After two of the barracks were destroyed by heavy snow in the first winter, some of the exiles had to live in holes dug in the frozen ground.There were no food deliveries, because the settlement was cut off by the snow, so people had to live from the supplies they had brought from home.In other words, his style feels very much like style, calling attention to itself even as it falls short of the ravishing visual and sensual effect he so evidently intends. Sayombhu Mukdeeprom (who also lensed Apitchatpong Weerasethakul’s stunning-to-behold “Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives,” and less impressively, Miguel Gomes’ muddier-looking “Arabian Nights”), Filomarino wants images that make your heart ache, that trigger intense emotional tremors in places we can’t normally access — the way Guadagnino’s “I Am Love” does.But the result, while loving shot on celluloid, feels stiff, flat and too transparently calculated.Chief among “Antonia’s” limitations is the fact that its leading lady, newcomer Linda Caridi, hasn’t yet developed those qualities that draw an audience in.The sweaters, on the other hand, were supplied by Fendi, a fashion label with an established history of capturing the eye and imagination, so it’s no wonder that the dull, plain-faced Caridi (who looks something like a young Holly Hunter, stripped of her unpredictable energy) is so easily upstaged by her wardrobe.So many of them died from hunger, cold and typhus that they could not all be buried; their bodies were left to freeze in piles until the spring, when they were dumped in the river.
But I hope I'll be able to ignore my curiosity until I marry - however long away that is.
“Antonia Pozzi was an Italian poet.” That terse description, augmented only by the dates of her birth and death (at age 26), is all the English-language Wikipedia entry has to offer on the tragic literary figure whose life inspired Ferdinando Cito Filomarino’s “Antonia.” Though the helmer’s impressionistic debut celebrates the “plainness” of Pozzi’s poetry and the unique “style that doesn’t feel like style” it exhibited, as biopics go, the project offers few additional clues as to her significance — and therein lies the paradox of this elegantly conceptualized but frustratingly de-contextualized film: One really ought to be familiar with Pozzi’s work in order to appreciate this wispy sketch of the years she spent finding her voice and seeking a supportive audience.
Meanwhile, for neophytes, the fashionable but narratively flat pic feels too much like an advert for a line of elegant sweaters, while the model herself remains a mystery.
Other men point out that letters that were supposedly received from women living in different cities were word to word, which raised their suspicions.