“Gimme your quietest indie film.” “No, that’s too quiet and indie.” – Hans Mole-chan I remember the reign not of Indie Sleaze but of Indie Twee. It’s still with us in this very room. Wes Anderson is out there making movies, and Juno (2007) is just a click away. Before Barbie (2023) there was Baghead (2008). Even Dane Cook got involved. I still remember Steve Carell’s face smashed up against a stack of pancakes at the Blockbuster. No hoard of... Read more
Most mornings my wife and I walk our dogs early in the morning. I mean, early. The goal is solitude. We hope to steal a few quiet moments with the animals before the day gets too hectic, the sun too hot. There’s also a practical matter: our neighborhood is crawling with dogs, specifically German Shepherds. And one of our boys really, really hates German Shepherds. Every now and again, the darkness throws out some sound that makes the two- or... Read more
I don’t like saying movies age poorly. It feels impolite like asking a lady her age or inquiring about that Argentinian friend with a German last name’s grandpa. You just don’t do it. But even I have to be honest with myself sometimes. It ain’t easy. I’ve spent a lifetime convincing loved ones that just because a movie is black and white or silent or slow that it’s still worth seeing. Throw in that I’m a “medievalist” and it’s built... Read more
I did not shoot the sheriff. I didn’t even shoot the deputy. And I most certainly didn’t shoot Bambi’s mom. Word on the street, in fact, is that she was never shot at all, that the chief execs over at Disney imagine a happier, less-traumatized Bambi, one whose turnaround will both reflect and produce happier, less-traumatized kid audiences. Or maybe the whole thing is a PR campaign. All press, good press—that canard. Certainly, the right-wing media sphere has its meat... Read more
Massacre at Central High (1976) has that peculiar quality by which something that anticipates a phenomenon gets to its essence better than those things that make-up the phenomenon itself. We have this idea of 70s high school exploitation films and the slashers that followed them; we know that revenge so often undergirds these kinds of movies (whether the desire of a wronged serial killer or revenge on bad guys for a group of worthy kids). But when did social salience... Read more
Orson Welles’ F for Fake (1973) is, for all its pretense of devilishness, a very Thomistic movie. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen another film so singularly invested in matching form and matter (or, if you like, content). Ostensibly, the piece investigates an art forger (Elmyr de Hory) and his duplicitous biographer (Clifford Irving), who claims to tell the truth about Elmyr’s fantastic successes, even as we know he has lied in another book (a biography of Howard Hughes). The... Read more
Fassbinder was my way into melodrama. True enough, I grew up catching my grandma’s stories with her. I never quite recoiled from reality TV the way I was supposed to. Just because I could appreciate the virtues of ham, did not, however, mean I understood its purpose. It’s one thing to feel touched by swelling orchestral music and Scarlett O’Hara’s tears; it’s another entirely to see what’s gained by going big. Aside from the goosebumps, the heightened feelings, that come... Read more
Strongmen face a paradox: you need your guys. They must be skilled, capable, and efficient. Otherwise, you won’t be staying strong for long. They can’t, however, be too skilled, too capable. If they make connections too easily or become too independently powerful, they pose a threat. An ally becomes an enemy. And so, you’ve got to get rid of them. But now you’re back at square one. There’s no good help anymore! On account of miserliness, foresight, or both, the... Read more
Michael Moore suicide bombing Mount Rushmore. A Parisian rue paved with cobblestones shaped like croissants. Kim Jong-il taking a moment from his Skeletor-esque machinations to sing about his loneliness. The Eifel Tower, the Louvre, and the Arc de Triomphe, located only feet apart, destroyed in seconds by an American strike team. A long, graphic puppet sex scene cut over and over by the MPAA. Indeed, all the above with puppets. Puppets exploding into bloody goo. Puppets kissing and sword fighting,... Read more
There’s an episode from one of my favorite childhood cartoons, Recess (1997-2001), called “The Game.” The game is a puzzle-based quasi-Pokémon rip-off called “Ajimbo” that leaves its players decrepit husks, determined to collect more and more little silver owls and yellow chickens. Their dead eyes, however, did not deter me. I remember wishing we had that game in real life. “Ajimbo” represented a global (or schoolwide) social cohesion that began to disappear by late middle school. The episode closes and... Read more
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