Desert Hearts may not be a holiday movie, but it is wrapped in a lavender ribbon, and what’s inside can warm up even the chilliest winter heart.
The Hours suggested to me that queerness could be fluid, mysterious, neither hidden nor announced.
In 2017, I saw or listened to the movie Steve Jobs some 20 or 30 times.
On this very special episode of the pod, Veronica sits down with beloved critic Fran Hoepfner to talk highlights of the 60th New York Film Festival, which they both attended last month, including Tar, Triangle of Sadness, Armageddon Time, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, Decision to Leave, Stars at Noon, Showing Up, and more.
That so many of the films at the New York Film Festival this year focused on ugly and stressful subjects feels not like a demerit, but rather a catharsis—a healing that can only be done in a dark room, surrounded by others.
Spring Breakers can still be enjoyed as a pure hallucinatory trip, devoid of any real-world relevance. But looks are deceiving, even limiting.
For months I’ve been thinking about sequels and second chances, about Paul Newman but also, increasingly, Tom Cruise.
The Crimson Kimono is not a typical mystery; instead, it uses the conventional trappings of the hardboiled detective story to explore a taboo topic for its time.
I’ve seen Drive My Car four times now, and with each viewing, smaller and smaller details have brought me to the verge of tears.
Demonstrating the parallels between Cyrano de Bergerac and A Goofy Movie is a tall order. But Goofy is a tall guy, and he didn’t come to Disneyland to not ride the rollercoaster.
For any theoretical questions concerning how to Sundance, I was more concerned with the question of why to Sundance. And the answer is: access to a week of new sensation and perception in the doldrums of mid-winter.
In Station Eleven, art brings people together, pushes them apart, makes them angry, and makes them whole.
