it enables in creating permutations of the story, where truth is arbitrarily defined by editing, and the idea of closure to a story is negated by the competing idea that the same film can be rewound, reconfigured, and re-edited into a plurality of equally valid, alternate endings. It is this open-endedness that is reflected in the film’s long take, closing shot of a dead-end street intersection in Fleury (a recurring aesthetic that also surfaces in Guerín’s En Construcción and In the City of Sylvia), where people momentarily pass into and out of frame – each passerby representing another open story, each passage, a corridor leading to new, alternate angles of perspective and (re)discovery.

http://nitroflare.com/view/FF373415092E288/Jose_Luis_Guerin_-_%281997%29_Train_of_Shadows.mkv

Language(s):Spanish, French
Subtitles:Spanish, English, Russian

After his classes, a teacher is questioned by his wife, who mistrusted the academic project is plotting her husband. The teacher’s intention is to create a “school of the Muses” inspired by the classic references, that should be used to regenerate the world through engagement with poetry. The controversial order triggered a round of scenes around the word and desire.

Quote:
Spanish director José Luis Guerín is best known in the States for his pseudo-fictional love letter to women-watching In the City of Sylvia,” begins Daniel Kasman in the Notebook, “but in fact is a prolific documentary filmmaker and has brought with him to Locarno the lovely and elegant pseudo-documentary L’Accademia delle Muse [The Academy of Muses]. Playful and clever as ever, Guerín has collaborated with Professor Raffaele Pinto and several actresses, perhaps students, to stage a false course in philology. The class, populated almost entirely by women, discusses the nature, influence and meaning of muses in poetry, and what starts as seemingly a documentary on this classroom, its teacher and a few select students, subtly evolves into a drama of words and unseen actions

http://nitroflare.com/view/36F085C57A794CD/La_academia_de_las_musas_%282015%29.mkv

Language(s):Spanish, Catalan, Italian
Subtitles:Hardcoded English

Synopsis

INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS
Greenland, 1909. Josephine Peary is a mature, proud, determined and naive woman, in love with celebrated Arctic adventurer Robert Peary, a man who prefers glory and ice to the comforts of an upper-class home. For him she will face all danger, even risk her own life. Another woman, young but wise, brave and humble – Allaka – is in love with the same man, and expecting his child. The relentless icy landscape both separates and draws these two women together during the long, tense wait for the man they both love in such different ways.

Film review

BERLIN 2015: Isabel Coixet has opened the Berlinale with an ambitious, captivating and beautiful movie that takes place in freezing landscapes and in which Juliette Binoche and Rinko Kikuchi shine

Avalanches are all the rage in modern film. One of them triggers the destruction of a family in the wonderful Force Majeure. Another is rather symbolically in the foreground of the movie with which Catalan director Isabel Coixet has opened the 65th Berlin International Film Festival, a city that’s also frozen during these winter days. Snowy landscapes – the journey to the North Pole – provide the backdrop for this epic odyssey by a woman – French actress Juliette Binoche – and where another, entirely contrasting one – played by Rinko Kikuchi – will come in search of her to change her life forever.

Nobody Wants the Night is the most ambitious movie yet by the director of Elegy. Following her unsuccessful inroad into the fantasy genre, Another Me, Coixet takes on her favourite themes, once again embracing intense heroines in order to offer us a high-voltage show of adventure, beauty and emotion. At times Nobody Wants the Night brings to mind a film by Peter Weir, with its aerial shots of white landscapes and mountains. At others, any one of the characters could be rescued from one of Werner Herzog’s mad adventures. But the distinguished Coixet clearly illustrates like blood sprinkled on the purest of ice: where those two determined, romantic and brave women are, their dreams will progressively fall apart the closer they get to them, opening themselves up to different realities.

To state that Binoche acts marvellously might seem obvious, but her pretty face transforms into her character, Josephine Peary, a high-society North American who, carrying a luggage load worthy of a queen, departs in search of her husband, who is committed to realising his dream: to be the first person to stake a flag in the northernmost point of the planet. It’s the beginning of the 20th century, and Joss loves him so fiercely that she wants to share in his terrifying adventure. However, along the way, she will discover things about him – and about herself – that she never knew.

There’s not much point in saying that Gabriel Byrne, who plays a hardened individualist explorer, is also an excellent actor. However, we can highlight the excellent acting by Rinko Kikuchi, who is once again working with Coixet following Map of the Sound of Tokyo: with a wealth of charm, spontaneity and chemistry with her French co-worker, the Japanese girl breathes life into an Eskimo who’s also waiting for a man. Their initial showdown represents two worlds and two opposing ways of seeing life and of dealing with nature. And, united without expecting or wanting to be, they will fight courageously against that cruel and undesired darkness of the night.

Coixet takes us on her girls’ physical and emotional journey without ever skimping on pain, desperation, tenderness or coolness. While in the scenes with more action her limited expertise in this type of work is evident, in the more intimate moments, Coixet’s talent to deeply move us is on a par with My Life Without Me. That’s why it comes as no surprise that her tenth fiction feature is opening an exclusive competition like the Berlin Festival, and she’s the first Spanish director to do so.

Nobody Wants the Night is a co-production between Spain, France and Bulgaria, with the collaboration of TVE, TV3 and Canal+, and the support of Eurimages and the MEDIA programme. It was filmed – in English, based on a screenplay by Miguel Barros – on location in Norway, and on sets in Bulgaria and Tenerife (where tax rebates are lower than on the peninsula). International sales will be managed by Elle Driver (read news).

http://nitroflare.com/view/315E5902F59489E/NOBODY_WANTS_THE_NIGHT_2015_BLURAY_ISABEL_COIXET.mkv

Language(s):English, Inuktitut
Subtitles:None

Review
“La Vida por Delante” is the second film of Fernan Gomez, one of the most complete Spanish Cinema artists. After his debut in “Manicomio” (1954) as co-director, the turbulent career as a filmmaker Fernan-Gomez has been little appreciated by the public, being more known for his acting career at the orders of other directors.

This has made possible in part, we lose some of the gems that this director has given throughout his career.

It is an interesting film but still far from the levels of talent would reach director years later with works like “El Mundo Sigue” (1963) and “El Extraño Viaje” (1964).

In this nice movie, F.F. Gomez follows the adventures and misadventures of a young newlywed couple (she doctor, he lawyer), in finding that first job that allows them to live together in a “little flat” and serves as a fairly reliable analysis to show the harsh daily life that time.

All this is told with a great sense of humor, with sparkling dialogue and witty, with some hilarious scenes, with emphasis on the wonderful scene of the accident, with supporting actor of luxury Pepe Isbert, which demonstrates his enormous presence and knowing. Therefore F.F. Gomez had a beautiful detail thanking titles credit Isbert for accepting a role as short.

Psagray@IMDB

http://nitroflare.com/view/5E6E96A55ED3F55/La_vida_por_delante_%28F.F._G%C3%B3mez%2C_1958%29_SATRip_VO_RTVE.mkv
http://nitroflare.com/view/379B81C01FF0940/La_vida_por_delante.eng.srt

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Quote:
An inquisitive, cherubic girl named Ana (Ana Torrent) overhears a tender exchange between her father, a military officer named Anselmo (Héctor Alterio) and his mistress, Amelia (Mirta Miller), before the intimate moment gives way to tragedy and confusion, as Anselmo suffers a fatal heart attack. Amelia hurriedly dresses, leaving Anselmo’s body alone in the bedroom for the discovery of others, and exchanges a reluctant glance with Ana before running away to avoid a scandal. Young Ana impassively observes Anselmo’s rigid countenance before recovering a water glass from the bedside table, and methodically washes the item in the kitchen sink. Soon, the past, present, and distant past seemingly fuse into a surreal and reassuring incident as Ana’s dead mother (Geraldine Chaplin) passes through the kitchen and affectionately reminds Ana that it is past her bedtime. Later, a haunted and matured Ana (Geraldine Chaplin) recounts her childhood animosity towards her emotional callous and philandering father, blaming him for causing her late mother’s suffering that inevitably manifested in a slow, consuming illness. With the death of their father, Ana and her sisters, Irene (Conchita Pérez) and Maite, spend the rest of their summer vacation in the family home, entrusted to the care of Aunt Paulina (Mónica Randall), a stern, but well intentioned unmarried woman who discourages discussion about their parents in a mistaken belief that she is sparing the children from the grief of their profound loss. However, Paulina’s attention is preoccupied by her own surfacing romantic relationship, and the children are invariably left alone with their affable, obliging maid, Rosa (Florinda Chico) and their silent, detached grandmother (Josefina Díaz) whose own thoughts are consumed by cherished memories evoked from a collage of old family photographs. With little guidance and supervision, the children create an insular world that reflects the conflict, pain, and uncertainty of the enigmatic and impenetrable adult world around them.

Carlos Saura presents an indelible, serenely hypnotic, and deeply affecting portrait of innocence, death, and grief in Cría Cuervos. The title of the film refers to a Spanish proverb, “Raise ravens, and they will pluck out your eyes”, and alludes to the children’s irrational compulsion for vengeance and self-destruction: Ana’s innate wish for her father’s death; her fascination with a mysterious jar discarded by her mother; the children’s resurrection prayer after playing hide-and-seek; Irene’s kidnapping nightmare. By juxtaposing low angle medium shots that represent the children’s perspective with fluid crane shots that reflect a birdseye point view, Saura visually emphasizes the incongruous union of the children’s naïveté with an ominous sense of instinctive cruelty. Inevitably, the fusion of haunted past and indeterminate present, like the coexistence of innocuous wish and intentional malice, becomes the tragic and unresolved legacy of a lost and misguided childhood.

– Strictly Film School

http://nitroflare.com/view/36F2CE7E7920ABE/Carlos_Saura_-_%281976%29_Cria_Cuervos.mkv

https://filejoker.net/svc8xt8nvr9p/Carlos Saura – (1976) Cria Cuervos.mkv

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Synopsis:
Filmmaker Sergio Oksman hasn’t seen his father Simão for 20 years. On the eve of the World Cup in Brazil, Oksman returns to his birth city of São Paolo, intending to watch the tournament together with his dad just as they used to. On Football follows the two men and the World Cup as they experience it: how they watch the games (at work, in a parking garage or a bar) and their furious attempts to make up for lost time. Things don’t go all that smoothly between Sergio and Simão – actually, they only manage to have a good talk if it’s centered around soccer. They reconstruct their past using matches, players and goals. During the Germany-Portugal game, they watch old home movies, including from Simão’s wedding. With the tightly framed shots and static camera angles, Oksman creates a shadow play in which father and son each play their role. But as firmly as he directs, both his father and reality end up more obstinate than he expected. It results in a touching and abrasive telling of time slipping past, with an old man finally realizing what time it is.

http://nitroflare.com/view/B44F65622781E91/O_Futebol_%28Sergio_Oksman%2C_2015%29.mkv

https://filejoker.net/ytsfddbyelzr/O Futebol (Sergio Oksman, 2015).part1.rar
https://filejoker.net/snpizoilhxwm/O Futebol (Sergio Oksman, 2015).part2.rar
https://filejoker.net/2yhzv9jn0yxh/O Futebol (Sergio Oksman, 2015).part3.rar

Language(s):Portuguese
Subtitles:Hardcoded English

“Part ethnography, part mystic cinematic mirage, this beautiful and evocative portrait of Yé, a remote village on the island of Lanzarote, is a paradoxically opaque work of tactile pleasures. Shot on expired 16mm celluloid, the film makes a virtue of its degraded textures, granting its images of flora and fauna, coastal vistas and mountainous contours, the look of an excavated travelogue, with scratches and imperfections resonating on the soundtrack as ambient accompaniment to the vast topographical phenomena peering through the fog-shrouded atmosphere. Meanwhile, audio recordings made in the late-sixties by the ethnographer Luis Diego Cuscoy act as ominous narration, the voices relating stories of witchcraft and the occult that, over centuries, have taken on local legend. With an acute eye and ear for natural detail and speculative history, directors Samuel M. Delgado and Helena Girón have constructed both an oral diary and an archaeological account of a far-off land, all the more vivid for never quite coming into focus.” — Jordan Cronk, Fandor

http://nitroflare.com/view/D37A523C1F5F37A/SIN_DIOS_NI_SANTA_MARI%CC%81A_%28Samuel_Marti%CC%81n_Delgado%2C_Helena_Giro%CC%81n%2C_2015%29.mkv

https://filejoker.net/ync98qcfmoim/SIN DIOS NI SANTA MARIМЃA (Samuel MartiМЃn Delgado, Helena GiroМЃn, 2015).mkv

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English (harcoded)

Review Summary
Jose Luis Lopez Vasquez stars as a millionaire industrialist who is involved in an auto accident. When he comes to, Vasquez has completely forgotten who he is and how much money he has. His greedy relatives would love to put Vasquez away and claim his fortune. But there’s a fly in the ointment: the money is in a secret Swiss bank account, and the only one who knows (or who knew) the account number is the amnesiac Vasquez. Those familiar with the work of Spanish director Carlos Saura know for darn sure that he’s not about to go the expected route with this surefire material: Garden of Delights, is just that, a bountiful garden of the surreal, the symbolic, the illusory, and at times the hilarious. ~ Hal Erickson, All Movie Guide

http://nitroflare.com/view/542D6E8D164841A/El_Jardin_de_las_delicias_%281970%29.avi
http://nitroflare.com/view/C530CA64561DEA2/El_Jardin_de_las_delicias_%281970%29.srt

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English (forum link)

Quote:
Julieta (Emma Suarez) is a middle-aged woman living in Madrid with her boyfriend Lorenzo. Both are going to move to Portugal when she casually runs into Bea, former best friend of her daughter Antia, who reveals that this one is living in Switzerland married and with three children. With the heart broken after 12 years of total absence of her daughter, Julieta cancels the journey to Portugal and she moves to her former building, in the hope that Antia someday communicates with her sending a letter. Alone with her thoughts, Julieta starts to write her memories to confront the pain of the events happened when she was a teenager (Adriana Ugarte) and met Xoan, a Galician fisherman. Falling in love with him, Julieta divides her time between the family, the job and the education of Antia until a fatal accident changes their lives. Slowly decaying in a depression, Julieta is helped by Antia and Bea, but one day Antia goes missing suddenly after a vacation with no clues about where to find …

http://nitroflare.com/view/ED52AB63F2670DE/Pedro_Almodovar_-_%282016%29_Julieta.mkv

Eng srt:
https://subscene.com/subtitles/julieta/english/1392761

Language(s):Spanish
Subtitles:English

Several biographical facts: Oleg Nikolayevich Karavaychuk (1927) played the piano for Stalin as a child prodigy, attended the Leningrad Conservatory and in the course of his career primarily wrote music for theatre and film – for instance, for Paradjanov and Muratova. In Russia, he is admired for his music and his playing, but also for his unique and eccentric personality. At the age of 89, Karavaychuk is still a controversial and puzzling figure in Russian culture. Who is this man, who looks as if he stepped out of a story by Gogol?
The beautiful film that the young Andrés Duque made about him is a gift to the viewer, a gift from an old artist who wants to be reconciled with the world and who transports us away from reality with words, gestures and piano playing, free of social conventions, to a world where clashing dissonants have a liberating beauty. – IFFR

The legendary Oleg Nikolaevitch Karavaychuk is the mysterious and moving subject of this loving film by the young director Duque. He was moved by the music the pianist composed for a film by Kira Muratova and is the first foreigner to win the trust of the eccentric and still active 89-year-old Russian.

Quote:
Andres Duque’s portrait of an unorthodox St. Petersburg musician bowed at the Dutch festival before taking top honors at Pamplona.
A mysterious maestro belatedly re-enters the spotlight in Oleg and the Rare Arts (Oleg y las raras artas), Andres Duque’s adoring homage to oddball octogenarian Oleg Karavaychuk. A Faberge miniature of a picture at just 66 minutes, this peek into the ethereal realm of the effortlessly engaging pianist/composer took top honors at Pamplona’s prestigious Punto de Vista documentary showcase days after premiering to warm reactions at Rotterdam. An exotically high-toned sort of crowd-pleaser from a writer-director previously best known for more challengingly experimental fare, it should find no shortage of further festival exposure and the scherzo running-time is ideal for small-screen play.

Oleg and the Rare Arts quickly emerged from left-field as a genuine “buzz” title at Rotterdam, generating considerable interest among programmers, journalists and critics in attendance. But it also scored highly among the pubic in the Audience Award voting, landing a very respectable 26th place in a 178-strong field — narrowly ahead of Laurie Anderson’s similarly quirky non-fictioner Heart of a Dog. It looks sure to extend the renown of Venezuela-born, Barcelona-educated Duque, previously of mainly coterie interest among cinephiles who lapped up his diaristic musings in Color Runaway Dog (2011) and Dress Rehearsals For Utopia (2012).

Duque — who profiled maverick Basque director Ivan Zulueta in 2004’s 52-minute Ivan Z — adopts a relatively conventional mode. In a productive break from his usual m.o., he’s handed key creative duties to others this time around, with Carmen Torres handling cinematography and Felix Duque the editing. Torres’ lushly high-contrast images, full of vibrant color and deep shadow, provide a suitably heightened if unfussy portal into Oleg’s world — a zone of what is clearly one astronomically refined sensibility.

The 88-year-old is first seen in an opulent corridor of the Hermitage museum in St. Petersburg, decked out in his trademark maroon beret — out from under which a luxuriant thatch of long brown hair (real?) cascades. A small, stick-thin, sharp-featured, baggy-jumpered figure of indeterminate gender — his quiveringly high-pitched voice provides little clue — Oleg advances towards the tripod-fixed camera delivering a trilling rumination in Russian on the state of things (“people have lost their soul”). Tiresias-like, he urges us to “contemplate the horizon of history,” coming across in the manner of an emissary from a Samuel Beckett play, an impossibly distant epoch — or even, perhaps, another planet.

Many would be quite happy to listen to Karavaychuk’s erudite, bygone idiosyncrasies for hours. But in further episodes he gets to show off his virtuoso and disconcertingly experimental piano skills — including a stint on Czar Nicholas’s elaborately gilded instrument, no less. Famous for performing with a pillow-case on his head, and/or in a near-horizontal reclining position, Karavaychuk has always been as much theorist and innovator as composer/interpreter/performer.

And Duque — who’s plainly besotted with his bizarrely charismatic protagonist — allows him plentiful time to expound his philosophies of consonance and dissonance, among other more esoteric topics. Natural fibers are the key to a long life, confides this beguilingly gentle chap who’s endearingly happy to contemplate his own genius — “my melodies are uncomfortable but they’re brilliant” — and who is unwavering in his cultivation of of “my divine style, my divine rhythm.”
A welcome open-air sojourn is provided during a mid-section that takes us to the atmospherically woodsy settlement of Komarovo, where Stalin provided free dachas to state-approved artists — Karavaychuk, a magnificently shameless name-dropper, used to have the illustrious likes of Tarkovsky, Akhmatova and Shostakovich as neighbors. Karavaychuk’s gratitude to the murderous dictator, for whom he performed when only a small child, is undimmed by the passing of time. He refers wistfully to “the wisdom of the Great Leader” and evidently has no difficulty in being simultaneously Stalinist and snobbishly imperialist/royalist — though he’s scornfully dismissive of Vladimir Putin and his philistine circle.
Such intriguing avenues of thought are left unexplored by director/acolyte Duque, who adopts a very low-key approach here — though by no means a fly-on-the-wall one, as the practicalities of the filming process are blithely and amusingly addressed by Karavaychuk on numerous occasions. He’s no stranger to such practices, of course, having previously appeared in a handful of features between 1961 and 1970, and boasting more than 60 composing screen-credits to his name — most notably collaborations with his fellow Ukrainian, the revered director Kira Muratova.

The IMDb actually lists him as composer on Kote Mikaberidze’s My Grandmother from 1929, when he was barely two years old — presumably a cataloguing gaffe of some kind. Then again, given Karavaychuk’s extreme precocity and prodigiousness, alternative explanations can’t be entirely ruled out. – by Neil Young, The Hollywood Reporter

… to the memory of the great Russian composer and musician Oleg Nikolaevitch Karavaychuk (December 28, 1927 – June 13, 2016) dedicated.

http://nitroflare.com/view/6ED38BF86048D50/Oleg_y_las_raras_artes.mkv

Language(s):Spanish, Russian
Subtitles:French

“This is the second Eloy de la Iglesia film I have seen (the first being CANNIBAL MAN) and I found it to be an excellent thriller. Lonely housewife Carmen Sevilla begins to let her imagination get the best of her when she hears a man’s footsteps in the apartment above her late at night. Her upstairs neighbor (Patty Shepard) insists it was her husband who had returned from business, but Sevilla doesn’t believe her and begins to investigate. This is a great film, with lots of nice twists along the way and an incredible dream sequence. The final revelation is one that will have you thinking for hours afterwards. I enjoyed this much more than the straight forward CANNIBAL MAN.”
by udar55 IMDB review

http://nitroflare.com/view/2FD3196A3B47B8B/El_techo_de_cristal.avi

Language(s):English
Subtitles:none