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Stewart 2022-01-27 08:23:24
It's just pure afterthought (I don't know why there are so many words)
What kind of bloody love triangle is this? The heroine was sold twice, I really feel distressed... She should not be very happy after marriage, look at the clothes she wore when she came home at the end of the film... Then she seems to have gone to work in the factory? (Actually I don't think the...
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Luigi 2022-01-27 08:23:24
Bright Young Things movie review
Stephen Fry is indeed a Cambridge graduate who grew up listening to Wagner, and his taste in picking films is so different from ordinary people.
The movie "Glorious Years" is adapted from the novel "The Evil Body" published in the 1930s by British satirical and humorist Evelyn Waugh. Studying in...
Rachel Ann Courtney
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Anais 2022-04-22 07:01:53
It's pretty good to get four stars, hehe (¬..¬) Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Club!
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Trevion 2022-04-24 07:01:24
"You have to be glad that you have nothing to do with this society, its charm is an illusion, its prosperity is a trap, its music is screaming out of fear, they spin faster and faster, and each time they turn, let themselves Disgusting. The more I see them spinning, the more disgusting and ashamed I get."
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Simon Balcairn: [Telling his fake news story] Never, never, never have such scenes been witnessed in high society, that uneasy alliance between Bright Young Things and old survivors. Perhaps this was the defining moment of our epoch of speed and syncopation. This so-called 20th century of angst, neurosis and panic. Reader be glad that you have nothing to do with this world. Its glamour is a delusion, its speed a snare, its music a scream of fear. Faster and faster they swirl, sickening themselves with every turn. The faster the ride, the greater the nausea, the terror, and the shame.
[pause]
Simon Balcairn: Stop. Yes, that's it. Good night.
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Adam Fenwick-Symes: Oh Nina, what a lot of parties... Masked parties, Savage parties, Victorian parties, Greek parties, Wild West parties, Circus parties, parties where you have to dress as somebody else, almost naked parties in St. John's Wood, parties in flats and studios and houses and ships and hotels and nightclubs, in swimming baths and windmills. Dances in London so dull. Comic dances in Scotland and disgusting dances in the suburbs. All that succession and repetition of massed humanity. All those vile bodies. And now a party in a mental hospital...
