Willem Dafoe

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Fish-eyed, piss-European trip that´s mind-veneering even for the hardest of avant-garde-st getting bagged up drowned in the funny tasting river.

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Picture-pitch perfect except for the sound of farts offensively trapping a scattered
plot inside of a frame that hits one square between the eyes.

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Balancing historically accurate brutality and well-rounded storytelling, this feast pushes its narrative of avenging men and succumbing women right into viewer‘s eyes and guts.

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Dystopian human-world drama with a very unique but realistic setting.

Damocles’ sword, who’s right and wrong, hangs above people’s heads and on their throats.

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If William Dafoe needed an acting diploma this should be his master thesis to share with Keaton´s Beetlejuice (1988) and Gibson´s The Singing Detective (2003.)

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Oliver Stone’s first installment of his venerably veritable Vietnam War film trilogy, starting with his own experience as a volunteer coming from a privileged background.

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Rare, inextinguishable desert eagle of directorial dedication and infinitesimal-involvement that relays on meditation to sink within and come out ultimately with practical plastic art.

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This theatric complex caleidoscope is a testament of extraordinary camera work.
And through charming humor, masterful acting and a monumental cast it gets better every time.

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The horrors of a corrosive fantasy that Highly Defines the ugliest sides of an already hideous humanity dead set on giving bliss a dead end.

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