Sunset Boulevard

Cinema that tells about cinema, or more precisely cinema that tells a story among its many absurdly imaginable stories. Romantic, distressing, comical and melodramatic, no film is so expertly multifaceted and varied like this, an elegantly told drama that shows the dark sides of environments and men, a representation of what was a revolution that was poorly accepted by those who knew cinema in a very different way. A strange comparison and bizarre liaison, modern cinema casually meets old cinema. A young screenwriter, out of opportunism and necessity, takes refuge and imprisons himself in the luxurious home of a now faded and withered star of silent cinema. Torn between his desires and the unpleasant but comfortable welcome, the protagonist will bitterly realize the ambiguity of his choice, ruined and contaminated by the morbid attachment towards him by the no longer young diva. Fragilely suspended on ephemeral and illogical illusions, ignoring uncomfortable truths, it will be the diva herself to mark and selfishly conclude a surreal and macabre epilogue. Two worlds and two philosophies that meet and at the same time cancel each other out, the old expressive and minimalist cinema that repudiates and ignores a new way of thinking about itself, made of words and colors. The characters represent well those nuances and profiles of two eras and visions long different and distant from each other, in particular we note the absurd presumption of impersonating the cinema by the diva, unable to accept the atrocious truth. It also shows an opaque and corrupt environment, decadent and hypocritical, easily seduced by vain and fatuous frills, a materialism inherent in human nature. Sunset Boulevard is a film that successfully manages to represent events and men without demolishing or mocking them. Unique in its genre, it manages to move and tell a world, cinema, that tells of itself, that of yesterday and that of today, where that today, in the end, has in turn become another magnificent yesterday.