The Color Purple

By now, you shouldn’t even check your watch or wallet or anything, it always will be a Spielberg classic.

Spielberg is a kind of filmmaker you can invest on for a longer period. And I don’t just mean it because he makes these long films. But because he can blend into any genre instantly. And it is not that he just qualifies for that project. He excels it. His durability is a dangerous skill that he carries so effortlessly. And usually the director Steven Spielberg is famous for working with props. And I was looking forward to this drama. And see how he binds this thick script with various personified objects. But there isn’t any. This disappointment is the best thing that happened to me. And to even the film.

This is not your Spielberg film anymore. I think this is more Sergio Leone-isc. The faces are captured. Well, to be precise the emotions are captured. Call it a tensed phase of the film where you see a sweating face or call it an engaging phase where the eyes turn red and insults empower the rage or my personal favourite, a face whispering a peace sign when it was supposed to scream war. These close up shots is what’s decided by the director and is then, these decisions that sweetens the bitter pill.

For no one is more present then Spielberg, himself on the set. He makes sure that you are there for that action. No matter how mundane an activity is. No matter if it is just shaving. The Color Purple isn’t painted bright by that intense background score or the sheer hatred that ignites the friction between two characters, it is those kids mimicking the actual activity, the shaving, with a leaf as their replica. Something so innocent, scientific and magical can only be present in Spielberg’s house. You better warm up, you have to stay for decades here.

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