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.
Wherein it is written, on whatever it is they write it on in the web-o-sphere, that one could do worse than to watch the newest Zappa documentary.
I have seen the future, and it is the past.
And I may even have succeeded in doing so. Or possibly not. Or, on the other hand, I am on fire. Strange times.
Another great steps backstage.
In which with a certain morose ennui we muse upon what, lately, has been watched
In which Charles Willeford’s steamy Floridian art-noir is moved to Italy. Hm.
Another Python goes.
An unlikely ending reveals the evil genius of the Sith.
As SB4MC readers may already know, I only love to review movies while drunk on an airplane! Luckily for you, I am A) currently in that precise condition, and B) […]
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.
Time continues to get wider in Michael Apted’s lifelong documentary project.