There are lots of tell tale signs when one has an infection that can exacerbate to sepsis.
Tachycardia, hyperthermia, hypertension, increased respirations, and of course, increased confusion. To say that Under Milk Wood cause at least two of these symptoms isn't an understatement, from my point of view, it's a matter of fact.
Imagine one of the later, more smuttier Carry on movies, and those saucy postcards you find at the seaside. Give them Ken Russell to think about for about a year, and what you have is Allen's cinematic interpretation of Thomas' art.
Now I'm not too familiar with the poets work, nor do I claim to be the most cultured man alive (although I used to tape The South Bank Show), but I love the medium of cinema, and what Allen has put on the screen, stimulates visually.
It's as if he's been subjected to the source material in A Clockwork Orange type way, and these are his subliminal thoughts of the source, poured on to the screen like the milk being poured into the stream.
But it's an aural ordeal in some respects, the staggering amount of characters who appear to have been infected by other characters personalities and traits is pretty astounding.
But when you boil it down to the nitty gritty of it all, it's all about having a bit of Rumpy Pumpy. Longing for days of old, and wanting to touch the untouchable, and it gets saucier and saucier as the film goes on. Some scenes even appear to have the spirit of Kenny Everett mess about with the mise en scene.
So forgive me if I sound ignorant to the source, but as a film, it's pretty messy.
Beautiful to look at, sometimes hilarious, sometimes down right scary, but it left me a little empty.
Under the influence of some sort of chemical though,this could probably be the greatest piece of cinema ever made..........
Tachycardia, hyperthermia, hypertension, increased respirations, and of course, increased confusion. To say that Under Milk Wood cause at least two of these symptoms isn't an understatement, from my point of view, it's a matter of fact.
Imagine one of the later, more smuttier Carry on movies, and those saucy postcards you find at the seaside. Give them Ken Russell to think about for about a year, and what you have is Allen's cinematic interpretation of Thomas' art.
Now I'm not too familiar with the poets work, nor do I claim to be the most cultured man alive (although I used to tape The South Bank Show), but I love the medium of cinema, and what Allen has put on the screen, stimulates visually.
It's as if he's been subjected to the source material in A Clockwork Orange type way, and these are his subliminal thoughts of the source, poured on to the screen like the milk being poured into the stream.
But it's an aural ordeal in some respects, the staggering amount of characters who appear to have been infected by other characters personalities and traits is pretty astounding.
But when you boil it down to the nitty gritty of it all, it's all about having a bit of Rumpy Pumpy. Longing for days of old, and wanting to touch the untouchable, and it gets saucier and saucier as the film goes on. Some scenes even appear to have the spirit of Kenny Everett mess about with the mise en scene.
So forgive me if I sound ignorant to the source, but as a film, it's pretty messy.
Beautiful to look at, sometimes hilarious, sometimes down right scary, but it left me a little empty.
Under the influence of some sort of chemical though,this could probably be the greatest piece of cinema ever made..........