On Cate & Kate in The Aviator (2004) and Summertime (1955).
PositionStaff Writer
JoinedOctober 9, 2019
Articles19
Frank Falisi is a New Jersey-based writer and actor. His work has appeared in Reverse Shot, MUBI Notebook, Tone Glow, and Tiny Mix Tapes among others.
In Laura Poitras’ All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, the act of witnessing becomes an act of solidarity, in joy and of pain. This is what a cinema of more life looks like.
The Fabelmans is not a coming-of-age story. There is no answer. It isn’t a parable or lesson or meditation. Instead it reflects, renders in real time, its creator’s relationship to his memories.
Maybe, in order to ‘B-movie’ reality, we need to make a dream of Edward D. Wood Jr.
In its fragments, its gradations and flirtations with the experimental ambience it’s quote-unquote about, Todd Haynes' The Velvet Underground renders not a history of a band or even a moment but an alternative lens to re-collect (literally, re-touch) history.
Innerspace is bodily—hyper-bodily, even—and in the way it upends expectations surrounding size, it suggests similar chutes and ladders for emotion, identity, for existence.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid frustrates me like family.
I am thinking of films as haunted houses. I am thinking of Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons.
Are you humming the four bars of choonka-CHOONKAs that form the first measures of “Get Back” right now? It’s always in the air. It’s always waiting to be remembered.
When I recommend Hubie Halloween to you rabidly and over-zealously, when I hum with the sweet shocked shout of an Almond Joy with two almonds, what I mean is: at our most puerile and sensitive and fearful we are just as deserving of care as anybody else. Will you remember that?
The History of the Seattle Mariners is the first cultural object I’ve encountered that painstakingly constructs a specific, relatable history—that of a single baseball team—only to use that construct to then gesture towards the futility of completion and the locks storytelling puts on our collective subconscious.
The most erotic scene I’ve ever witnessed in a television show takes place in the Reptile House of the Bronx Zoo.
