Here’s to Evil and David Warner. Respectfully, may you rule in hell.
The sexiest lobster you’ll ever eat. Or, at least, that seems like a safe bet.
Let me spin for you a story about the audio-visual extravaganza that is F9
I am ready to leave the house, please.
If there’s one thing this past year has taught me, it’s to put my money on the disaster coming out on top.
I am reminded of why Soderbergh is among my favorite directors, and perhaps my favorite living director.
Grab a meat pie and pint of bitter and let’s watch a fuckton of spy films.
At one time Greer thought he saw something different but he was mistaken. What he saw was exactly the same as what he had been seeing. He thought that it was smaller but then he realized that it was exactly the same size as everything else.
Please pass the butter. No need to unwrap it first.
Death did the show in, leaving it languishing in the misty-mists of misty-pre-internet-nowhere.
In which we get closer to answers and insights regarding one of the best—and least discussed—directors.
Spoiler alert: she dies.
“I’m getting too old for this shit.”
The next time I say, “Let’s go someplace like Bolivia,” let’s go someplace like Bolivia.