Inside. What about the inside. Crack that safe. I know I’m in for it. The steel house may help. Herald a transformation of the neighborhood and our lives. Right? I think I hear my name again.
Inside. What about the inside. Crack that safe. I know I’m in for it. The steel house may help. Herald a transformation of the neighborhood and our lives. Right? I think I hear my name again.
in the year of robocop & lethal weapon, millions gathered
to watch an entire galaxy flex on god. forget his 37 points a game.
forget him chugging down coke & hustling larry bird for big macs.
michael jordan was a silent flame palming an orange ember.
Albert sat with a weight on his shoulders. He was 39 years old and had so far managed to avoid most responsibilities in life. Was it a pet? He hadn’t seen one of those around the house in years, surely he would have noticed it. Was it a child? No, he certainly would have noticed that too.
me, standing in-front of a mirror, undressing myself & turning to ash, & sometimes, suddenly, my mouth becomes the beak of a bird & knows how to sing.
My grandfather could’ve been a metaphor,
but he wasn’t.
The world is weird, and beautiful, and in the age of 3-episode seasons and creators writing, acting, directing, lighting, editing, and best boying their own shows, it’s refreshing to see hope on the horizon for those of us who loved longer formats and weirder stories.
The cure was in their blood, in their meat, in all the days they sniffed around the dog parks, licked the concrete, and chewed sticks from dying trees. The dogs couldn’t be bred in factories as some in California had tried. The miracle could only be extracted from the dogs we raised, the family pets spread across laps in the flyers wrapping the utility poles.
Another woman tells me that she wants to be buried in a pet cemetery between a Goldendoodle named, “Chomsky” and a Poodle named, “Rath”. I tell her this information is not related to the survey being conducted. “Who knows who I could be buried next to in a human cemetery? I don’t want to risk being buried next to some pervert.”
if we sold palpitations you would be overflowing with ears of corn.
(i would buy your silence with boiled placentas to mince in your
gut-station
or perhaps outside)
A more apt title for The Turning would be "The Turding." It's that bad. Although visually impressive and featuring strong acting, director Floria Sigismondi's adaptation of Henry James's novella doesn't leave much to the imagination. The effectiveness of The Turn of the Screw lies in the ambiguity of whether supernatural occurrences contribute to the governess's crumbling sanity. In addition, there are problems at the script level—particularly awkward sexual tension, too many dream sequences and red herrings—that detract from the final film's emotional impact, despite some palpable scares. Because of these faults, The Innocents remains the superior screen version.
This Gretel & Hansel is different from the original Grimm fairy tale. It’s not revisionist nor retold, but refocused. The focus is now on an older Gretel, deftly played by Sophia Lillis, whose own interior may be just as dark as the original tale. There’s an excellent turn of acting by Alice Krige who plays the creepy old woman archetype. She may be sincerely creepy, or does she just seem that way to Gretel? A little more gore is needed. The mostly excellent direction from Oz Perkins stumbles when the pacing at the end needs less telling, and more showing.
The Russian Ark of war films. The product of the collaboration between Mendes and Deakins is a visually stunning and technically ambitious film that is edited together to look like a single continuous shot. For those looking for more than just a technical achievement will be pleasantly surprised by the emotional pathos of the narrative. The story (inspired by Mendes’ grandfather’s recollection of the war) follows two young soldiers as they traverse enemy territory to relay a message that could save a platoon from a trap set by the Germans. This film is definitely worthy of its Golden Globe awards.
When the survivors of an underwater drilling crew must evacuate their site, they must fight unknown cephalopod-like organisms to reach the surface before time runs out. A strong ensemble cast led by Kristen Stewart and potent thrills provide oxygen to the otherwise predictable Underwater. While it will most likely draw comparisons to similarly plotted disaster/sci-fi/horror flicks like Leviathan or—the granddaddy of all claustrophobic creature features—Alien, Underwater contains enough genuine scares, humor, and narrative drive to propel it toward its explosive conclusion. What the film lacks in originality, it makes up for with likable characters and grit.
A prayer—stronger than injustice; louder than despair; quieter than ego; surer than circumstantial evidence; homier then a barred cell; more challenging than simple solutions; than more comforting than empty promises; more reassuring than doubt; more accepting than racism; more merciful than hate; more understanding than bigotry; more consoling than a testimony; as freeing as a wind through the pines; as deep as conviction; as fierce as unerring love; as irrevocable as hope; as definite as unequivocal truth; as reaffirming as an embrace, a word, a bond; as loving as family—answered is a sweet song for a life deferred.
Dolemite is an original Blaxploitation 1975 film. Starring Rudy Ray Moore, it is a fun romp hitting all the usual tropes of this genre. The acting is fun but creaky, the dialogue is fun but creaky, and the martial arts are astoundingly creaky, and fun. Production shines as 1970s cars with extremely loooong hoods are a character themselves. Two-thirds into the movie there is a spoken word performance, “The Signifying Monkey”, by Moore which is stunning. Be aware, there is plenty nudity, sexual content, and the MF word is spoken so frequently it would astound Samuel L. Jackson.
elsewhere,
a man barked
and blood jumped into my mouth
“This car next to me kept accelerating and then dropping back to match my speed. It was so bizarre. I was really cute back then, super skinny. You know, back when I dabbled in cocaine and anorexia.”
In this edition of Captain Canada’s Movie Rodeo, Gabriel Ricard waxes poetic about his most anticipated films of 2020.
Ultimately Cats doesn’t fail on its plot or lack thereof. I think it falls apart on this question of falseness versus realness, and what it is exactly the filmmaker expects from the audience, and where we are allowed to insert our own imaginative work into the story-telling endeavor. All cinema (and all storytelling art) hinges on a mutually agreed-upon suspension of disbelief. But Cats can’t decide what it wants us to believe. . . The tagline for this film is “You will believe,” but I’m pretty sure the failure of belief isn’t just with us.