The death of my seven-year-old brother when I was nine remains a painful and haunting memory. My parents did not know how to cope with the loss of their child and the entire family experienced indescribable pain. Phantom Limb uses this personal story as a point of departure. Whether it is a loss through death or divorce, the stages of grieving are the same. Individuals often go through denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, ultimately, some kind of acceptance, in order to heal. The film is loosely structured according to these stages. Interspersed throughout this poetic documentary are interviews with a cemetery owner, a phantom limb patient and an author of a book about evidence for life after death. Phantom Limb reminds viewers that while grief is painful and isolating, it is a reminder to each of us that life is impermanent. - Jay Rosenblatt
Reviews
One of my all time favorites.
In truth, there is barely enough story here to make a film.
The movie turns out to be a little better than the average. Starting from a romantic formula often seen in the cinema, it ends in the most predictable (and somewhat bland) way.
what a terribly boring film. I'm sorry but this is absolutely not deserving of best picture and will be forgotten quickly. Entertaining and engaging cinema? No. Nothing performances with flat faces and mistaking silence for subtlety.
"The death of my seven-year-old brother when I was nine remains a painful and haunting memory. My parents did not know how to cope with the loss of their child and the entire family experienced indescribable pain." (Jay Rosenblatt) I had read about Rosenblatt's short films, but the recent Museum of Modern Art screening of his newest work was my first chance to see one. Rosenblatt works by re-assembling found footage - old educational and corporate training movies, mostly - into poetic collages. For Phantom Limb, he weaves in his own family's amateur movies to create a very personal rumination on the childhood loss of his younger brother. There are parts of this picture that, were I to describe them, would sound very tough to watch, and others that might seem dull. Yet I was in awe for every one of the 28 minutes, and the MoMA crowd was spellbound.
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