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.
An end of year message to all those who've helped us keep going. (Plus, a playlist too!)
Denis Villeneuve’s Dune is a self-fulfilling prophecy that undoes itself in the telling, an ouroboros regurgitating its own tail rather than eating it.
For the first time, Paul Thomas Anderson has produced a film distinguished not merely by his characteristic fascination with the world but by a deep love for it.
As I walked up the steps to the Walter Reade theater, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph, my first day back on campus. Everyone was there! In line, tired, clutching cheap coffee and festival badges. Some people got haircuts. Even the grumps were buzzing, happy to finally have some place to be.
There are worse ways to ride out the pandemic than mainlining some three dozen or so movies in a week, finding delights where you least expect them.
