Uncut Gems is itself an uncut gem—jagged and terrifying on the outside, yet encompassing a startlingly beautiful and cosmic humanism within.
Celebrity documentaries have always fed on pain, but the way that pain is framed has changed radically in the last half-century; celebrity itself is now a disease—an affliction that curdles the mind and batters the body all while coating you in gold.
When I close my eyes and think of Dario Argento’s Suspiria, I see red; when I do the same with Luca Guadagnino’s, I see bone.
Many cynical “hot takes” regarding historical accuracy appear to miss something vital about cinematic storytelling as an art form: that it works by creating patterns and rhythm, by adhering to familiar story shapes and rules, and by communicating ideas through signs and symbols.
I love A League of Their Own for many reasons—its examination of sisterhood, Tom Hanks’ performance, the joy of watching famous women like Madonna and Rosie O’Donnell really play baseball—but mainly because it’s a movie where women take up significant space.
Woman’s quest to locate her own desire—to separate what she really wants from what she’s been indoctrinated to want—is the conflict at the center of countless women’s stories. While they have rarely found an answer by the end, they are a step closer to it.