
Exploring Spiking Neural Networks for temporal pattern recognition, using biologically inspired architectures and advanced training techniques.
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Directed by Brady Corbet
We tolerate you.
The Brutalist is a searing, unflinching critique of the American Dream and the capitalist machinery that grinds creativity and humanity into dust. The film paints a stark portrait of American capitalism as a cruel, dehumanizing force—one that exploits, humiliates, and ultimately destroys those who dare to dream within its confines. The protagonist, a poor Jewish immigrant, becomes a tragic symbol of this system’s brutality. His journey is not just one of physical and emotional exploitation but also of literal subjugation, culminating in a harrowing metaphor of systemic violence. The film’s unrelenting depiction of this process is both visceral and allegorical, forcing the audience to confront the dehumanizing cost of the so-called "American Dream."
At its core, The Brutalist is less concerned with the journey than with the destination. The narrative structure reflects this, eschewing traditional arcs of growth or redemption in favor of a relentless march toward an inevitable, devastating conclusion. This approach underscores the film’s central thesis: within the framework of American capitalism, the path one takes is irrelevant—only the end result matters, and that result is often ruinous.
The figure of the architect emerges as a recurring motif, both in The Brutalist and in contemporary cinema, as seen in Coppola’s Megalopolis. Here, the architect is not just a creator of spaces but a symbol of ambition, control, and the hubris of modernity. In The Brutalist, the architect’s vision is both a reflection of and a rebellion against the system, embodying the tension between creativity and exploitation. This timeless archetype resonates deeply in our current moment, where the forces of capitalism continue to shape—and often distort—the built environment and the lives within it.
Visually, The Brutalist is a masterpiece. From the very first scene, the film’s aesthetic choices are bold and arresting. The opening shot, captured with a handheld camera that frames the Statue of Liberty upside down, immediately sets the tone for a world turned on its head. This striking imagery is sustained throughout the film, with every frame meticulously composed to reflect the stark, unyielding nature of its themes. The cinematography, production design, and lighting all contribute to a sense of oppressive beauty, making the film as visually compelling as it is intellectually provocative.
As the director of The Brutalist, Corbet crafts a work that is as unyielding as its subject matter. The film operates as a self-contained, autoconclusive work of art, where every element is deliberate and every detail accounted for. There is no room for interpretation or addition; the film is a brutalist creation in both form and content, rigid in its structure and unflinching in its vision. Corbet’s direction mirrors the duality of the protagonist—caught between creation and destruction, ambition and despair—resulting in a film that is as challenging as it is essential.
Directed by Alfonso Cuaròn
Directed by Robert Eggers
Does evil come from within us or from beyond?Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu reimagines the legendary tale of the vampire Count Orlok with a striking and provocative lens, one that places female liberation at its core. Unlike previous adaptations, Eggers crafts a narrative where horror is not merely external but deeply rooted in societal repression—particularly the control exerted over women’s desires and autonomy. The film’s protagonist finds herself ensnared in a world that labels her longing for freedom, especially sexual freedom, as hysteria. Men attempt to silence her through medication, through confinement, through chains both literal and metaphorical. Her struggle is not just against a monstrous creature but against the societal structures that have sought to suppress her very being. In this reading, Nosferatu is not merely a creature of the night but the dark manifestation of a secret, repressed, and tainted relationship with sexuality—one that society simultaneously fears and creates. Eggers’ vision is strikingly different from Werner Herzog’s 1979 adaptation, which leaned into the melancholic tragedy of the vampire’s curse. However, this Nosferatu feels in perfect continuity with Eggers’ own filmography, particularly The Witch, where the protagonist’s embrace of supposed evil is, in fact, an act of liberation from an oppressive world. In both films, the question is not whether the protagonist should resist the darkness but whether that darkness is, in truth, her only path to freedom. With meticulous period detail, haunting visuals, and an unsettling atmosphere, Eggers breathes new, terrifying life into a classic story—one that is not just about an ancient evil but about the way we, as a society, have always conjured monsters to justify our fears. Nosferatu is not merely a vampire film; it is a mirror reflecting the very forces that shape our understanding of desire, fear, and power.
Today, I officially graduated with my Master's degree in Physics of Data from the University of Padua. It was a challenging but rewarding journey, and I'm excited to see where this new chapter takes me. Here's to lifelong learning and new adventures!