First Photo of Tom Hardy as Bane?
The website for Christopher Nolan’s third Batman film just went live, and it contains clues that lead to this picture. Which appears to be Tom Hardy as Bane.
via io9
Reblogged from geekpr0n.
Photo of the “Llullaillaco Maiden”, a 15 year old girl sacrificed during the Inca Empire for both purposes of religious rite and social control. She was chosen a year prior to her death, fed a ritualistic diet for an approximate twelve months to make her gain weight, then was drugged and left on the shrine at Volcano Llullaillaco, where she was left to die of exposure. For five hundred years, her body had been preserved at 82 ft. She is considered to be the best preserved Andean mummy ever uncovered.
Reblogged from hominoidea hominidae homininae.
Heath Ledger as the Joker skate boarding over Christian Bale as Batman while they take a break on the set of The Dark Knight.
(Source: we-should-fuck-now-since-i)
Reblogged from geekpr0n.
This is one of my favourite photos that I took while I was in India. It was taken in the countryside outside of Udaipur, Rajasthan. You haven’t seen a smile until you’ve seen the smile of an Indian.
360° Interactive Video
MIND BLOWN.
Reblogged from the dude formerly known as pat doherty.//cultured..
A.V. Club: Michael Corleone is called to dinner with Sollozzo to talk a truce in The Godfather. The two speak in Sicilian for a bit, but eventually Michael, whose Sicilian is clearly shaky, switches to English. But this happens long after established let-the-audience-off-the-hook convention would dictate. Plus, it’s clear right from the beginning of the scene that Coppola means to employ frustration as a kind of suspense. Fully 30 seconds of this five-minute scene—10 percent of its duration!—is devoted to the waiter opening the wine bottle and pouring two glasses (I guess McCluskey’s on duty?) in real time, as Michael and Sollozzo stare each other down in grim silence. The absence of anything to process, apart from these two men’s faces, cues us to roll with it when they begin speaking in Sicilian—we’ve already grasped that the scene’s ostensible “content” is irrelevant. My guess is that Michael and Sollozzo switch back to English only so we understand the insincere words—“All I want is a truce”—that inspire Michael to head to the bathroom. (Pacino’s look of poorly concealed disgust is priceless.)
By the same token, except in reverse, Sollozzo’s monologue just before he’s killed is in Sicilian, lest we mistakenly assume that Michael opens fire in response to something Sollozzo said. And here, Coppola uses a more time-honored method of de-emphasizing dialogue: He cranks up the noise from a passing subway car until it transcends any pretense of verisimilitude, acting as a metaphor for the shrieking inside Michael’s head as he wills himself into action. Holding on a tight close-up of Michael’s increasingly agitated face and turning the subway din up to 11 would probably have sufficed, but the fact that we don’t know what Sollozzo is saying ensures our understanding that it doesn’t matter—that Michael has already made the decision to pull the trigger and is struggling to summon the necessary courage. Thus are we spared endless mind-numbing debate about what insolent turn of phrase finally makes Michael snap.
(Again, for the curious, what Sollozzo reportedly says is: “Everything all right? I respect myself, understand? And I cannot allow another man to hold me back. What happened was unavoidable. I had the unspoken consent of the other families. If your father were in better health, without his eldest son running things—no disrespect—we wouldn’t have this nonsense. We’ll stop fighting until your father is well and can resume bargaining. No vengeance will be taken. We will have peace, but your family should interfere no longer…” BLAM.)
From today’s perspective, of course, what’s truly remarkable about this scene (and the film as a whole, and numerous other films from the ’70s) is how still, quiet, and subdued Pacino is. It’s as if he’s developed a tolerance to himself over the years, so that he now has to yell at the top of his lungs to achieve the same level of intensity that a steady gaze could once afford. (Though that can be immensely enjoyable in its own right.) So I was startled, as I reveled in the soft-spoken, heavy-lidded glory that was Young Pacino, by the abrupt, unexpected appearance, years ahead of its time, of Old Pacino. You can actually see him momentarily transform into the actor he is today—an actor whose eyebrows are perpetually raised in astonishment at the world’s bullshit. It’s just as he sits down after returning from the bathroom. Lasts only a few seconds, but it’s unmistakable. Take another look, and tell me I’m wrong.
Reblogged from YOU MIGHT FIND YOURSELF.
