In Which I Return To The Return of The Living Dead
Send more paramedics.
Send more paramedics.
An unusual case study of two movies based on the same book, each trying to be faithful in its own way.
For both the poetically minded and the short attention spanned among you.
Stop-motion puppets bring Charlie Kaufman’s latest story of misery to depressing life.
Late period Hitchcock is not for the weak of heart.
In which I list every movie I watched during 2015, because who doesn’t love a good list?
Neither cartoon nor meta-commentary on itself, The Hateful Eight is something crazier still: a good movie.
I know, but hear me out–it’s a REALLY BIG Death Star, right? It’s just so, so, so BIG this time. You see? No way it blows up again. I promise.
Plunge into an eastern European rabbit-hole, don’t forget your enchanted pearl, and watch out for chickens, priests, and polecats.
At long last, the Alamo Drafthouse arrives in San Francisco to show us some movies.
A sad, sad story of an artist eaten alive.
A cinematic ode to a movie director’s ode to a movie director.
Rocky’s past comes back to be trained. Boxing ensues.
Gilliam writes a memoir from beyond the grave. The grave which he is not in. Because he’s still alive. Or so he would have us believe.