Foreword: My list has been set for months, but I couldn’t resist the urge to tinker with it obsessively until I realized, shit, we are just about to enter the sixth calendar month of the next year. Anyway, here it is. Fashionably late is better than never. There will
Good, but frustratingly close to being really good and occasionally great which makes the fact that it is merely good all the more disappointing. Schoenbrun has a vision, and commands exceptional control of color in their frames. They have big ideas, and a clear affection for the forgotten (and lost,
Spoilers below I'll never forget the feeling of total overwhelming awe that crashed into me upon the conclusion of Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, the feeling I chase with just about every movie I ever watch and rarely experience. It wasn't just me, either:
TASHI: What am I? PATRICK: In reality? A really, really, insanely hot woman. - Challengers “Did you ever think there’s more to life than being really, really, really ridiculously good looking?” - Zoolander No Bones & All, with its tearful elegy for a Midwest sunken in sand—Guadagnino’s best film—
Major spoiler at the end of this, FWIW. Moronic, phony Call of Duty knockoff suffused with neoliberal guilt. Insofar as it is successful at anything, it is as a corny allegory for the insufficiency of media to capture the zeitgeist or to animate positive action. Which, okay, are we making
Past Lives is last year's anointed Sundance Darling, and it's a category to which I am not entirely allergic. Beasts of the Southern Wild, Whiplash, and Minari are all films I love. But for every victory there's a maudlin and sycophantic movie that inexplicably
David Ayer initially caught my attention at the age of 12 upon a screening of Street Kings with my grandpa. I was really into violence at the time, but Ayer mostly dropped off the map for me until Suicide Squad, which continues to hold the distinction of worst hatchet job
I had the one in a million good fortune to be able to see this on a 35mm print at Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo. I traveled to Japan because a dear friend invited me along on his pilgrimage to Wrestle Kingdom, the most important event for the largest Japan-based
American Fiction is delicate—sensitive—in a way few satires are. I expected to write something along the lines of, “it’s fine, but Bamboozled already exists, yada yada yada,” and yes, there are clear parallels between the two. Yet director/adapter Cord Jefferson wisely dodges the jagged edges of
A bunt from Wiseman, which is any other filmmaker’s homer so I still come away fairly satisfied. When it’s focused on the goings-on of the Troisgrois restaurant in Ouches, France, it’s got that same Frederick Wiseman magic I’ve come to love: deep dives into the