• Chasing Amy

    Chasing Amy


    An amazing gambit of fat guy delusion from Kevin Smith that his self-insert is hunky Ben Affleck who gets to live out "Pink Triangle", and then Kevin himself also gets to jump in and be the voice of reason.

    Could've been a much more daring and interesting film with multi-casting Kevin playing all the self-insert roles a la The Conformist.


  • The Gauntlet

    The Gauntlet


    A crowdpleasing balls-out action spectacle that is quite rare within the Eastwood oeuvre (at least more than one would think), fitting snugly within his prime public image. And unlike the spectacle piece of say, Firefox, The Gauntlet is tied quite taught, its never-ending chase in some ways a pulpier alpha male iteration on Broadway Danny Rose.

    One of the only Eastwood-Locke films where the two are ever-present and Locke is an active agent in her own destiny, making the interplay between the two crackle with an electricity sorely lacking in her passive arc of Bronco Billy or the physical separation of Sudden Impact.


  • Sandy LaPalissé

    Sandy LaPalissé

    A jokerfied reconstruction of Opal's wandering through the graveyard of anachronism in Nashville's junkyard scene, closer to Korine's more improvisatory moments.

    Very amused by its window of the foreigner conceiving America, Dale Earnhardt Jr. the new demigod, and the only way the common man can come close is beating up on the husks of compact shitheaps.

    Another W for magnetic tape mixed medium.

  • The Velvet Underground

    The Velvet Underground


    What do you do when you're faced with making a documentary about a band where the two most interesting people involved aren't around to speak about it?

    Well — you make a documentary that isn't really about the band at all! And when it is, make sure to shit as much as humanly possible on the only figures not around to respond to these suppositions. Most of its praise for the band comes in its discussion of the drone and…

  • Eaux d'artifice

    Eaux d'artifice

    Anger does early Brakhage better than Stan could ever dream of.

  • Scorpio Rising

    Scorpio Rising

    Anger's exploration into homofascist biker gangs, James Dean as the secular Jesus, and the actual Jesus having run out of patience for the sort of person he once intended to save.

    Anger was unlucky enough to have his prime working years in a pre-MTV epoch.

  • Kustom Kar Kommandos

    Kustom Kar Kommandos

    To make an analogy with Lil B, the Blue Flame mixtape to Titane's Red Flame.

  • Eraserhead



    "You wouldn't mind marrying me, would you Henry?"

    One of the great documents in support of auteurist pleasures — flicking lights as metaphysical signs of distress, nosebleeds, hysterical blondes sobbing at family dinners gone wrong, dream realms. For all my quibbles with his ideology and personal image, Lynch emerged a fully formed auteur, with his own unique visual and emotional lexicon (although narratively, he steals far more from the screen and life than his proponents would lead you to believe).…

  • Let Me Die a Woman

    Let Me Die a Woman

    “Before, anatomy was destiny.”

    Somewhat deprives itself of any good faith reading with its brief passages of aching and honest talking head interviews with its lurid content, alternating between silent recreation of park cruisings/apartment seductions that are more evocative of DW Griffith than any grindhouse touchstone and educational exposition dumps where genitals are prodded and inspected to show every difference between the floor model vagina and the custom build of the modern age (Dave Chapelle would certainly appreciate Wishman’s intent). …

  • Ganja & Hess

    Ganja & Hess


    Stylistically virtuosic, its free associative edit and narratively obtuse execution call to mind Sweet Sweetback, but its actual content of rapid-fire symbols that act as signifiers for several signified throughout the runtime and its slightly trite vampirism as addiction throughline draws a kinship with The Addiction.

    So visually striking and hypnotic (worth the price of admission purely as a vibe piece), but diffuse to a point where its genre trappings cannot provide even a hint of a structural backbone for such a narratively-focused (at least in intent) completely work.


  • Possession



    Żuławski's odd genre schema leads to inaccurate comparisons — not as much a divorce film as Kramer vs. Kramer or Marriage Story which are more focused on parenting, and not analogous to the breakdown cinema of Repulsion, the emotional fallout of Neill and Adjani's marriage in the present tense. If anything, most reminiscent in both form and content of Last Tango In Paris, a roaming camera following desire turned sour with an alien quality enhanced by its English as a…

  • Lemon



    So alienated and often predicated on foreign people having funny accents as a punchline (the patois Rasta BBQ it’s peak) — it becomes hard to believe anyone besides a crazy ass white boy between the ages of 24-30 made this. 

    Maybe Gelman was the Polly Platt of the Bravo auteur project all along.