• House of Gucci

    House of Gucci

    Lady Gaga as a haunted answering machine

  • Christine

    Christine

    Keith Gordon the shrimp babe of my dreams

  • tick, tick...BOOM!

    tick, tick...BOOM!

    Blink and you will miss Sarah Schulman's cameo!

    Don't blink and you also miss it, as Schulman does not appear in the film.

    Larson's lyrics lack a certain poetry. All the same, I was surprised how on board I was for this

  • Spencer

    Spencer

    Ma'am this is a workplace

  • The French Dispatch

    The French Dispatch

    The second I saw Rosenthaler's frescoes removed to Maw Clampette's Kansas museum, I was reminded of Keith Haring's Grace House mural, sliced from its 85-foot stairwell (the building soon to be demolished) and auctioned off in 13 pieces, on display in Denver. They have in common their high plains exhibition, which follows from their violent disarticulation from context, which in ordinary circumstances bestows meaning and so artfulness. Put another way, art isn't of its context, art is its context, so…

  • Dune

    Dune

    Timothee Chalamet is a charisma sink, a zero of a screen presence, distinctly uncompelling. This is not his fault. But he keeps ending up in these projects where we're asked to look at him, and it's like, c'mon. Everything bad people said about Kristen Stewart in Twilight is true of TC, except it is when he is muttering that he is most tolerable. When he shouts it is too juvenile to stand. When there are two lines of dialogue in…

  • The Last Duel

    The Last Duel

    Ah, Paris. City of light! Instead of an Eiffel Tower, we get a towering eyeful (Adam Driver), and in place of the Pompidou Center, a pompous one percenter (Matt Damon). Also, two pretty hard-to-sit-through rape scenes.

    The past refuses the influence of the present. But the present can, and here does, labor hard to stage the past, explain its hierarchies and economies, elaborate what is so different to arrive at what is the same. The 21st century is present in…

  • Titane

    Titane

    What did we say about blood for oil??

    A movie forward movie, especially for 11am. I take back everything I said about movies beginning with formative childhood events, they rule again. The thing I most wanted to happen (something with Rayane) was exactly what I DIDN'T want to happen (that thing with Rayane.)

    Trying to jog my friend's memory later about what movie this was, not realizing I was standing next to a bunch of middle schoolers: "French? Trailer was all dancing and no dialogue? ... She fucks the car?" He got there.

  • No Time to Die

    No Time to Die

    A slap in the face to my singles rights platform. (Two main planks: +1s to weddings and legalize double texting.) My whole book club is getting married, having kids, moving to the suburbs. And now this?

    Bond, cold war relic, is the fantasy death rattle of an empire in decline. The dying gasp of relevancy: What if British intervention in global affairs was not just profound, but needed? What if Daddy still knew best? A fantasy of patriarchal control dressed…

  • Clear and Present Danger

    Clear and Present Danger

    The poster where Harrison Ford is draped in the flag is about right

  • The Voyeurs

    The Voyeurs

    J'adore. The endless match cuts, the sexy opthalmologist appointment, the Auntie Anne's, every five minutes there's another twist final act, and not least of all the sneaking suspicion they only set it in Montreal to give naming it The Voyeurs a textual basis. More, please!

  • Skyfall

    Skyfall

    I guess they had to get Ben Whishaw to play Q after hiring Bardem to play Hatecrime Rodriguez. I finished Squid Game the day before which has a similar vibe. (Are all white Americans decadent homosexuals? I mean, not no.)

    Love this gorgeous, head empty movie. So serious, so silly, urgent text messages ignored to quote Tennyson in defense of whatever the British Patriot Act is. I was sitting in the IMDB goofs section, because my friends kept on pointing out things like the the number of coffins (8, not 6), and the backless dress (sheer counts!). Bloopers galore.