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críticas de medios
Empire
por Terri White
This is a full-throated, full-hearted gay love story. What it isn’t, necessarily, is a film that explores the politics of gay relationships or the politics of oppression. The fight is not with the exterior world (the bigotry on display is actually Brexit-Britain xenophobia), but the interior world. And it’s in this clattering clash of Johnny’s old reality and the new one opening before him where O’Connor is truly exceptional – “I don’t want to be a fuck-up anymore,” he says, a simple sentiment that becomes utterly devastating in his mouth.
La crítica completa está disponible en la web Empire
Sight & Sound
por Paul O'Callaghan
The sense of impending doom is further accentuated by overt references to Ang Lee’s tragic Brokeback Mountain, from the animalistic urgency of the sex scenes to the way in which one partner sentimentally clings to the other’s left-behind sweater as a source of comfort. Shot last year in the lead-up to the UK’s EU Referendum, the film also elegantly expresses anxieties about the prospect of a more isolationist Britain. As the Saxbys cling stubbornly to outmoded traditions, and treat Gheorghe’s suggestions for improving business with suspicion, their farm teeters precariously on the brink of ruin.
La crítica completa está disponible en la web Sight & Sound
The Film Stage
por Ed Frankl
British filmmakers have a recent habit of bringing about canonical additions to UK queer cinema with their debuts. Andrew Haigh’s heartbreaking romance Weekend and Hong Khaou’s moving Lilting are now joined by Francis Lee’s gay romance God’s Own Country, a bold and brilliant drama rightfully garnering Brokeback Mountain comparisons out of its Sundance Film Festival berth. Anchored by a quartet of heartfelt performances and tapping into zeitgeisty conflicts between working-class England and growing EU immigration, it’s hard to imagine a more bracingly open-hearted film coming out of Brexit Britain today.
La crítica completa está disponible en la web The Film Stage
RogerEbert.com
por Glenn Kenny
Johnny Saxby, the protagonist of Francis Lee’s impressive feature directorial debut, “God’s Own Country,” is a difficult character to like for quite a while. When first we see him, he’s hunched over a toilet bowl, contending with the semi-dry-heaves that are familiar to alcoholics and younger fellows with delicate stomachs. Johnny may be one or the other, or both. In any event, puking is not a good look for him, particularly in cold rural morning light. Once in repose, or something like it, Johnny initially—there’s no way of getting around this—brings to mind the phrase I think I first heard in a Monty Python sketch, that is “spotty-faced git.”
La crítica completa está disponible en la web RogerEbert.com
Cine Maldito
por Elisenda N. Frisach
Tierra de Dios, el primer largometraje del guionista y actor Francis Lee, es una delicada reflexión sobre la fuerza redentora del amor que podría definirse como una mezcla entre Brokeback Mountain (2005) de Ang Lee y Weekend(2011) de Andrew Haigh. Y es que, más allá del elemento homosexual presente en todas, comparte con la primera un punto de arranque argumental tremendamente parecido —la historia de amor que surge en la intimidad de la naturaleza entre dos jóvenes de extracción humilde, uno inestable y atormentado y el otro cariñoso y sereno—, mientras que su opción estética se enmarca dentro de los mismos parámetros de verismo, sencillez, contención espaciotemporal y autenticidad de la segunda. De hecho, Tierra de Dios enlaza con toda una ilustre saga de filmes románticos que buscan explícitamente alejarse de los clichés hollywoodienses sobre las relaciones de pareja, con lo que sustituyen la estilización formal propia de las producciones de los grandes estudios por una puesta en escena realista y cercana, en la que todo lo que acontece a los enamorados tiene la fuerza de lo aparentemente “espontáneo”, “aleatorio” y “casual”, ya sea con un tono positivo o trágico; pienso, por ejemplo, en joyas del género como Antes del atardecer (2004) de Richard Linklater o Amor (2012) de Michael Haneke.
La crítica completa está disponible en la web Cine Maldito
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Empire
This is a full-throated, full-hearted gay love story. What it isn’t, necessarily, is a film that explores the politics of gay relationships or the politics of oppression. The fight is not with the exterior world (the bigotry on display is actually Brexit-Britain xenophobia), but the interior world. And it’s in this clattering clash of Johnny’s old reality and the new one opening before him where O’Connor is truly exceptional – “I don’t want to be a fuck-up anymore,” he says, a simple sentiment that becomes utterly devastating in his mouth.
Sight & Sound
The sense of impending doom is further accentuated by overt references to Ang Lee’s tragic Brokeback Mountain, from the animalistic urgency of the sex scenes to the way in which one partner sentimentally clings to the other’s left-behind sweater as a source of comfort. Shot last year in the lead-up to the UK’s EU Referendum, the film also elegantly expresses anxieties about the prospect of a more isolationist Britain. As the Saxbys cling stubbornly to outmoded traditions, and treat Gheorghe’s suggestions for improving business with suspicion, their farm teeters precariously on the brink of ruin.
The Film Stage
British filmmakers have a recent habit of bringing about canonical additions to UK queer cinema with their debuts. Andrew Haigh’s heartbreaking romance Weekend and Hong Khaou’s moving Lilting are now joined by Francis Lee’s gay romance God’s Own Country, a bold and brilliant drama rightfully garnering Brokeback Mountain comparisons out of its Sundance Film Festival berth. Anchored by a quartet of heartfelt performances and tapping into zeitgeisty conflicts between working-class England and growing EU immigration, it’s hard to imagine a more bracingly open-hearted film coming out of Brexit Britain today.
RogerEbert.com
Johnny Saxby, the protagonist of Francis Lee’s impressive feature directorial debut, “God’s Own Country,” is a difficult character to like for quite a while. When first we see him, he’s hunched over a toilet bowl, contending with the semi-dry-heaves that are familiar to alcoholics and younger fellows with delicate stomachs. Johnny may be one or the other, or both. In any event, puking is not a good look for him, particularly in cold rural morning light. Once in repose, or something like it, Johnny initially—there’s no way of getting around this—brings to mind the phrase I think I first heard in a Monty Python sketch, that is “spotty-faced git.”
Cine Maldito
Tierra de Dios, el primer largometraje del guionista y actor Francis Lee, es una delicada reflexión sobre la fuerza redentora del amor que podría definirse como una mezcla entre Brokeback Mountain (2005) de Ang Lee y Weekend(2011) de Andrew Haigh. Y es que, más allá del elemento homosexual presente en todas, comparte con la primera un punto de arranque argumental tremendamente parecido —la historia de amor que surge en la intimidad de la naturaleza entre dos jóvenes de extracción humilde, uno inestable y atormentado y el otro cariñoso y sereno—, mientras que su opción estética se enmarca dentro de los mismos parámetros de verismo, sencillez, contención espaciotemporal y autenticidad de la segunda. De hecho, Tierra de Dios enlaza con toda una ilustre saga de filmes románticos que buscan explícitamente alejarse de los clichés hollywoodienses sobre las relaciones de pareja, con lo que sustituyen la estilización formal propia de las producciones de los grandes estudios por una puesta en escena realista y cercana, en la que todo lo que acontece a los enamorados tiene la fuerza de lo aparentemente “espontáneo”, “aleatorio” y “casual”, ya sea con un tono positivo o trágico; pienso, por ejemplo, en joyas del género como Antes del atardecer (2004) de Richard Linklater o Amor (2012) de Michael Haneke.