SFIFF Insight: How Coherence Doesn’t End
If you haven’t seen Coherence, don’t read most of this article.
SFIFF Opening Night: The Two Faces of January
That’s Viggo Mortensen, Kirsten Dunst, and Oscar Isaac acting squiggly throughout the scenic Mediterranean.
Sorcerer: Friedkin’s Flop Revisited
Sorcerer, William Friedkin’s gritty, arty, ’77 remake of the classic ’53 French action movie, The Wages of Fear, had the misfortune to open one month after Star Wars.
Mind Control Double Feature #92: How to Get Away with Practically Nothing
All I want is one lousy priceless diamond of international significance. Is that too much to ask?
SFIFF Preview: Trap Street
The innocuous looking and sounding Forest Lane is quite real. It’s the maps that pull the wool.
SFIFF Preview: Harmony Lessons, And Musings On Film Festival Films As A Genre
In which, by way of SFIFF entry Harmony Lessons, I ponder the film festival drama as its own genre, one I may have no business opining upon.
Going Ape #1: Planet Of The Apes – The Original
“Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!”
The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift Off to Sleep
A race! Over a girl! I wonder how it will end?
Mind Control Double Feature #91: Killer Plants!
They’re everywhere. Waiting. Watching. Rustling in the breeze. Flowering, some of them, the dirty bastards. Plants. Shrubs, trees, perennials, grass. Everywhere you look. Biding their sweet time. Shrug off the […]
On Under The Skin, Scarlett Johansson, And Other Naked Space Vampires
There’s little under the skin of Under The Skin. It’s a movie as visual and auditory experiment.
SFIFF Preview: All About the Feathers
With their bobbling heads, their self-important crowing, and their puffed-up plumage, it is quite difficult to look a rooster in the eye and take its opinions seriously.
M*A*S*H Is A Glorious Mess
War is a madhouse, religion is a joke, and suicide is painless.
Under the Skin Strips You, for You
Some films are erotic; others stand naked.
Only Lovers Left Alive: Jarmusch’s Vampires Imbibe Your Attention
There are few real artists left, suggests Jarmusch. And they are mostly vampires.