My sister called me that night. I sat on my bed, with the lights off, as she talked. If I couldn’t see anything of my room, I could imagine I was home and she was talking to me from across the bedroom we’d shared all through our childhood. I could imagine she was telling me secrets about the boys she had crushes on and the teachers she hated.
Something stops you now. You said too much
& it got you into trouble. The shadow & old pain
that kept you awake shelter your feelings
of revenge.
And the black sugar
We call also ash
And the outline of stone
We say is another
Kind of desire
I can fall asleep to
the rattling of windows,
the collection of sirens growing
in Yorùbá, a father is a name &
the left hand is taboo. one cannot offer
water with the left hand or sleep
facing upward. at night, a witch
will sit on your chest. a knife tearing
into a knife.
and she wonders
if they’ve said all the words
in thirty years together
She was on her mother’s boat, wearing a floppy hat that let her long blonde hair have just enough freedom to appear wild and refined at the same time. As I grew to know her, I learned that she was exactly that: the perfect balance of wild and refined.
When we returned for breakfast, she watched with surprising disinterest as dog food bowls were filled on the counter. I guess she’d never been fed from a bowl. But when it was her turn to eat, she devoured it as though she’d never been fed at all. I noticed when we were outside that she ate dirt, and wondered if this is how she’d been surviving. “What a life,” I told Bill. He just stared quietly.
“Look at the CCTV tapes again and see who the pizza delivery man is. I think the double-chinned bastard .. oh, I beg your pardon,” Miss Klein said, looking at Hubbard, who was busy downing another doughnut.
still I could swear I sensed his tide
tugging elsewhere I suppose he felt
a need to offer me some swaying
of water so he showed me the lagoon
On Chesil Beach represents my early pick for Best Picture.
Adapting his own novella, Ian McEwan presents a heartbreakingly honest portrait of a newlywed couple and the qualities that tear them apart. Beautifully conceived by director Dominic Cooke and lensed by cinematographer Sean Bobbitt, its narrative layers naturally coalesce in this meditation on love, cultural mores, and personal sacrifice.
The chemistry between rising star Billy Howle and Saoirse Ronan—who has matured into the finest actress of her generation since she appeared in Joe Wright’s adaptation of McEwan’s Atonement—is palpable. They carry emotional weight capable of moving audiences to tears.
Anton Chekhov's play receives a serviceable, if slight, adaptation from Michael Mayer (A Home at the End of the World). He directs his ensemble cast with poise, allowing his camera to roam about the confined lakeside setting as if it were a fly on the wall. Although the film plays it safe, how the cast embody their roles is particularly captivating. Annette Bening is alternately vivacious and cruel; Saoirse Ronan is radiant; and Corey Stoll gives his best performance since his portrayal of Ernest Hemingway in Midnight in Paris. The rest of the cast add charm to this comedy’s delights.
On the series finale of Drunk Monkeys Radio, Matt, Ryan, and LVH talk the best films of 1998! Lebowski, Rushmore, and much more! Plus, a look ahead to the future of our intrepid Filmcast crew with Worth A Click: A Movie Review Podcast.
Hey, Star Wars fan? Ever wonder where Han Solo got his name from? What’s that? Not once? Well, then it’s hard to know what to make of this year’s Star Wars [copyright Walt Disney Corporation, 2018], which offers us an answer to that question, and many others, we never asked. More pressing questions, such as how Han met Chewbacca, how he got the Millennium Falcon, and does Lando Calrissian fuck droids receive answers, to varying degrees of satisfaction. As an exploration of one of the most beloved film characters ever, it's not much, but as cosplay it’s fairly impressive.
Coralie Fargeat’s feature debut tackles the rape-revenge story with an assured style and precise direction. However, only so much one can done with this marginal genre. On the plus side, Matilda Lutz delivers a strong performance; the film is beautifully lensed with a color palette reminiscent of Mad Max: Fury Road; and gorehounds get their fill of over-the-top violence. Unfortunately, thrills are dampened throughout because Fargeat’s feminist slant utilizes overwrought symbolism and recycled boilerplate dialogue. As a result, Revenge doesn’t offer more than exploitation schlock like I Spit On Your Grave or more refined genre staples such as Ms. 45.
PODCASTOrdinary GracePam Jones
An interview with Pam Jones, author of Andermatt County: Two Parables about her Bible Students upbringing, Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame, and the gory deaths of Catholic martyrs.
The Filmcast crew assembles for a discussion of yet ANOTHER Marvel movie, this one featuring nearly every character, Avengers: Infinity War!
There comes a point when you have lived your life with someone for so long that you can't hide your guilt. Naomi had stumbled upon mine with a simple look in my eye and she knew. She asked, “What are you not telling me?”
A debut feature from Sean Woodard, exploring great moment in film scoring, starting with Ennio Morricone’s score for Duck, You Sucker.
The distant night opens like a pearl / fan, a skirt, a heart,
a drop of salt. The peasants who picked the beans
are / sleeping— they will turn into a billion sunflower
seeds