#Filmmaking

[umuulandito]

for me, the way i viewed the conversation between the old woman and barbie on the bench is also a matter of confidence.

when you compare the barbies in barbieland and the old woman on the bench, they practically say the same thing ("i'm beautiful") but their confidence and the core and roots behind it is so different.

the barbies in barbieland are confident out of ignorant, they have nothing to not be confident about. they're made of plastic, they have no cellulite, no private parts; it's always perfect in barbieland, so their hair is always perfect, their clothes, their shoes, everything is perfect. there's no bad day, no prejudice, no standards that you can't be part of in barbieland. so when the barbies say "i'm beautiful", they say it because they're ignorant. the core of their confidence is ignorance.

but when the old woman responds to barbie with "i know" to the "you're beautiful" comment, the confidence she has has a completely different core than the barbies. the old woman is the antithesis of everything you should be in barbieland. she's old, she has wrinkles, crow's feet, white hair, no hair. she has all of these qualities that our society will say is not beautiful, is ugly that these are things you avoid with skincare, retinol, botox all these things. the old woman lives in a society where the mass will not view her as beautiful.

and yet she's still confident, she still says "i know" because despite what everyone says, what all the standards are, she knows she's beautiful. thousands of people can disagree and say she's not, it won't matter because she knows she is. the old woman is confident despite knowing.

[heureuxvivant]

Erotica is only our basic instinct coming to the surface!

🏳️‍🌈🇲🇽🇺🇸♓️❤️‍🔥🍑❤️‍🔥🤓✝️✝️✝️🙏🫶🏼🙏🏽🇬🇧🇧🇪🦶🐻🎼🎧🇦🇺♠️🪅 But according to Google,me is wrong.(See below)

From “Cinéastes de notre temps” Robert Bresson, 1965.

[artist-issues]

A friend said to me recently “it must be so hard for you wanting to go deep but then hearing people after a movie discussing it with such shallow takes” and I appreciate her sentiment but WRONG.

Not true!

It comes from the same root of thought that says, “does all that lighting and composition stuff really matter if I didn’t notice it until you pointed it out?”

Listen. If you and me both take a bite of a cookie, and I go, “wow, that’s delicious, the chocolate chips are my favorite part,” And you go, “wow, that’s delicious, I love the way you used dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate chips, and their bitterness is set off by the notes of brown sugar, while the salt cuts the sweetness,”

We both said true things about the cookie’s deliciousness.

We both enjoyed the cookie. It doesn't matter if one of us goes “deeper” than the other explaining it. Because the point of a cookie is to enjoy the cookie. And the point of a story is to feel/think what you’re supposed to feel/think as you experience it. More words, same concept.

A good storyteller’s main concern is not whether you “got the deep stuff,” just like a good chef’s main concern is not whether you “got the ingredients.” A good chef just wants you to love eating it. A good storyteller just wants you to experience the story. Laugh when you’re supposed to laugh, cry when you’re supposed to cry, edge to the end of your seat when you’re supposed to, and walk away really understanding what was said, not praising the choice of words.

So no. I am not sitting around like “aw if only someone would go deep about lilo and stitch.” NO. If you say to me, “lilo and stitch is so good, I loved it!” I’m not gonna go, “that’s nice but can’t you think harder? Give me something deeper?” I’m gonna go, “YEAH it is, it is so good!! You’re right! I’m so glad!”

As long as you’re saying something true about the story, I don’t care how “deep” or “shallow” it is.

[namedvesta]

François Truffaut, L'Histoire d'Adèle H. (𝟣𝟫𝟩𝟧)

[the-technicolor-yawn]

saw a comment on Letterboxd saying that nosferatu is the least homoerotic vampire movie or something

did you forget about orlok ass naked undulating ontop of hutter giving him the hoover vacuum 9000

[reuels]

Poor Things (2023) dir. Yorgos Lanthimos

[aidan-kells]

The Irish Folklore Trilogy ~

[kevinbparry]

Fruit slicing 🍎🍊🍌

Learn from me: https://kevinparry.tv/learn

[dsrptstudios]

Lost movie - lost producer?

I searched my uni's online archive for anything related to the 'Simularcum' movie (unfinished? lost? bootlegs?). Jackpot. This is why it was never properly released.

[archivearts]

I’M STILL HERE (2024) dir. by Walter Salles

[vintage-tigre]

Jonas Mekas

[kattahj]

Here’s the thing (one of the things) with AI slop.

I volunteer for a film festival, where part of my job is watching hundreds of short films and try to find some we could actually show. Many of them are good. (More than we have room for, sadly.) Most of them are bad. Some are very bad. And unfortunately, it’s possible to pour your heart and soul into something and for the end result to still be bad. Stiff acting, muddled storytelling, shoddy camera work, incomprehensible sound mix, and so on. Not to mention the tragicomic effect of directors assuring us that they have a brand new, innovative take on the medium, when you’ve seen three other films just like it in the past week.

But while the task can be tiresome and frustrating, and sometimes I postpone it for days or even weeks, I always try to approach it with respect. Because no matter how terrible the results, someone put a lot of work in, and most of the time they accomplished more than I could, so, you know, kudos for that.

Which is why AI slop annoys the living shit out of me. Coming off a slew of shitty but heartfelt films and being hit with those automated voices and mismatched visuals – how dare you? How dare you make me waste my time watching a film that you couldn’t even be bothered to make? It’s disrespectful to me, to the festival, and above all to those filmmakers who actually found some actors (no matter how bad), or painstakingly did the animation (no matter how ugly) and told their own story (no matter how clunky).

So, yeah. The dudes who send in homemade fetish porn (yup, that happens too) have more of my respect than AI ”filmmakers” do.

[authorddreamz]

More Than Words Left Between Us -Deshon Dreamz

Yes, I'm a writer, but this is my very first fanfic! I just love Annie down and I want to write about HER. What comes with Annie...SMOKE.

This is a Wunmi stan account.

Smoke x Annie #OneShot

Warnings: Child Loss, Smut, Explicits, Adult 18+, Fan Fic, Errors

Annie's shop Scene Modern Day Revision

Smoke returns to visit his daughter and Annie but Annie had a visitor(a man).

If you asked to be tagged, I don't know how 😂😂 I'm new to Tumblr!

This song was on a loop as I wrote this!

WC: 2.6K

More Than Words Left Between Us

Smoke X Annie #Sinners

Warning: Smut, Cursing, mentions of miscarriage

The gravel beneath his tires caused his truck to rock slightly as he slowly pulled onto the property. His heart raced in anticipation and…fear. He'd been beaten by the most undefeated concept to ever exist. Time. He wondered if too much of it had passed, preventing the remedy for his pain from becoming a reality.

He needed her.

She was the only balm he knew.

Fear crippled him as he slowly allowed his truck to come to a rolling stop. His feet felt cemented to the floor of his truck as he took in a calming breath. His hand moved to the handle of the door, stalling as he attempted to mentally go over the words he would say to her.

His lips lacked communication; there was no way they would properly relay the inner dialogue of his heart. The door of the truck felt weighed. He struggled, his body too emotionally fragile to complete the task he carried out with ease multiple times a day. His eyes lifted to the rebuilt structure sitting solo in the middle of the wooded area. Anyone in their right mind would be cautious of the area, staying away. Smoke on the other hand, felt at home.

Chicago had done a number on him, both mentally and physically. The weight in his shoulders caused tension in his back, the crisp air of the night slapped him viciously as he climbed from the truck. His frame felt stoic, robotic even. He moved with the stature of a man pained by years of separation from his love.

On top of the many emotions he felt regarding his love, grief was also an invisible anchor. His body moved on autopilot as he walked over to the small gravesite nestled in the back of the house. He clutched the white daisy’s in his right hand, as he came to a stop.

A small headstone, so prematurely manufactured for his child loss too soon. His heart grew heavier as he kneeled, using his hand to sweep away the dust and leaves that had fallen, obstructing the name of his daughter.

“Papa’s here.” He muttered, tears brimming around his eyes as he continued to silently mourn. “Papa’s here.” He tried again, more determined this time.

He stayed in his squatted position for a moment longer, placing the flowers on top of the tombstone before he stood, exhaling as he did so. His face was set in a stoned expression as he reached into his pocket, looking back at his truck before he hit the lock button.

His hand stilled in the air, brows touching as his eyes landed on a white Hemi truck sitting not too far away from where he parked.

Has that been there? He questioned internally. “The fuck?” He groaned out loud before his feet automatically began marching towards the front of the house. Before he could lift his hand to knock, the door was snatched open.

Just like the first time he laid eyes on her, the beauty she possessed rendered him speechless. His breath caught in his throat as Annie stood before him, looking like something his brain had imagined. Her smooth dark skin glistened under the Mississippi moon as she stepped out of the house, forcing him backwards. Her eyes held onto his for a moment before she spoke.

“What…Smoke?”

He blinked. “Who’s truck is that?”

Her face shifted. Annie struggled with the fact that he was standing in front of her. So long he'd been a figment of her imagination. She felt her heart trip in her chest; refreshed love and old wombs reopening at the sight of him. So many unspoken words between them and he was asking about a truck? “You've been gone seven years and that's your first statement to me??” Her nostrils flared, doe eyes somehow rounded twice their size.

Immediately, he had to acknowledge just how good time had been for her. She was stunning, always stunning. Tall, thicker than day old grits and as fiery as any woman had the right to be. Smoke felt like not a day had passed between them.

She was and still is…his one true love.

Smoke found himself trying to recover. “Well, how ya been?”

Annie crossed her arms over her chest protectively, feeling her defenses slowly be disarmed by his handsome ruggedness. Elijah "Smoke” Moore was the love of her life, the father of her loss child and in so many ways, her reason for being. “I won't complain. Ain't gone help none.” She exhaled slowly. “Are you here alone?”

Smoke nodded. “Yeah! Stack in town handling business.” He answered, giving the whereabouts of his twin brother.

“Well, whatchu come back fo?”

Smoke fidgeted with his hat, instantly feeling unsettled under Annie’s almost telepathic gaze. “Opening up a club close to downtown, wanting you with me tonight.”

“A club.” Annie’s chin dropped. “That sounds like a Stack idea.”

“Just tryna go legit.”

“Y'all couldn't open this club in Chicago? Last I heard y'all were northern men.”

“Nah. We done in Chicago.”

“Chicago done with y'all?”

Smoke squinted. “What you asking?”

“What you running from now, Smoke?”

Smoke was a trained warrior, tested in battle fields that claimed the lives of the strongest of men. Yet, in front of her, he was merely a man. One incapable of getting a lie past her. He knew she would see through any lie he told, so he ignored her question, posing one of his own. “You gone tell me who’s truck that is?”

“That'll be my truck.” A man he wasn't familiar with came from around the side of the house, limbs and twigs from an oversized tree that hung over the side of the house, tucked under his arms. His smile didn't quite reach the level needed to be friendly as he dropped the twigs in a stack with others. Smoke immediately frowned, silently looking between the man and Annie. “It ain't for sale, if that's whatchu askin’.”

“Oh no.” Annie groaned under her breath before stepping down off the porch.

Smoke’s head tilted slightly, eyes hard. “Look like I'm here to buy a truck, mothafucka?”

Annie placed her body in front of Smoke, turning to her company. “Jason, this is Elijah…my ex.”

“Ex?” Smoke repeated, eyes cast down before they shot to her. “Since the fuck when?”

Annie turned to him. “Since you left and decided to stay away.”

Smoke glared at her; his anger not exactly directed at her. “Yeah well, we back now so you can tell ya lil boyfriend he can wrap this shit up. I no longer need a stand in; the original is back.”

“Stand in?” Jason questioned with a low chuckle.

“You heard me.” Smoke muttered, his dark features set in an intense scowl. “I ain't gone say that shit again. Ya times up.”

Jason’s eyes hit Annie, silently asking her what she wanted him to do. “Can I call you later?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed before they went back to Smoke. His eyes remained on Smoke as he answered. “You sure can.”

“What exactly would you be calling him to talk about?" Smoke questioned, his eyes hard on Annie.

“Seems like that’s something we gone discover when that call happens, now doesn’t it.” Jason's smirk grew at the pure rage in Smoke's expression.

Smoke’s patience was nonexistent. He also didn’t take kindly to disrespect.

As Jason continued to smirk at him, Smoke reached behind him, producing a .45 and pointing at Jason who immediately froze in place. Smoke enjoyed the expression of fear covering his face before he lowered the gun, shooting him in his foot.

Jason immediately screamed, falling to the ground. “Mothafucka, you shot me!”

“Next one going between ya eyes.” Smoke groaned, unfazed. “Now get up, go to that ugly ass truck and don’t come back this way no mo.”

“Elijah!” Annie screeched.

Smoke continued to mug Jason as he cried on the ground, holding his foot. “Gone tell him the truth, baby. Let him know you won't be calling.”

“Are you insane?!”

“Tell him!” He urged through clenched teeth. “Go head.”

Annie didn't speak, instead she continued to glare at Smoke before she turned to walk back into the house.

“Act like you know who I am and move accordingly.” Smoke kept his gun trained on Larry who was finally able to get to his feet and began hobbling away. “Come back here and you die.” He lowered the gun, kissing his teeth. He mugged him one last time before following Annie into the house.

Annie was livid. This was a level of audacity only Smoke could have. As she walked deeper into her home, she could feel him following her. She was torn, now she didn't know what she wanted to address first; him being back after leaving her for all those years or him running Jason off when he had no right to do so.

“I've been telling you to let me cut that tree down for years, Annie.” Smoke removed his hat, placing it on the island in her kitchen before he continued through the living room, into her bedroom where she stood, visibly upset. He steps slowed, eyes softening at once at her expression. Pissing her off was the last thing he wanted to do. “Wouldn't have no issue with twigs then.”

“You come in here talking about a tree when you just shot him?”

Smoke looked to the side, eyes low. “Ya boyfriend gone live.”

“The fucking nerve of you.” Annie couldn’t contain her anger; she wanted to hit him.

“About the tree.” Smoke changed the subject, wanting to move on. “How long you been having him come pick up the twigs?”

Annie’s head fell to the side slightly. “You expect me to let them pile up waiting on you?”

“It's folks you can call to have them removed, having some random…”

“He ain't random!” Annie snapped. “He been round here for years.” Her brow lifted stubbornly, ready for whatever verbal tussle Smoke wanted to have. She didn't care. Her pain wouldn't allow her to spare his feelings.

“Years?” His voice was low, dripped in a southern drawl only the Delta of Mississippi could provide. All those years away, and it hadn't faded at all. “Whatcha mean by years?”

“You would know if you were here.” Annie walked around her bed, getting into his face. “Years.” She dragged, emphasizing the s. “Them twigs ain't the only thing he's been tending to neither, Smoke.”

“You fuckin’ him?” Smoke felt like his chest would explode. Fresh heat spread through his body, starting at the soles of his feet. The thought of someone else touching her made him nauseous. “Annie…”

"Why would it matter to you who...I...fuck?" She dragged. "Huh?"

Smoke felt immediate regret for not killing ole boy. "You know he's as good as dead, right?"

"Oh, that's rich." She snapped. "Should I get my blade ready for the trail of bitches I'm sure you left in Chicago?"

Smoke's nostrils flared again. Anger consumed him again. "Annie, did you fuck..."

“Never sex.” She replied, wanting to exaggerate the truth but not wanting to put Jason in any more danger. They'd never been intimate. “The furthest we've gone is a drunk kiss we shared one of the nights I spent crying on his shoulder about you.”

Smoke’s trained expression didn't change, though hearing about her pain made him feel weak. “Look…”

Tears rimmed her eyes as she stepped back from him. The sight made Smoke’s heart skip a beat, his words tripping to an abrupt stop as he looked at her. He stood there, suspended in time like Annie felt she'd been all these years.

“I've spent 7 whole years processing by myself. I've had to grieve our child alone. I've had to grieve the love we shared, not knowing if I would ever feel it again. I've spent every single day praying for you and Stack. Now you right back in front of me, perfectly whole and asking me about a man who could never replace you in my heart.” She shook her head as the first tear slipped. She swiftly wiped it away, disappointed in herself for even allowing it to fall. “You're a fool, Elijah Moore.”

Smoke, never the talker, continued looking at her. “I am a fool.”

Annie looked up at him. “Why are you here?”

Smoke stepped into her, thankful she didn't step back. “I'm man enough to say it.”

“Then say it.” She urged.

Smoke continued to stare down at her, holding her eyes. “I was a coward, Annie. I ran. I left you and I ran to Chicago to avoid the pain of losing our child. I was wrong for leaving you here to deal with that alone. I also shouldn’t make you feel bad about whatever you did to cope.” He stepped closer to her, grabbing her face. “I want you to understand that I know what I did wrong and I’m here because I want to fix it. I…I need to fix it Annie because I love you…and I’ve missed you.”

Annie stood there, unsure of what to say to him. Her heart felt split between defense and dropping all guards to him. Mentally, she was scared of what would happen if she exposed herself to him too soon. So, she allowed her heart and brain time to settle their dispute while her body yielded to him.

She would check back in with her emotions later. Right now, she craved him in a way she never craved another man. She closed the distance between them, looking up at him as his hard eyes remained on her. Without reserve, she reached up to grab the back of his head, pulling his lips to hers. Smoke felt his world rock of it’s axis as his lips touched hers. Years of pain evaporated from him as he reached, grabbing her to pull her into his chest. He groaned as her tongue slipped into his mouth, creating complete silence in his overactive brain. He reached down, grabbing as much of her ass his hands would allow before lifting her into his arms. Annie yelped, scared momentarily that Smoke would drop her. She was a lot more than skin and bones, but that wasn’t something Smoke didn’t know. She exhaled into his mouth as he effortlessly maneuvered her onto the bed, forcing her back. He climbed on top of her, returning his mouth to hers. His eager hands reached for the nightgown she wore, ripping it in his pursuit to get it off her body. Annie’s pants grew wilder as his hands found their way to her breast as they spill from her gown. Smoke moved with the precision of a starving man as he cupped her breast, sending his tongue over her large mahogany nipples. Smoke lifted, removing his vest from his body before going for his shirt. Annie began to assist him, feeling she couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. Once he was down to his slacks, he moved back between her legs, settling between them as his hand reached between her legs. Once he felt her clit, then dipped his fingers lower, he was met with her wetness. He exhaled, feeling overwhelmed by the discovery.

“You get this wet for him, Annie?”

She shook her head, feeling anxious. “No.”

Smoke continued to slide his fingers over her clit, making her wetter before he removed his fingers from her, slipping them into his mouth. Annie watched through hooded eyes as he licked each finger slowly. When he was done, he kissed her again, grabbing his dick to place it at her entrance. Slowly, he returned home. Smoke was flooded with instant pleasure as Annie gripped his arms, keeping him close to her. He lifted her legs, pushing them back as he went deeper into her, wanting to relay every word his mouth failed to speak. She was his. Forever and always. No amount of time or space would ever change that. Annie felt consumed with raw pleasure only Smoke could summon within her. The feel of his dick stretching her was the most beautiful mixture of pleasure and pain and she accepted him. As flawed and tormented as he was, she accepted him.

The End.

Thank you for reading!

[machetelanding]

[reuels]

Nobody Wants This, Episode 4 (2024) created by Erin Foster