Towards the end of a conference held at Cannes for the twentieth anniversary of Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino mentioned that as part of a personal periodic review of the state of cinema, he had recently asked a group of friends who, in their opinion, were the ten most exciting active filmmakers—with that meaning those whose best work they believed was yet to come. Intriguingly, Richard Linklater was on everyone’s list. If only for lack of familiarity with his work, I doubt he would have made it on mine—and yet, if one of his has ever brought me close to share the enthusiasm farsightedly expressed by Tarantino’s circle, it is certainly this. Apollo 10½ is one of those rare films that make me feel nostalgic for an age that I have not lived. Saudade is probably the word I am after—one I always loved.
Such a straight use of the rotoscope technique, to which I have been severely allergic since when I saw as a kid Bakshi’s The Lord of the Rings, seems for once perfectly placed and greatly synergic with the gorgeous postcard aesthetics.
Radiating a charming, if not literal, labour of love sense, Apollo 10½ is made to stay and grow—a cuddling dream whose memory can endlessly be revived, every time a little more palpably.