Stephen King was no director. He didn’t have the cinematic vocabulary, the logistical training. He was a former English teacher, janitor, and gas station attendant.
Being a parent to a child requires an immense amount of hope, the internal flame of assurance that we human beings are capable of good regardless of our external circumstances.
Baz Luhrmann does not give us a realistic depiction of a realistic light at the end of a realistic dock—he gives us a glimmering pulsing beacon of hope swimming in a sea of darkness.
Darren Aronofsky’s Noah ruined my childhood, and thank God.
David Lynch's Dune, terrible and repetitive as it is, is my own spice. It’s made me aware of myself in a way I never could have dreamed.
Maybe, in adaptation, the film is never there, is always elsewhere, and maybe this is actually adaptation’s appeal—that what seems settled isn’t, that the wind is always blowing, that the prophecy always goes unfulfilled.
On the failures of the final two films in the Hunger Games franchise and internet fandom.
Modern audiences will hear echoes of that folk tale in the high-octane antiheroes of The Fast & the Furious film franchise, a series of films that has mystified some with its longevity.
