The three most beautiful films I have seen in recent times have not been produced by the big Hollywood studios (those robots have a lot of work with relentlessly giving birth to superhero movies, galactic sagas and other noisy toys), nor independent cinema, nor the pretentious authorship destined for the meager fixed parish, but rather an audiovisual platform.
It is Netflix, that supermarket of dubious quality in so many of its products, but that breastfeeds once a year and yearns for prestige by embarking on real luxury projects, such as
Rome, The Irishman
and now they fascinate her ...
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