"Because success was nowhere in sight, we kind of couldn't fail. There were no expectations; nobody was going to do anything for us. We could complain, but who would listen? You just had to make something. So we did! We made our own cafés, our own bands, our own record labels, our own movies, and it was great."
"You got to move forward because you can't change the past. You can only live in the present. And you just try to make it as full and bright and be as righteous as you can be. But it's rough, man. You know, we're human beings and we have a lot of temptation."
In their (hi)stories of successful losers as well as all the winners who fail perfectly, Jon Bois and Alex Rubenstein find our most human shapes: pleasure in each others’ company, the sublime tension of failing again better, and something like love by a different name.
"It seems to me there’s a lot of mythologies that exist—mythological positions in film criticism—that I’m trying to combat. One of them is that you can say, in some kind of ultimate way, that one film is good or one film is bad. That’s ridiculous. It seems perfectly reasonable that a film that might be good for me might not be good for you. Therefore, if you say “I”, you’re being honest."
Of the more than 80 film and television scores Terence Blanchard has composed in the last 33 years, his work for Spike Lee's Jungle Fever—the first full film score of his (blessedly still in-progress) career—is its own skeleton key for an artist of restless melodic innovation and excavation.
The creators behind Sing Sing—director Greg Kwedar, co-writer Clint Bentley, and producer Monique Walton—on telling stories, hard-won optimism, and the necessity of art.
The author of Miss May Does Not Exist opens up about writing a book on the famously elusive and brilliant Elaine May, falling down rabbit holes, and her own deep love for Ishtar.
An interview with Jane Schoenbrun on I Saw the TV Glow's nostalgia nuggets, the humor in heartbreak, and traversing Hollywood-level trans filmmaking.
On the first day of February, a touch early to smell the Spring Training hot dogs but late enough not to worry about wanting it, I spoke to John DeMarsico—the New York Mets Game Director at SNY—about the cinema inside of baseball and the baseball inside of everything else.
"I think this is a thing that will not change in whatever I’m lucky enough to make in the future: a constant prioritizing of the pleasure principle. I lament the moving away from sensual pleasures in cinema."
"People have flocked to the theater forever to feel something, to experience what it’s like to see a reflection of oneself, distilled in stark revelation. To share in communalized trauma or joy, to escape one’s daily humdrum and strife, and for a brief moment to possibly be cleansed by laughter or tears. To be brought closer into a fellow traveler’s shoes, or to learn about comparable travails and customs of foreign and alien cultures. To be punched in the gut with a vicarious experience. To share in what it means to be human."
On the occasion of the 20th anniversary of You Can Count on Me's release, Kenneth Lonergan sits down to talk at length about the experience of making his first movie.












