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Ari Aster Ari Aster Actor: Florence Pugh Dani (Florence Pugh) and Christian (Jack Reynor) are a young American couple with a relationship on the brink of falling apart. But after a family tragedy keeps them together, a grieving Dani invites herself to join Christian and his friends on a trip to a once-in-a-lifetime midsummer festival in a remote Swedish village. What begins as a carefree summer holiday in a land of eternal sunlight takes a sinister turn when the insular villagers invite their guests to partake in festivities that render the pastoral paradise increasingly unnerving and viscerally disturbing 2019 ⌘ ✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫ ⌘ DOWNLOAD ⌘ zdf-de-mediathek.com/? ⌘ ⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰   With his latest film, and last year’s “Hereditary, ” the writer and director talks about why he has (so far) kept things grim onscreen. Credit... Andrew White for The New York Times Shocking family tragedies? Rituals, cults and conflagrations? Characters losing their heads (in more ways than one)? You might be watching an Ari Aster film. The writer and director has made only two features, but he is creating a name for himself as a new genre auteur — first with the harsh, 2018 domestic horror film “Hereditary, ” and now with the sun-drenched, maypole-circling folk horror entry “Midsommar. ” Both are emotional powder kegs, containing bleak moments that are difficult to erase from memory. Aster’s new movie stars Florence Pugh as Dani, a young woman who has suffered a family tragedy and seeks comfort from her already-checked-out boyfriend, Christian (Jack Reynor). They go on a trip with friends to a remote Swedish village called Harga to celebrate a purification ritual that happens only once every 90 years. A journey that begins as a time to heal progressively turns into a time in hell. In contrast to the heartache his characters experience, the filmmaker was in good spirits during a recent interview at The New York Times. He spoke about what pulls him toward his films’ specific subject matter, the amount of research that went into “Midsommar” and how the film ultimately avoided an NC-17 rating. Below are edited excerpts from that conversation. Your first two movies involve horrible things that happen to families. Why have you been drawn to that? My family has definitely undergone a lot of hardship. And when I was writing this script and “Hereditary, ” I was certainly working through feelings. But that family was in no way a surrogate of my own. Ultimately, I find that I am often writing my way through some sort of personal crisis, which can be very therapeutic. Video transcript transcript ‘Midsommar’ | Anatomy of a Scene The writer and director Ari Aster narrates a sequence from his film, featuring Florence Pugh. “My name is Ari Aster, and I am the writer and director of “Midsommar. ” This scene directly succeeds a scene in which our protagonist, Dani, played by Florence Pugh, is pressured into taking mushrooms. She recently suffered a very, very serious loss and is probably not in the best place to take psychotropic drugs. ” “Can you feel that, the energy coming up from the earth? ” “A big challenge that we took on in this film was putting the spectator into the experience of somebody going through a mushroom trip. This is the first scene that kind of introduces psychedelic elements in the film that will be more prevalent later on. ” “Look, the trees too, they’re breathing. ” “There’s a lot of sound design work here that’s also helping bring us into her subjectivity. When she looks up at the tree, we notice that the tree now seems to be bending and warping, that the texture seems to be moving. As I was working with the visual-effects artists on these shots, we managed to experiment a lot and find what was too much and what was not enough. ” “You guys are like my family. ” “I would say that some of these shots we had 80 versions of. And then when she stands up, Dani is thrown instantly into a bad trip. ” “I’m going to go for a walk. ” “And from here we kind of enter this negative vortex — “ “No, no, no, no. Don’t think that. You’re fine. It’s almost your birthday. ” “ — where we start playing with facial warping, warping expressions. This effect was especially difficult to accomplish, and so a big part of my job and the job of my editorial team was actually to be merciless in the way we watched these effects as they came in — “They were laughing at me. ” “ — to see if there were any effects in the background that jumped too suddenly or where the effect feels especially digital. ” “You want to come meet my friends? ” “Thank you, I’m — “ “The tripping effect for the background is more pronounced at the very end of the shot than anywhere else in the film. So the disorientation that the viewer might feel at this moment is more extreme than they will feel again. ” The writer and director Ari Aster narrates a sequence from his film, featuring Florence Pugh. Credit Credit... Gabor Kotschy/A24 You have called “Midsommar” a breakup movie, although this one has a bit more brutality and sacrifice than, say, “The Way We Were. ” I’m a big lover of melodrama. And one tradition of melodrama is having the scope of a story match whatever the characters are feeling. So I wanted to make a breakup movie that felt as big as breakups tend to feel, which is cataclysmic, because a big part of your world is now gone. So I wanted to make this big operatic, apocalyptic breakup film. Ritualistic gatherings and cult behavior are also factors in both of your films. Where did that interest come from? I’ve written a lot of screenplays, like 11 films. But I wrote these two scripts pretty close to each other, about five years ago. So I guess I was mining the same territory without realizing it. Both films are about tribalism. And it’s hard to imagine making some meta statement about families without thinking about people as tribal animals. And a cult, whether or not that’s what we’re dealing with in “Midsommar, ” is a pretty strong metaphor for that. Image Credit... Gabor Kotschy/A24 Have you been to the actual Midsummer celebration in Sweden? I went out to celebrate Midsummer when I was writing the script. It’s a pretty harmless tradition. There is a maypole, which the Swedes like to joke about as a phallic symbol, because it is. It does have pagan ties. You seem to lean into that part in your film. I did a lot of research into Swedish tradition, Swedish folklore, Norse mythology. I learned the runic alphabet. Every rune has a different meaning. There are stable runes and unstable runes, negative runes and positive runes. And those are used accordingly in the film. But my research wasn’t just native to Sweden. I looked at British and German Midsummer traditions. I turned to Frazer’s “The Golden Bough, ” which is a treasure trove of insights into pre-Christian traditions. And I did research into other spiritual movements that I find very beautiful, as opposed to ones that I’m skeptical about. Csaba Aknay/A24 Why so many influences? I was pulling from all these because I didn’t want the people of Harga to be easily dismissed as lawless, mustache-twirling villains. I wanted them to be tethered to something real. And ultimately these people are much more connected to each other and the world they live in than the visitors, who find themselves ensnared. This is primarily being billed as a horror movie, even if you have other things on your mind. Did your producers give you expectations on the amount of horror there should be? I was very lucky in that I was given a lot of freedom and was able to do it my way. I know the genre well, and I know what the expectations are. If you’re going to make a film like this, there is this unspoken contract between the audience and the filmmaker that you have to hit certain beats if the film is going to be satisfying at all. So for me, it wasn’t a matter of subverting the genre, but rather treating these things as a given, and then finding a way to get from A to B. Did you want to go further with any scenes than you were ultimately allowed to? The sex scene [that includes full-frontal nudity in a group setting] was actually longer. And we had an NC-17 for about a month and a half. There was a long back-and-forth with the M. P. A. where they told us to keep cutting. Then we would send them a new cut. They’d say, keep cutting, it’s still NC-17. They didn’t tell you what they wanted cut? They’re specific about what their problem is but not about how to fix it. It’s really just an argument. But we got the R rating recently and that was a relief. I had never directed a sex scene before, so this was quite the way to jump in the pool. One scene has the lead character wailing and the women of Harga surrounding her, mimicking her actions and crying along with her. How did you land on that? These people speak a language of empathy, which is something that is missing in Dani’s life. There are several scenes that could be read as just horrific. Or they could also be read as therapeutic for the character, where she is encouraged to face the unfaceable. The characters sleep in a giant room with runic drawings everywhere. Where did that idea come from? As I was gathering research with my production designer, Henrik Svensson, we went up to northern Sweden and to different farms that had houses that were centuries old. In a lot of these houses, every room is covered in paintings and murals. We based the aesthetic of the paintings on those. But the drawings in the movie often connect to plot points. I really just love layering my films with prophetic details that I hope encourage more active engagement on the part of the viewer. I like to put my exposition on the walls, as opposed to in characters’ mouths. Ari Aster is a writer and director of cult movies—his two features, “ Hereditary, ” from 2018, and “Midsommar, ” which opened last week, are both grotesque and gory dramas about cults. “Hereditary” showed a family’s destruction by an ancient curse, which turned a young suburban man into a mystical cult’s unwilling king. “Midsommar” is the story of a group of American graduate students who are invited, or lured, by a Swedish friend to a remote summer festival, which turns out to involve a series of ritual murders. Both films are built backwards—their elaborate setups are designed to generate particular images of horror. Their psychology is flimsy, their characters undeveloped beyond a small set of traits that lead, inevitably, to the films’ results. Aster lines up details that don’t merely invite reconciliation but provide virtually the entire dramatic experience. There’s a political tinge to those details, which presents an illusion of substance and a veneer of social conscience. In “Hereditary, ” it’s a literal perpetuation of patriarchy; in “Midsommar, ” it’s the fecklessness of a shitty boyfriend. But, in both movies, the imagery that gives them their emotional impact takes precedence over any dramatic considerations. In “Hereditary, ” the less-ambitious film, the results are merely ludicrous; in the grander and more visionary “Midsommar, ” they’re regressive, the product of a filmmaker who’s so busy looking at his images that he doesn’t see what he’s doing. “Midsommar” begins with a tragedy. The protagonist, Dani (Florence Pugh), a psychology student, discovers a terrifying e-mail from her sister, Terri (Klaudia Csányi), who is bipolar. Home alone, Dani seeks the consolation of her boyfriend, Christian (Jack Reynor), a graduate student in anthropology, who’s hanging out with his male friends. After he grudgingly agrees to see her that night, Dani learns that Terri has killed her parents and herself. Several months later, Christian is preparing to take a trip to Sweden in the company of his fellow anthropology students, the earnest Josh (William Jackson Harper) and the frivolous Mark (Will Poulter), at the invitation of yet another classmate, Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren). It’s supposed to be a guys’ trip, spiced with the fantasy of Swedish women awaiting them, and Christian has been keeping it a secret until soon before the departure date. Nonetheless, he again grudgingly invites the grieving Dani to come along, and, to his and his friends’ dismay, she accepts. The exposition, setting up the premise for the trip, is both lugubriously long and trivializingly brief. The entire drama depends upon the relationship between Dani and Christian, but, in lieu of developing it, Aster drops details onscreen like index cards. Dani wonders, on the phone to a friend, whether she has been burdening Christian with her troubles. In a bar, Christian’s friends echo back at him that Dani is depending on him and “doesn’t like sex. ” But little of their relationship is actually shown. Aster reduces the film’s central dynamic to something even less thoughtful than stereotype or cliché—he renders it as assumptions, as offscreen events that suffice to be filled in by viewers. He does the same with Terri’s agonies and Dani’s grief; he uses the theme of mental illness and constructs the thin and bare texture of Dani’s life not to consider her experience but to enable his plot. Orphaned and seemingly completely isolated, with no friends or other relatives, Dani is both tethered solely to Christian and vulnerable to the wiles of a surrogate family, however malevolent. By the time the group gets to Sweden, the movie, only a few minutes old, is virtually over: it’s built on such a void of insight and experience, such a void of character and relationships, that even the first level of the house of narrative cards can’t stand. Not long after they arrive at the isolated grounds of the festival, it becomes clear to them that they’ve been lured into a sort of cult. The residents wear floral white robes and practice traditional arts and crafts, and they welcome their visitors with a cheerful round of hallucinogenic mushrooms. But the rigid order of their society quickly appears coercive and soon turns deadly, with the enforced ritual suicide of two elderly people. As the action proceeds, the film devolves into a sort of pseudo-anthropological version of “And Then There Were None, ” as the visitors become, successively, victims of ever more horrific, ritually mandated killings. The scheme of “Midsommar” revolves around its characters’ field of study, anthropology: the organization of society, the nature of culture. One of the crucial pretexts for the graduate students’ trip to the festival is that Josh is writing his thesis on summer-festival rituals across cultures and hopes to include this one in his research. What’s more, after his first experiences at the festival, Christian, who’s floundering in his field and unsure about his thesis topic, decides to make it his subject of study, as well, creating a rift between the two friends that further isolates both and renders them ever more vulnerable to the cult’s clutches. The trip’s anthropological basis, and the theoretical premise enfolding the elaborately imagined festival, suggests an admirably bold ambition on the part of Aster—a severe test of artistry akin to the grand design of Jordan Peele, who, in his second feature, “ Us, ” embraced a similarly vast view of social order symbolically, and that of Jim Jarmusch in his political zombie movie “ The Dead Don’t Die. ” Yet the world-building of “Midsommar” remains at the level of information-dosing; Aster doesn’t imagine the story in relation to modern experience—there isn’t even the power of Google, with which his characters could put the rustic retreat of horror into context (or wonder at the lack of it). By binding his characters to the needs of the plot, Aster reduces the film’s grand purview to a petty grumble and, in the process, he uses the anthropological framework—likely unintentionally—as the basis for a smug and narrow-minded pathologizing of social science. After the suicides of the elderly people, the only other two visitors, Connie (Ellora Torchia) and Simon (Archie Madekwe), horrified, decide to leave the compound at once, and are, supposedly, being taken to the nearest train station by a member of the group—separately. That separation, obviously suspicious, is justified by one resident on the grounds that the only available truck is a two-seater, and one couldn’t sit on the other’s lap because, he says, “We don’t break traffic laws. ” That’s the best single line reading, the only truly memorable moment of performance, in the entire movie. It’s also the movie’s most meaningful, and grimmest, joke. Rulebound but lawless, living nominally in Sweden but utterly cut off from the supervision and regulation of Swedish law, the cult is the very essence of autonomy, of a freely chosen social organization that’s subject to no other civil authority—and that, at the same time, asserts its own sense of righteousness on the grounds of ancient and transcendent authority. In this sense, the subject of “Midsommar” is the absurdity and obtuseness of suspending moral judgment for other cultures in the name of curiosity, respect, or relativism. In the course of the film, Dani sees the depths of betrayal to which Christian is willing to descend. (Is he groomed, drugged, desperate to ingratiate himself with his hosts, who are now also his thesis benefactors, merely monstrous, or some combination thereof? The movie doesn’t say; for all the time that the couple spends together, Aster doesn’t pause or detour to hear their thoughts. ) Dani ultimately gets a measure of revenge—though even this, in Aster’s archly plotted script construction, offers Dani some mixed motives of her own, a measure of mercy along with her rage. It isn’t only anthropology that comes in for derision; Dani’s studies in psychology, too, are rendered ludicrous as much by the cult’s perverse cruelty as by her own unexplored and vague relationship to all of her experiences.   Starring Florence Pugh, Jack Reynor, William Jackson Harper, Will Poulter, Vilhelm Blomgren, Archie Madekwe. Critics Consensus Ambitious, impressively crafted, and above all unsettling, Midsommar further proves writer-director Ari Aster is a horror auteur to be reckoned with. 83% TOMATOMETER Total Count: 374 63% Audience Score Verified Ratings: 5, 229 Midsommar Ratings & Reviews Explanation Midsommar Videos Photos Movie Info Dani and Christian are a young American couple with a relationship on the brink of falling apart. But after a family tragedy keeps them together, a grieving Dani invites herself to join Christian and his friends on a trip to a once-in-a-lifetime midsummer festival in a remote Swedish village. What begins as a carefree summer holiday in a land of eternal sunlight takes a sinister turn when the insular villagers invite their guests to partake in festivities that render the pastoral paradise increasingly unnerving and viscerally disturbing. From the visionary mind of Ari Aster comes a dread-soaked cinematic fairytale where a world of darkness unfolds in broad daylight. Rating: R (for disturbing ritualistic violence and grisly images, strong sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use and language) Genre: Horror Directed By: Written By: In Theaters: Jul 3, 2019 wide On Disc/Streaming: Sep 24, 2019 Runtime: 140 minutes Studio: A24 Cast News & Interviews for Midsommar Critic Reviews for Midsommar Audience Reviews for Midsommar Midsommar Quotes Movie & TV guides. Toff Guys https://www.shortstoryproject.com/storyf/286742/ Gisaengchung https://todon.ploud.fr/@gonmitsumo/104138726957696574 ton2ykHgf3j3 https://kayafukamedesign.wordpress.com/2020/05/09/watch-stream-dolittle-2020-720p-stephen-gaghan-hdtv-dvdrip/ https://seesaawiki.jp/mesokoto/d/(Hindi) Movie Watch The Lord of the Rings The Fellowship of the Ring Contagion - Epidemia strachu 1917 https://gurumidaiconsulting.wordpress.com/2020/05/10/youtube-premium-inception-watch-free/