Ang Lee's Eat Drink Man Woman works as a time capsule for a specific era and place, preserving the image of Taiwan—a picture of prosperity and encroaching Western influence—as it hurtled toward the 21st century.
Loving My Best Friend’s Wedding doesn’t necessarily mean loving all of it, and yet, here I am saying I do.
Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia is a skin-flayed, nerve-burst confession, a self-loathing crucifixion of the kind of hyper masculine pathology that poisoned Peckinpah's personal life, but inspired his deliriously compelling art.
To be aware of beauty is to be corrupted by it, to develop a covetous lust for it, to equate possessing it with consuming it.
Bread may not be an explicitly feminist film in the way that we understand that today, but what remains still speaks to where we’ve come from, and where we still need to go.
It can be so frustrating to have parents, particularly at mealtimes.
In Howl’s Moving Castle, food is more than just a necessity—it sustains life, in every sense of the phrase: helping a body hold skin and sinew together, while acting as an expression of love and care.
The meals in Gillian Robespierre’s Obvious Child and Landline are not extravagant as dining experiences, but they are meaningful as relational ones: small, comforting rituals that provide a moment of constancy amidst chaos.
Bruno Bozzetto’s version of evolution in Allegro Non Troppo is a death march—a story of food chasing food.
