This is the story of Gawain: crashing through in-progress myths that don’t belong to him, brushing against gods. This is the story of Gawain, stumbling through the forest, his soul bared, searching: For himself, sure, but most importantly, for his legend.
JoinedMay 27, 2017
I’m drawn to Clue and In the Mood for Love, two movies that probably couldn’t be more different, because in both, characters use storytelling to investigate their cratered lives.
I’d love to know what it’s like to be a writer who doesn’t struggle with anxiety and depression, the sort of writer who doesn’t identify with Shirley, curled beneath her sheets in a blacked-out bedroom.
Kelsey Ford on murder mysteries, gentleman sleuths, and Rian Johnson's Knives Out.
Mike Mills' Beginners and 20th Century Women are both deeply personal and generous films, acknowledging how impossible it is to ever truly know one’s parent or child.
In Chungking Express, everything is important—every can of pineapple, every dripping towel, every loop of “California Dreamin’”—mimicking that all-encompassing feeling of infatuation. These small items hold an entire story, the heartbreak and the hope and the waiting.
In both The Haunting of Hill House and Annihilation, landscapes are the loci of the characters’ malfunctions. Hill House and Area X, respectively, give their characters a place to focus their energy—and then use that energy, that sense of comfort, to undo them.
Women aren’t the stories you think their bodies tell you.
As a season, Twin Peaks: The Return contains itself; it answers its own questions and then undoes its entirety.
In each film, by the end, you feel you know the character’s fears, their monstrous wants and needs—and the ways they fight the snowballing desire within.
In Howl’s Moving Castle, bodily curses abound; in this world, you can be betrayed by your body as easily as you can betray it.
On Manchester by the Sea and the weight of grief.