I better not hear ANYBODY try and say that Jonathan Demme's Philadelphia was a cheap piece of Oscar bait. It was too well made, too well acted, too bold, and too willing to risk seeming silly and overly melodramatic for it to be mistaken as a cynic grab for critical recognition. The film is further proof that Demme was the greatest master of the close-up since Ingmar Bergman; nobody else knew better when, how, or why to use them. I love the subjective flourishes of Tom Hanks hallucinating during the trial. I love the scene where we suddenly enter his mind as he explains his favor aria to Denzel Washington. I love the willingness to go for the sappy ending with the home movies. I wish more films had this one's bravery.
9/10
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