Yes, even more exhaustively comprehensive than the Dutch edit, but also more comprehensible. As with that alternate version the chronicling of times, distances, and victors takes precedent over a potentially more interesting encapsulation of place and feel, though it moves through its marathon duration at a more deliberate clip. We are still at the mercy of each given event’s inherent cinematic quality or lack thereof, so while several sections prosper through the quicker and more decipherable cuts, others do continue to outlast their welcome. Admittedly a key reason these are so enjoyable is the relaxing piano added with the beautiful restoration, but where accidentally taking the 1928 films in reverse chronology - and in quick succession - should have put this at a disadvantage, it turns out the more demanding undertaking is in fact this viewer’s preference. Letterboxd.
The Adventurer (Charlie Chaplin)
Holy Bugs vs. Bluto before either existed, I am cramping from laughter. This one’s special. Letterboxd.
The Age of Swordfish (Vittorio De Seta)
If the symphonic purity of men convening to net many fish in “Sea Countrymen” is a baseline for the best of De Seta’s Sicily documentaries, several men coordinating over distance to spear a single fish in “The Age of Swordfish” blasts out as the most emblematic demonstration of its collection. Subjects enjoy greater individual identity, and represent the generations these survival traditions passed through - as also seen in the youth of “Fishing Boats”. More direct correlation is drawn between the work day’s gender divisions, acknowledging what “A Day in Barbagia” poetically expounds upon. Most distinctly, the ingrained routines displayed here see the serene palette of dawn on the harbor transformed into an increasingly intense hunt - amplified for the viewer by De Seta’s cutting of faster and faster visuals to the sounds that inform their chase narrative until satisfying release. Finally, the payoff of pre-industrial labor’s rewards are never more felt than with the finale’s evening feast, as the village’s harmonic walks come together to take of and celebrate their earnings. Each of these shorts brings something to the table, though none moreso than this rounded and remarkable portrait that constantly draws the demand, “How on earth did they get that shot?” Letterboxd.
Alice in Wonderland (Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, Hamilton Luske)
Here’s more of a journal entry than a review, because… I think I finally appreciate this? As a kid I was overly sensitive to tertiary trifles in library-rented Disney tapes and the like. For example I needed to be consoled the first time I saw Arthur ditch the amorous squirrel in an ultimately throwaway scene from “The Sword in the Stone”. From the curious oysters to the exclusive flowers, “Alice” is so full of such fleeting plights that it never rose to a highly favored level with me despite the standard intrigue with Walt’s dabblings in vogue surrealism. As an adult I’ve simply found myself more frustrated with the cavalcade of nonsense that amounts to very little yet still moves loads of merch since the Cheshire Cat is ‘cool.’ Now, at last, I find it at least somewhat interesting that the practically anthology-style progression shares more in common with Disney Animation’s preceding package films than any of their other narrative features, and the mounting of Alice’s desired ‘nonsense’ grows funnier the less patient she becomes with each more aggressively anarchic Chico, Groucho, and Harpo she encounters. Plus, despite the many times I’ve seen it in context and as part of a childhood “Sing-Along Songs” collection, the centerpiece tea party is still an infectiously uproarious winner. Letterboxd.
All About My Mother (Pedro Almodóvar)
Of course it's melodrama, but becomes so downright soapy that it doesn't fully connect with me no matter how often it makes me wish that were the case. Still, pretty good, and along with supporting standouts Cecilia Roth really holds it together.
Ant-Man (Peyton Reed)
As advertised: ants, men, little else. Don’t go thinking I didn’t notice the Roy Ayers on the soundtrack. Nice cameo by The Derek Zoolander Center for Kids Who Can't Read Good and Want to Learn to Do Other Stuff Good, Too. Truly a center for ants. Letterboxd.
Ant-Man & the Wasp (Peyton Reed)
Maybe Stan’s best cameo? Can anyone remember them all to say? Improving upon its predecessor in every way doesn’t mean this is anything other than decidedly minor, but it’s on enough of a lark with its ‘50s sci-fi roots and robust locations that its tropes-on-tropes are easily excused as it achieves what simplicity it’s set out to, and that’s just swell. Letterboxd.
Army of the Dead (Zack Snyder)
Well now it’s even weirder saying “Justice League” is one of the best movies from the first half of 2021. I wanted to joke that “Army of the Dead” is 148 minutes too long (knees, get slapped), but really it’s just frustrating. Snyder - who could stand to leave Wagner be and just make a fantasy about orcs already - confidently toys with aesthetic enough to craft a diverting individualism, yet seems satisfied to shrink from the potential of every crescendo he trudges to. Letterboxd.
Avengers: Age of Ultron (Joss Whedon)
The serialized narrative ambition of the “Avengers” series is so much better in retrospect. On its own, the compelling dichotomy between this second big crossover’s villain and its foil is woefully compromised by multiple new character introductions and especially by bricks more concerned with building toward the Thanos duology. Thereby does it fail individually to perpetuate casual enfranchisement, ultimately living and dying on its amusement park action's inconsistent mileage - an issue far from confined to the one installment, and enough to have originally dismissed it. “Endgame”, however, miraculously stuck its drawn-out landing. Further, and most importantly in this case, the creativity and intrigue of “WandaVision” has finally granted reason to actually care about a handful of the secondary players. Suddenly “Age of Ultron” cutaways to Elizabeth Olsen during Paul Bettany scenes actually resonate, while Chris Hemsworth taking a dramatic bath to learn about the next movie at least feels like it has a place. Often do I question continuing to sit through these things, but giving them a chance has not yet ceased to bestow reward. Letterboxd.
Bamboozled (Spike Lee)
Lest I feel it relevant I try not to get too overtly subjective in public reviews. “Bamboozled” is one of my very favorites, though, and I’ve seen it more times than most others in my comfiest of rewatch comfort zones. It’s practically a meme among closer friends that it’s my universal go-to recommendation. Even others I’ve adored countless times at that echelon, however, eventually expose soft spots I can poke little holes in if I try. Not so here. Ever since my first viewing - in 2003, as part of my first collegiate film course with the purpose of deconstructing Spike’s intentionally disorienting conversation editing - I have learned something new with each go. I know it backward and forward like a cherished song, yet without fail it always reveals further layers even more ‘cutting edge’ today than in their 2003 youth when many of us still believed we lived in a “post-racial” society. I am the worst Spike fanatic in that I have continued to leave at least half his perpetually audacious filmography to wither unseen, but from the multitude I have taken in his rhythms have never been catchier, his visuals never more gripping, his script never more penetrating, and Blanchard’s score never more lovely. Here’s the real hyperbole: truly experiencing this film is to laugh at and sob for humanity in equally voluminous measure. Fucking watch it. Letterboxd.
Barb & Star Go to Vista Del Mar (Josh Greenbaum)
First of all: Patricia Arquette (Ed.: and Trish Stratus). Second... I live in Florida, and this is exactly what it is like. Letterboxd.
The Beatles: Get Back (Peter Jackson, Michael Lindsay-Hogg)
Cillian Murphy is perfectly cast as Glyn. Pattinson just OK as George. Letterboxd.
Behind the Screen (Charlie Chaplin)
Almost threw my back out laughing at this one. Every blink is at risk of missing something as Chaplin makes clever fodder of his own craft in what is essentially a superior reframing of “Dough & Dynamite”. That said, I hope whoever scored some of these with a slide whistle and a glockenspiel isn’t earning royalties. Letterboxd.
Black Widow (Cate Shortland)
Was that a Twilight Sparkle plushie? In 1995?? I’ll allow it if the blue hair was a “Ghost World” reference (note to self: actually watch “Ghost World”). Solid espionage actioner, though. Bond plus bonding, and better than almost anything you could hit on a 007 dartboard. 2021 is Marvel’s year of finally giving reason to care about their secondary characters, dead or alive. Letterboxd.
Bluebeard (Catherine Breillat)
As gorgeous and entrancing as a Pasolini, and as ultimately haunting as Mélìes' seminal version.
Brief Encounter (David Lean)
Lean’s leads always work from their most evocative eyes. Every moment of this is wonderful - initially relating the central star-crossed lover through her zoned-out patronizing of an acquaintance at the conjunctive train station, the explosively parodic fake trailer for the movie they walk out of, and especially every bit of Johnson’s confessional narration that sculpts the endless romantic angst. This movie is so good I’m practically in disbelief it exists. The best film I've seen from the 1940s. Letterboxd.
Bringing Up Baby (Howard Hawks)
Big nope. Even if I set aside how much Hepburn indeed annoys me, the whole thing could have ended at any point and made just as much sense. Been a long time since I’ve watched a classic screwball so maybe this is a common trait I’m just not remembering, but while the scene-by-scene unraveling should eventually begin re-ravel, or at least reach a breaking point where the characters’ efforts finally pay off... instead it just picks a point in the wackiness to fade to the next day when everything is fine again without bothering to give a resolution. At least it’s better than “The Wrong Missy” which follows the same plot as only Happy Madison can.
Broadcast News (James L. Brooks)
A cutaway to someone crying during a rape testimony has never been so funny. What starts like a deceptively standard romantic comedy, set to a Conti score saccharine even for Conti, leaps to crackling life at the big live broadcast sequence and rides through with the lead trio nailing their every moment to pitch perfection. The aforementioned cutaway does draw pivotal reactions that are questionable in characters by that point cemented, but all Brooks has to do is linger on Hunter to get away with it. The tragedy in each of her put-on smiles just kills you. Letterboxd.
A Burlesque on Carmen (Charlie Chaplin)
Maybe the highest height Chaplin reached prior to the gems of his Mutual run, and a thorough flaunting of what a savant he was for the medium less than two years into performing in front of and behind the camera. The Essanay shorts to this point had ranged from Keystone-like brick-hurling in the park to the bittersweet romantic subplots that are best remembered, but the reverently parodic nature in play here gives us a version of Charlie (as Don José— er... Darn Hosiery) not seen again until the 1940s with Adenoid Hynkel and even Henri Verdoux - a version perhaps more influential than any other on contemporary comedy the likes of an “Austin Powers”. And the still amateur Edna, for her part, absolutely flexes against type as Bizet’s seductress. Essential. Letterboxd.
Chaplin (Richard Attenborough)
Ol’ Chuck must’ve done a poor job with that first draft memoir for Tony Hopkins to have so many plot-forwarding questions. As is consensus Downey is fantastic but the script is a checklist (there’s literally a checklist, even), and a dubious one at that (entirely skipping elements that could have used more emphasis, the inclusion of every romantic entanglement while something like “The Great Dictator” is set up then breezed past just as swiftly). Attenborough manages to make his dedication to a perfectionist of his craft both disappointingly conventional and wildly bizarre (dipping in and out of melodrama for Chaplin-style chases, puzzle piece wipes), with the epic releasing almost two years after Oliver Stone showed with “The Doors” how such material can be far more effective when the facts are interpreted representationally so to focus on thematic arcs that better convey the person being accounted. “Chaplin” is ultimately worth the viewing in the way these things can be depending on subject, and its reflective finale sends it off on a high note, though one can’t help but wish for Charlie, and RDJ, to have gotten a better movie around them. Letterboxd.
Cherry (Anthony Russo, Joe Russo)
Dare I crack the “Disney’s Marvel’s ‘GoodFellas’” joke? Well, there it is. Though both sides of that argument can go ahead and calm down, it is amusing that the Russos seem to have drawn inspiration from Scorsese himself. Which, hey, is great, but the resulting project and its various impermanent flourishes simply do not approach anything original, cohesive, nor remotely involving. From “Full Metal Jacket” and “Born on the Fourth of July” to “Harsh Times” and “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk”, you’ve seen this already and you’ve seen it (significantly) better. Letterboxd.
Chinatown (Roman Polanski)
Polanski briefly does some neat stuff with glass and mirrors during the initial snooping, but I found it overall fairly dry. Not bad, but might be outright boring if not for the Nicholson’s innate charisma.
Cosmic Sin (Edward Drake)
I watched this so other Lana fans don’t have to. Intriguing though it can be when even the thinnest films go through motions of imagining a distant future, once this jingoist “Halo” mimic gets past its opening exposition dump (establishing a world of plaid-clad white people and a black guy who’s there for one scene) its only impressive quality is just how thoroughly it finds every shortcut with which it can feign the existence of value behind its Redbox thumbnail. I go to this easy sentiment too often, but my wish to have been seated between the MST3K robots has never been truer. And, sadly, CJ “Lana” Perry makes not for a redeeming element, as the already gummed proceedings become entirely stuck in their own mud each time they pause to rely on a Milla Jovovich-style mesmerism Lana simply does not possess no matter how much it means to her to try. Letterboxd.
Cotton Comes to Harlem (Ossie Davis)
Thoroughly okay, and never better than its opening “Ain’t Now, but It’s Gonna Be” sequence. This whole time I’ve assumed ‘Cotton’ was a character’s name. Nope. Literal cotton.
Cruella (Craig Gillespie)
Gillespie repeats everything he got wrong with “I, Tonya”, this time in the form of a Disney cash-in, so there’s every reason to be disgusted with the product… but damn if “Cruella” isn’t in fact a spot of fun (#pullquote). Always knew Horace could scribble. Letterboxd.
Cry Macho (Clint Eastwood)
All Eastwood has to do is simply be old on camera to lend meditative gravitas to his character’s every weighted movement, and this minor escapade does thoroughly entertain but you could swap in Tom Selleck and no one would mistake a single aspect of it for anything but shelf filler only your aunt Trudy will actually go out of her way to watch. Letterboxd.
Crying Fist (Ryoo Seung-wan)
Very disappointed in Nic Cage for not starring in a remake of this. Letterboxd.
Death Watch (Bertrand Tavernier)
Excellent. Or, as excellent as a film involving rarity of disease and the intrigue of Harvey Keitel becoming a sentient camera can be when its decor includes posters for “The Masque of Red Death” and “The Man with the X-Ray Eyes” right next to one another on Harry Dean Stanton’s wall. Which is still pretty darn good, if not quite the sinister yarn initially hinted, as Tavernier’s richly mobile cinematography wastes nary a moment. Letterboxd.
The Devil All the Time (Antonio Campos)
Gravelly Americana folktale of karmic coincidence and "The Night of the Hunter"-esque scripture manipulation. Leans hard on misery porn to the point of unintentional comedy, which would be reason to dismiss it if not for just how darn entertaining it is. Letterboxd.
Down by Law (Jim Jarmusch)
Starts pretty rocky when it's just emptily being cool for the sake of it, then immediately takes off once Jack & Zack are in the cell together. Leaves in its muddy tracks an, "Aw, well isn't that swell" feeling. Jarmusch's better stuff shows his cleverness and his dry way of working around to genuine sentimentality, where his worse stuff makes me wonder if he's the Dave Matthews Band of cinema.
Dune (Denis Villeneuve)
All I wanted from this - and I am on record - was to be introduced to Stellan Skarsgård’s character ass-first. So I’m certainly not displeased there. I’m not sure how many were asking for something even weirder than Lynch’s film, though, much less something that’s all somber set-up and zero payoff. “On the Silver Globe” features a much more worthwhile desolate sci-fi aesthetic, and being unfinished delivers about as much of an ending. Letterboxd.
Easy Living (Mitchell Leisen)
They got GameStopped! Preposterously disjointed, though not nearly to a detriment - Sturges fans get what we’ve banked on. Letterboxd.
Eight Girls in a Barrel (Georges Mélìes)
Oddly pornographic? Unless it's an earlier experiment like some of the ones now only preserved as converted flipbooks (and even then), it's disappointing to encounter the tricks that don't try to imbue at least a hint of humor or narrative, leaving them to rely on how seamlessly the cuts were made and little else. "Après le bal" has the similar issue of being detrimentally basic, only getting by on being one of the firsts of its kind (plus the charm of the one actress nervously looking, presumably at Méliès, like, “Was that good?”), where the similar "Le modèle irascible" adds just enough humor and narrative to the simple conceit of seeing under a woman’s clothing that it better justifies itself.
Every Man for Himself (Jean-Luc Godard)
Setting aside the frame-by-frame slow motion, which is just jarring (is it supposed to be, Jean-Luc? Do you want me to be jarred?), I loved the cinematography. I just have no idea what I’m supposed to have gotten out of this one otherwise. Which would be perfectly fine if it didn’t seem like Godard really wanted something to be gotten out of the delirium-inducing misery and humiliation. I love the choice to end, after several darkly hilarious revelations, with the Godard surrogate getting hit by a car and everyone around him deciding “fuck that guy; let’s leave."
The Exterminating Angel (Luis Buñuel)
It is because of Dalí’s expert comprehension of form and anatomy that he is able to stretch and break down the concepts of traditional art to create his masterpieces. It is in this same way Buñuel is able to render disorienting surreality from popular cinema’s own traditions. Or those are the words I’d like to be able to hackily hack together regarding “The Exterminating Angel”, and it certainly doesn't turn me off the way “Discreet Charm” does, but it’s still a pretty blasé experience overall. For as perpetually angry as I am about “the ruling class,” perhaps I’m too complacent about the fact of its being and where I stand relative to it to really get into the satire here. Disconnected rich people become "Lord of the Flies". Right then.
The Falcon & the Winter Soldier (Kari Skogland)
Where “WandaVision” was tailored to be a miniseries, this feels like a feature Disney didn’t want to market at feature level. Trimmed and heightened above its Russos-established vanilla espionage thriller plateau, the same narrative could even be a solid feature with developments more impactful than it achieves as is. That said, there’s enough going on - thematically and through unintentional humor - to keep it a worthwhile appointment serving to non-essentially enrich the background of future blockbusters. Wyatt Russell’s character in particular lifts this above ‘chore’ status. Letterboxd.
Far from the Tree (Natalie Nourigat)
Tom Nook origin story. Letterboxd.
Farewell Amor (Ekwa Msangi)
Msangi probes endeavors of familial love throughout these cross-continental truths, meshing multiple intimate experiences of diaspora as accessible through their authenticity as they are heartrending because of the same. Letterboxd.
Fear Street: 1994 (Leigh Janiak)
Phat “Phantom Carriage” reference, son. But seriously. Proudly bears its bases as badges almost as plentiful as its overpacked playlist that skips us from the “Scream” and “Halloween” scenes to the… “Hocus Pocus” and “The Village” scenes? Sure! And when the glut of mid-‘90s singles aren’t stopping as soon as they start to make way for more (while getting a pass regardless because, hey, Cowboy Junkies), Marco Beltrami’s score blares in sounding like it was torn straight from Don Davis’ work on the 1999 “House on Haunted Hill”. This highly animated first “Fear Street” delivers on a promise of being “American Horror Story” for teens, and right when you think it’s pulling punches to toe a demographic line it hits with one of the most eye-poppingly, jaw-droppingly brutal kills in all slasherdom. Just remember, if you miss a single “Friday the 13th” nod in the next one, you lose. Letterboxd.
Fishing Boats (Vittorio De Seta)
An engine room's chug paces the action in place of the rhythmic chants of "Sea Countrymen" and the escalating instructions of "The Age of Swordfish". The dancing boys - since adolescent - are now themselves on the boats, contending against roiling storms through which De Seta magically maintains the horizon out of sympathetic fascination with the toil of survival. Again, the cyclical reward is the necessary fuel of food and rest. Letterboxd.
The Flying Guillotine (Ho Meng-Hua)
Promise paid in full, as the title implement is the clear star. Its frequent, imaginatively gruesome uses loom throughout the workings of every colorful setting, achieving shock with each slicing flight. Letterboxd.
Forbidden Planet (Fred M. Wilcox)
For some strange reason my parents got me the "Return to the Forbidden Planet" soundtrack for Christmas one year and I loved it even before I understood the Shakespeare references ("It's got tentacles instead of hands; don't let it clutch me!"), so I was disappointed to find "Forbidden Planet" as something less significant than a missing chunk of childhood. I totally get its place as it sparked so much latter 20th Century sci-fi including "Star Trek", and there are some very cool boundary-pushing visuals. But that cool stuff comprises a mere fraction of the whole, because sweet mother of sexy Leslie Nielsen is this thing boring. I appreciate that it rarely takes itself all the way seriously, but woof.
The Games of the V Olympiad Stockholm, 1912 (Adrian Wood)
Man, the most eventful part of these is always the cross country refreshment table. Including quick pre-Games footage of a team arriving via ship is appreciated, and long bygone events such as tug of war add even more curiosity than the relatively crude venues and several spectators’ clear bemusement with being on what was still a rather rigid camera. Chronology is far from essential, but it is odd how much this one jumps back and forth, seemingly to buoy interest through its reams of dull ceremony footage. Yachting tends to be prettiest, though, so ending there rather than with medal presentations sends us off on a much higher note than could have been. Letterboxd.
Godzilla vs. Kong (Adam Wingard)
“You watched it; you can’t unwatch it!” Exposition hoses nestled safely out of the way passing for plot and character? That’s par. The last two were at least sufficiently amusing between those obligatory stretches, though. Four movies in and they couldn’t motivate the animated U-bomb any better than making him a brainless aggrobeast while Kong and everything he’s represented since 1933 gets manipulatively trafficked multiple times and not even afforded the moment of breaking his own chains. Whelp, hope I’m done thinking about this one for a while. With Kyle Chandler! Letterboxd.
Going to Bed Under Difficulties (Georges Méliès)
One of Méliès' best tricks. Should have been combined with "After the Ball" as a troll. Letterboxd.
Grand Illusion (Jean Renoir)
Miraculously filmed. That blocking! Those dollies! The scene where the prisoners learn France has overtaken the region really got me. Just a thoroughly wonderful first act, a poignant second act that reaps the harvest planted by the first, then a totally extraneous third act that adds nothing.
Halloween Kills (David Gordon Green)
No, not great, but bookended well and most importantly committed to continuing the almost elegantly simple conceit of the original, which was the whole creative purpose of rebooting from this point in the continuity. Old man Michael is a nightmare-inducing force, living up to the concept of terrifyingly purposeless evil in human form albeit hampered by several sequences’ failures to capitalize on established tension. Some fun callbacks, even more lame ones, perhaps the best mask continuity in slasher history, and an actually fitting and decently executed implementation of a passed actor (at the very least leagues more palatable than what the “Star Wars” franchise has been perpetrating). Letterboxd.
Häxan (Benjamin Christensen)
I thought I knew what to expect yet was still shocked at the content. It's hilarious (the devils, antics like throwing urine on a dude's door to magically kill him), unsettling (the pig men, the forest gathering), and affecting (the monks with the young woman). I also quite liked the widely dismissed final part correlating what is regarded as an issue of the past to contemporary matters. Also, Walt Disney definitely saw this, eh?
Heat & Dust (James Ivory)
The tongue-in-cheek scope of privileged white ignorance lands, and the understated narrative styling entertains. The humor could stand to be slightly less subtle and the sexuality could stand to be a lot more harlequin, but it’s thoroughly solid despite being dustier than it is hot. Letterboxd.
Hellbound: Hellraiser II (Tony Randel)
As an unusually big fan of William Malone’s “House on Haunted Hill” remake... wow Bill, now I know where you got all those ideas! Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Bloodline (Kevin Yagher)
Awesomely ambitious return to deepening the on-screen mythos after a commercial detour in (the honestly still quite agreeable and fun) "Hell on Earth", richly unfolded across three time periods with killer makeup effects, multiple giant puzzle boxes, a fun supporting cast, and Doug Bradley relishing the spotlight. ...Directed by Alan Smithee. The hell? Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Inferno (Scott Derrickson)
So very turn of the millennium it makes me nostalgic for renting early Netflix queue era schlock and thinking I was discovering hidden gems. With just enough of his psychological focus connecting to get a pass, Derrickson cutting his teeth on the genre-blending he’d forge his name with isn’t entirely objectionable here even if the majority is stiflingly deletable. It is a shock to gradually absorb, though, after each prior franchise entry dug further into the cinematic version of Barker’s cenobites while the economically retrofit and arbitrarily titled “Inferno” provides at best trivial wrinkles and is at worst a “Se7en” knock-off. With more from the Cottons and Lemarchands in coming installments, I just hope I’ve seen the last of a Hell Priest with CGI pins. Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Hellseeker (Rick Bota)
So both Amy Poehler and Tina Fey have selected their most beloved sitcom characters' significant others from "Hellraiser" movies. But hey, judging by this installment everyone and their sidepiece does want to get them some Dean Winters. Apparently after 2000's "Inferno" (which would have better suited the title "Hellseeker") went "Se7en" with a side of "8MM", 2002's "Hellseeker" (which would have better suited the title "Inferno") went "Memento" with a side of "The Matrix". Again on this stock element-utilizing direct-to-DVD side of the franchise we have less a chapter in a continuing story and more a tertiary curiosity - more like fanfic in this case, really - based around an unsympathetic scumbag whom Doug Bradley's Hell Priest openly identifies as a less interesting option than the desired alternative. It's frustrating enough that one might hope it will retcon itself by the time it's through running in place for most of the duration. At least - spoilers - we do get that wish, even if we must look to Ashley Laurence's greatly welcome yet essentially cameo presence as Kirsty Cotton to forgive a far more telegraphed and far less resonant redo of the immediate predecessor's already half-empty resolution. Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Deader (Rick Bota)
With every reason to lose optimism in the middle of this budget side of the series, our first direct-to-DVD "Hellraiser" with a title actually pertaining to its contents manages to meld with the iconography well enough to pull off its act. Again the Weinsteins turned down a juicier concept in favor of a remixed spec. Again we're following an investigation through recycled sets while reality crumbles around our protagonist (who this time is shown to be the ace journalist behind "How to Be a Crack Whore"). And after he'd swooped in to bestow a relatively satisfying finale upon the otherwise aimless "Hellseeker", again Clive Barker is uninvolved. Oh, and the vision-devoid "Hellseeker" director Rick Bota is back, this time helming two sequels at once to keep costs down even more! So it's left to whatever fad we're riding this time to save us, and somehow early aughts J-horror finds the sweet spot between our pain and pleasure. Ironically, while "Hellbound" was a blatant inspiration for the William Malone "House on Haunted Hill" remake that debuted Dark Castle, "Deader" plays quite similarly to Malone's own amusing contribution to the stateside J-horror craze "feardotcom" (pre-rewrite scribe Neil Marshall Stevens also penned Dark Castle's second William Castle remake "THIR13EN Ghosts"). The simple tricks to fit in with the genre zeitgeist go a long way in elevating what could have felt like the television special Bota's prior outing practically was. Even more important than achieving that passable aesthetic is a fresher approach to the hallucinatory rabbit hole regurgitation that did little more than stall out requisite running time across the last two attempts. If we had to pass back that way, at least we have a piquing twist on the reason to do so along with lead Kari Wuhrer as an upgrade over Craig Sheffer and Dean Winters. Furthermore the resolution is engagingly unraveled scene by scene rather than dumped all at once at the end, which sounds basic but don't tell that to the crew behind "Inferno". Finally, along with a story closest in tone to "Hell on Earth" of the theatrical films, we fans are gifted a follow-up to the Hell Priest's implication in the future scenes of "Bloodline" that he's encountered more members of the Lemarchand lineage than we are shown. If we can't get Kirsty (thanks a lot, Bob), at least we get... Winter? Sure! Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Hellworld (Rick Bota)
The Hell Priest does love games. He loves them so much, throughout the series it often feels he enjoys and even invites opportunities to be gamed himself. So come the 2000s it's easy to buy in as "Hellworld" crashes us onto a notion that the cenobite from the puzzle box would manifest his own online computer game. The funny thing about "Hellraiser", going back to the 1987 original, is that despite Clive Barker's fascinating ideas the films always seem behind their own time. This shouldn't be a detriment when considering individual or overarching merit, but when a studio is trying to make money on a name brand by fitting it to passed fads it does make for certain oddities and derivations. Like, for better or worse it's shocking it took eight movies for "Hellraiser" to go to the standard group-of-pretty-young-victims format. Shoot, it's shocking it took eight movies for the term 'puzzle box' to be used as sexual innuendo (thank you for that delivery, Henry Cavill). But it's also silly that "Hellworld" came to exist after such AOL-era chat room horror fare as ".com for Murder" starring Roger Daltrey and Huey Lewis. Those idle ponderings aside, though, the rocking "Hellworld" - which actually uses its computer game bit as but a catalyst - not only dives into generic slasher territory as a needed reprieve from procedural redundancy, it has a blast doing so while it still can. And if it had indeed come out five or so years sooner, there's so much pleather-pantsed sex you just know the VHS would have been a dorm room mainstay right next to "Wild Things". Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Revelations (Victor García)
The "House on Haunted Hill" remake connections persist, as "Revelations" (back to arbitrary naming) was seen through by the director who did adequate if not memorable work with that film's also direct-to-DVD follow-up. And so it is that the legacy of "Hellraiser" is inexorably tied to the Weinsteins' disinterest in doing right by it, and in the series' fourth calendar decade doing nothing more than cheaply holding onto its trademark. With a shred of decency this obligatory rights extension would have been left in the can and indefinitely shelved. Limited to a three-week shoot, "Revelations" comes off like it was made in half that time. Its lone fair quality is an accurate portrayal of dipshit male youth (through a cost-efficient found footage-style prologue), though it's impossible to argue a pathetically horny road trip as a fitting successor to Frank Cotton's quest to exceed human limits of pleasure. The remainder of the mercifully brief 75 minutes lazily perpetrates beats from the original film in an anonymously provincial living room as we strive to avert our eyes for fear of actually retaining any of this iniquitous stain. All respect to Doug Bradley for opting to make dough signing autographs instead. And no hate to Stephan Smith Collins for stepping into the doomed spot of taking over the gash; his headshot suggests he might get away with it but put that makeup on and he looks like a real... well, pinhead. Letterboxd.
Hellraiser: Judgment (Gary J. Tunnicliffe)
You can tell longtime “Hellraiser” makeup man Gary J. Tunnicliffe has knuckled down for his second whack at a hurried license retention when - after naming characters “Bradley” and “Craven” for “Revelations” - he this time calls a key location “Ludovico”. But seriously, there is reason to forgive “Judgment” simply because Tunnicliffe saw the recurrence of limited circumstance and took the opportunity to at least swing in the direction of something earning its name. As indeed there is only one Doug Bradley, deliberately divorcing from continuity (all but abandoned after the ‘90s anyway) serves fill-in Paul T. Taylor’s perfectly adequate stand-alone reimagining of a big boss Hell Priest who relies on middle men in a clash against sweaty religious fanaticism and low-rise-wearing angels. Amid unfortunate rehashes of classic lines like “Jesus wept,” Tunnicliffe also gives Taylor excellent new lines to coldly boom such as “Your pitiful adultery is beneath me.” To be clear, “Judgment” is not good. Neither is it remotely essential in its own realm. It masks its imposed shortcomings with a barrage of gross-out moments while also being the kind of boulder-brained movie where someone needs to have owned an iPhone 7 to know how to turn on an iPhone 7. “Judgment” does respect its target audience, however, and from a suffocating studio that was going to force something out regardless it reaches forth in attempt to deliver along the lines of what that audience wants. It’s a far cry from what fans would prefer to have seen after “Bloodline”, but with all considered it’s a significant step up from where we were in 2011. Letterboxd.
The Human Voice (Pedro Almodóvar)
"Dogville", eat your heart out. Letterboxd.
I Care a Lot (J Blakeson)
Starts like a movie that’s trying to be “about something," that being corporate America and the American dream fleecing vulnerable elderly like a mafia operating above board. Then the actual mafia gets involved, and no one is the good guy anymore - not even the elderly woman who serves as this story’s catalyst. So I’m thinking, okay, it’s at least somewhat interesting that the ideals of misandry - so often obligatorily applied to heroes these days - are being applied to someone as despicable as this central character who blatantly uses “I am woman” as a shield. Then the movie makes that classic blunder where the central character becomes an action hero out of nowhere, completely losing itself in an absurd third act before at least circling back to what feels like the right ending.
Ikiru (Akira Kurosawa)
Absolutely amazing. Grabs instantly and doesn't let go until the beautifully bittersweet final shot. May be one of the best films I’ve ever seen.
In Name Only (John Cromwell)
Obviously Coppola stole this ending for “The Godfather”. It continues to amaze me how many films of this era use bigamy as a major plot element. Letterboxd.
The Inn Where No Man Rests (Georges Méliès)
Plays like a mid-career 'greatest hits' for ol' Georges. The establishing phases of his films lasting longer than a minute or two can feel unnecessary, but the rich set here invites us during that time to guess from experience which tricks will inevitably ensue. Oh, that painting's totally coming to life. Ah, there's no way that bed's gonna cooperate. As whimsical chaos mounts in both expected and surprising ways, we can witness the further honing of oft-repeated gimmicks as well as some less clean cuts that - being parts of the whole rather than the main attraction - still draw due chuckles. While not on the tier of the cinema magician's very bests, the arrangement conveys an almost meta tone as we watch our hapless protagonist realize, "Aw crap; I stumbled into a Méliès." Letterboxd.
Jesus Shows You the Way to the Highway (Miguel Llansó)
The concept risks the tiresome single note of reverently sending up rock-bottom VHS rentals, yet wields a fundamental understanding of exploitation cinema’s budgetary hallmarks to the end of an alluring - and, yes, amusing - visual journey. Letterboxd.
John Was Trying to Contact Aliens (Matthew Killip)
Sneaky lovely.
King Kong (Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack)
When Kong appeared, my 11-year-old (to whom I’ve been waiting to show this since before she was born) sat up and exclaimed, “Oh my god!” Timeless. Letterboxd. Note: She would do the same immediately following the deactivation sequence in "2001: A Space Odyssey". So proud.
The King of Staten Island (Judd Apatow)
Damnit, Judd’s done it again. Like with "This Is 40" I would probably feel its length more on a rewatch, but also like "This Is 40" it’s an excellent slice of life to just slip into and enjoy for a while.
King of the Cruise (Sophie Dros)
Through Baron Ronnie, Dros portrays the same manufactured bourgeois ideals lampooned in “Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life” from a setting where everything looks like a version of the space station from “2001: A Space Odyssey” and shares Kubrick’s love of symmetry - trappings that evoke consistent observational humor while masking a deep sadness that would be sympathetic if not for the white riches behind it. That said, this ensemble of affluent melancholy is so affectingly filmed it hardly needs its “King” to center around. Letterboxd.
Late Spring (Yasujirō Ozu)
The low angles meeting the kneeling characters, the use of foreground and diorama-esque planes in the repeated compositions, the hilarious conversations mixed in with drama leading to the incredibly bittersweet ending, often forwarded by piercing point-of-view... enamored.
Limite (Mário Peixoto)
It's... very pretty. The framing scenes on the sea especially make me double-take the film’s 1931 date. The flashbacks are fine, too, if not as grabbing, but by the halfway point I’m sad to say my interest finally turned to impatience. Still, its uniqueness and what I feel is a very ahead-of-its-time avant-garde style make it worth considering. What a strange story.
Liquid Crystals (Jean Panlevé)
Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite. Letterboxd.
Locked Down (Doug Liman)
Tough to get too upset with this steady and hopefully lone slide down the quarantine meme checklist, as formally it’s widely - if not entirely - inoffensive. If it’s difficult to relate to the melodrama the impatiently selfish spiraled into mere days into our pitifully brief lockdowns, however, it’s certainly difficult to relate to Steven Knight’s version of well-off people who Blanche DuBois themselves into a sloppy Ocean’s scenario. Letterboxd.
Long Weekend (Colin Eggleston)
“Straw Dogs” meets “Frogs”. Straw Frogs? I’ll bet Kieth Merrill loves it. Letterboxd.
Luca (Enrico Casarosa)
Halfway through 2021, the year’s best is also one of Pixar’s very bests. Steeped in bygone Mediterranean maritime culture and animated with a Tartakovsky-esque integration of 2D stylings, “La Luna” successor “Luca” is the company’s most instantly and thoroughly affecting since its other departure into venturesome youth in “Brave”. Yes, unquestionably being very “Call Me By Your Name” is its greatest quality, but a story about children discovering themselves (children, people) is not held back by a lack of overt romance. Letterboxd.
Malignant (James Wan)
So very hinged on an overconfident reveal that it discovers no real story nor effective misdirection as it works backward from that labored point, its repetitively persistent breadcrumbs - already undisguisedly spelled out at the beginning - feeling like a maddeningly foreordained trudge even when they’re sped through to the further detriment of Wan’s now familiar hit-and-miss tone. A shame after the remorselessly cheesy ‘90s-style opening straps us in for a ride not in store, though Wan does find another high point when he leans back on his action side for what is essentially a recreation of the Nicole Kidman brawl from “Aquaman”. A fight sequence good enough it makes a hilariously inexplicable parkour-flipping superpower more believable than Michael Myers knowing how to drive. Letterboxd.
Mare of Easttown (Craig Zobel)
At the surface the happenings of “Mare” are rather eventful for the small town setting it puts to its forefront, but the rewarding miniseries manages a perfectly quaint balance between a vaping Sherlock Holmes dynamic and a simple ‘shit happens’ progression abetted by meaningful arcs. By episode two it cleverly provides all one needs as a viewer to forge theories that remain through to the end without being discarded by fracturing developments - you can figure it out and be surprised all at once. And yes, along with a superb supporting cast the divine Winslet is as top class as ever, while Peters manages to clear even the highest bars he’s yet set for himself. Letterboxd.
The Merry Frolics of Satan (Georges Méliès)
Is this Méliès’ best surviving narrative picture? The fantasy of “The Kingdom of the Fairies” may reach higher highs, and one of the main set pieces may only amount to an extended acrobatics sequence, but the early cinema magician trims his usual fat in favor of constantly packing in some of the best instances of his hallmark inventiveness. Minimized are the obligatory and theatrical expository bookends, the unfocused tableaus that would be striking if only they weren’t so busy, the colonists murdering and enslaving moon men... and instead we just get Satan randomly fucking with people in increasingly magical and whimsical ways. Great stuff. Letterboxd.
The Mitchells vs. the Machines (Michael Rianda)
I, Goofy Movie. Letterboxd.
Monday (Argyris Papadimitropoulos)
As grounded in realism a movie can be while still featuring a nude moped chase sequence, thereby relatable to the great extent these characters cascade along one another in complexly motivated ways that exist in our earthly actuality. Romantic relations aren’t exclusively hedonism or combustion, and the compromise between those extremes is what “Monday” wrestles with. Plus I marked out when Peter File showed up. Letterboxd.
Monster Hunter (Paul W.S. Anderson)
Auteur theory is W.S. committing to using that one ending every time. Letterboxd.
Mortal Kombat (Simon McQuoid)
Hey, so they nabbed a surviving game franchise born of America’s withered fascination with wuxia, and ground out an American wuxia with it. That’s... respectable? Movie’s firmly dime store, though. Practically TV movie-of-the-week quality. Charmingly so? That’d be a reach, as outside the genuine highlight of its final round it’s so indeterminable it hardly seems to be trying. Even the color correcting is low rent. Insert obligatory W.S. worship anywhere. Letterboxd.
My Man Godfrey (Gregory La Cava)
Very performance-driven, but that’s just swell as the William Powell-led ensemble is wonderful here. The story begins purposefully horrifying and is kept afloat by Powell alone, then floats gracefully through aloof hilarity and perhaps dubious revelations of backstory before the utterly charming ending elicits grins and applause.
The Mark of Zorro (Rouben Mamoulian)
A trifle, though lightly amusing due in large part to the involvement of a recognizable supporting cast. Not significantly lesser to other notable versions, though never fully recovers from an early scene in which our definitively Anglo lead says “cobble-yaros.” Letterboxd.
The Matrix (Lana Wachowski, Lilly Wachowski)
Rewarding rewatch ahead of part four later this year, especially right after watching a couple Bruce Lee flicks as Keanu and some of the visual effects draw directly from those very fists of fury. Yes, I was obsessed with the trilogy when it was still new, but because it's such an obvious mainstream hallmark I think we've begun to take for granted just what a contemporary cinema history milestone this original entry was in 1999. There are pre-"Matrix" blockbusters and post-"Matrix" blockbusters with this clear and conscious split between them, and more than two decades on it's practically impossible to go back and find flaws. Letterboxd.
The Matrix Reloaded (Lana Wachowski, Lilly Wachowski)
Once one has first digested this hard split, from 1999’s discovery of “what is the Matrix” through rhythmic Miyagi-isms and watershed bullet time to 2003’s symmetrical stoicism and indulgent philosophizing, “Reloaded” becomes a far easier entity to spin back. What initially appears as a cheapened regurgitation swiftly reveals depths almost betrayed by their own gleeful lack of restraint amid cleverly earned recycling of the original’s iconography. Still, revisiting my most-viewed of the trilogy now, the strings supporting its high points are more bare than I’d once convinced myself. The first may burst with exposition, but the compelling way it holds our hands down its rabbit hole stands up remarkably. Even its plot-forwarding contrivances play nicely into the conjoined arcs of each key hero. Here, mileage varies from one Star Wars prequel-esque sit-down to the next, while the MacGuffins are far more blatant excuses to get the same heroes to their point B. You’ve got to respect those high points, though, like the coherently frenzied freeway chase and that bold-as-fuck Architect scene. Despite showing its strings, “Reloaded” clears its hurdles while racking up style points. All that’s really missing is a fish-out-of-water subplot about the human Smith constantly trying to find ways to be evil but always having to recoil to keep up appearances. Letterboxd.
The Matrix Resurrections (Lana Wachowski)
I want to say if you like the Architect monologue from “Reloaded”, boy is this the movie for you. I dig the hell out of that scene, though, and, man, I’m just not sure about this. Suggesting the first sequel’s climactic exposition marathon is still deep in the DNA of this revival also suggests this was conceived with the creator’s passion as well as reverence for its enduring fanbase. So that’s wonderful and all, but the result being an ultimately minor reaffirmation-of-love coda does make one wonder if alternately dwelling on the shameless Pyun roots of the whole “Matrix” thing might have been preferable, especially when the absence of Hugo’s and Larry’s respective gravitas is so gaping. Coming just a week after “No Way Home” pulled from past films to earnestly play fresh notes while compensating for technical shortcomings, “Resurrections” is written using its franchise’s simulation allegory (now with a dash of Hollywood conditioning theory) to cynically deconstruct the soft reboot trend while leaving its own technical shortcomings to flounder unsupported. I love that Lana loves Neo and Trinity so much to have made this harmless epilogue, but that’s all it really is - harmless. Oh, and the more vibrant version of the Matrix that was shown at the end of “Revolutions”? Yeah, definitely appreciate the commitment to that, but no longer being able to quickly differentiate in-Matrix scenes sure does make you think a the-real-world-was-a-sim-all-along twist is coming the whole time. Letterboxd.
The Mysterious Box (Georges Méliès)
Of course so many are lost, but from what we can see it is impressive how Méliès has new backdrops for pretty much every (if not indeed every) film. He totally could have gotten away with repeats. Except here, of course, where even though the cut to double exposure isn't clean, the double exposure itself is maybe the best to this point in his surviving filmography. The details on the chalkboard and the practical use of the doorway fooled me into not expecting the nature of the trick that was coming, and the trick itself (after that cut) is so smooth.
Mythica: A Quest for Heroes (Anne K. Black)
The most magical part is how the main character manages to step on the exact same-sounding twig with her left foot throughout the entire thing. Letterboxd.
Mythica: The Necromancer (A. Todd Smith)
No matter how easy it is to feel vested escape with the heart indeed palpable through the limited-by-design production values of this RPG-like adventure, our main character still finding that same twig with most of her left steps on movie three of five is so distracting. To be fair that foot has been canonically injured all along, but regardless of apparent podiatry deprivation you just wonder what’s going through the sound editor’s mind every time they drop in another twigsnapfoley03.wav. “Aw yeahhh she’s being shown walking again. THIS LOOKS LIKE A JOB FOR—!!” Can’t wait to start part four. Letterboxd.
Mythica: The Iron Crown (John Lyde)
This twigsnapfoley03.wav person must be too intimidating to confront, because in avoidance of further issue movie four goes as far as to have our snap-happy hero eliminating strolls from her routine with a crazy “Mad Max”-style vehicle (most likely a van with a wooden fort built around it, its tires concealed by a comical number of medieval mudflaps). Also, this twigsnapfoley03.wav person seems to be Nate Hoffman, whose LinkedIn profile makes it appear as though the most intimidating thing he’d ever do is passive-aggressively bring his own wine to a dinner party. The penultimate “Mythica” entry can be picked apart just like its predecessors, from minor editing quibbles probably necessitated by lacking coverage to what is hopefully the culmination of one of the most counter-productive “no one’s ever really gone” (unless they’re hilariously tertiary) problems out there, but by this point the series is legitimately fun with a real sense of character progression. Whether it’s Twiggy breaking out a new ability she’s learned between movies or Matthew Mercer somehow getting hammier with every line he delivers, there’s no irony in how much enjoyment “The Iron Crown” provides. Letterboxd.
Mythica: The Godslayer (John Lyde)
It took five movies but I finally like Dagen. Similarly, “Mythica” absolutely gets better with each entry. It’s definitively derivative, but especially in this perhaps undersaturated finale it approaches borrowed ingredients from freshly intriguing and ultimately affecting angles. I watched these on a lark, but will remember the journey fondly and can easily see myself retaking it from the beginning. Letterboxd.
Nemesis 2: Nebula (Albert Pyun)
More ‘One Million Years Beyond Thunderdome’ than ‘Jean-Claude Van RoboCop,’ “Nebula” is not on quite the level of Pyun’s better-known escapades (and features 100% fewer naked Thomas Jane cameos). The signature dedication to consistent fun is still felt, though, and alongside Gina Carano in “Haywire” and [the entire Tom Cruise canon], Sue Price’s gassed-to-the-gills gallop making up so much of the duration is worthy of consideration in the cinematic running hall of fame. Letterboxd.
Nemesis 4: Cry of Angels (Albert Pyun)
Oh hey, it’s the movie I wanted “Barb Wire” to be when I was, like, 12. Though I’m not sure my 12-year-old mind had quite conceived of death by giant nipple-needle through the skull, nor the MPAA circumvention of showing a Cronenberg appendage penetrating a digitally gaped bellybutton (so hot, and so rated ‘R’ for ‘bizarre sexuality’). Fans of admiring Sue Price’s Rambo-like physique in glistening action are rewarded for series loyalty as Pyun ditches the costume budget with an unabashed plunge into softcore. Synopses suggest a continuation of the predecessors’ rampart-roving stunts, but we’ve in fact moved to an even more cost-efficient prolonging of a perpetually exposed Price encountering and dominating various men who bear glued-on cyborg accoutrements. While loose narrative motivations are patent in their exploitative aims, the decidedly unsophisticated “Death Angel” still shares commonality with something like “Magic Mike” in that it’s built on the foundation of a specific human’s form and locomotion. Judging by these images alone, Price’s display appears always as one of earned pride that is ultimately being celebrated. Letterboxd.
Nemesis 5: The New Model (Dustin Ferguson)
Seeming to relish the sheer novelty of his movies existing more than anything justifying such, content-shoveler Dustin Ferguson feels more a successor to the bottom-feeding Chris Seaver than the schlock-peddling Albert Pyun. Something like Ferguson’s “RoboWoman” is at least watchable next to something like Seaver’s “Mulva”, and “The New Model” is another half-rung above that with - being generous - the tacky charm of a Brock Landers joint on top of the slight hint that this time someone occasionally remembered to think about where to place the camera. Make no mistake - it’s shit, to the point one may easily imagine “in association with Albert Pyun” means someone left a voicemail and called it a day. After the Pyun films’ only real sense of continuity was in their shared title, though, the one thing this odd revival manages to do better is retroactively connect an overarching series narrative. It does so like a blind baby playing Jenga with missing pieces, but it does so. Letterboxd.
Never Rarely Sometimes Always (Eliza Hittman)
Grounded at nod-along levels of realism without tipping too far into a simply educational tone. I’m going to choose to believe the quest structure with burdensome suitcase symbolism is a sardonic riff on “The Pilgrim’s Progress”. Easy points for A Flock of Seagulls. Letterboxd.
News of the World (Paul Greengrass)
A strong start for our contemporary context - Confederate remains, feeling left behind after the war, take solace in news as entertainment - all buoyed by the lead duo’s affecting bond. That captivating strength makes the proceeding tonal inconsistency bitter to behold as Greengrass dangles it, withering, through sudden CGI obstacles and grubby side characters acting as obvious OAN metaphors. Fascinating clunk. Letterboxd.
The Nickel-Hopper (F. Richard Jones, Hal Yates)
The ever-adorable Mabel exhibits range and subtlety begging a more focused whole than these three reels furnish, though she’s still at home for the gag crowd with a few expertly executed bits once the obligatory lawman plot device enters. The lazy yet blustery father steals the best laughs, however, while on the other end of a wide quality gap we awkwardly linger on a baby eating soap and Oliver Hardy being voluminously unfunny (shockingly not in the role of the soap-eating baby). The concept of a taxi dancer meeting social outcasts while keeping her family afloat is a winning one, and Mabel is clearly up for the task but let down by aims that feel simultaneously pedestrian and tacked-on. Would that Joan Crawford’s 1927 “The Taxi Dancer” were more available for comparison. Letterboxd.
The Night of the Hunter (Charles Laughton)
I was a bit let down by the suddenness of the resolution, but that’s all I’ll say against it. Damn, what an animated movie, with so many incredible visuals (Gish's silhouette, the basement cross-section, the iconic underwater shots, the symbolic split diopter of the rabbits and the boat). Both tense and humorous throughout, with a great cast including Gish's solemnly badass counterbalance to the preacher’s manipulation of scripture. Feels like Pattinson must have had this in mind when doing "The Devil All the Time". It’s not exactly a slasher, per se, but the hallmarks are there, so maybe I’ve just missed the conversations but I’m surprised I haven’t heard it mentioned as somewhat seminal in that regard (along with "M", "Psycho", "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre", "Halloween", and some early giallo).
The Olympic Games as They Were Practiced in Ancient Greece (Jean de Rovera)
Though its description mundane for the time, this single-reeler utilizes the decades’ advancements to succeed the locomotion sequences of Muybridge and experimental anthropological ‘actualities’ of various others with vivid demonstrations of human movement inside a lightly historical context. The thrill of victory. Letterboxd.
The Olympic Games Held at Chamonix in 1924 (Jean de Rovera)
Hilarious that the modern restoration opens with a disclaimer basically stating, “Yeah we corrected the order of events because Jean fucked up.” While indeed primarily concerned with documenting “what happened” at the first official Winter Games, de Rovera includes plenty scene-setting on top of his fascinating slow motion flourishes to give impressions of and implications beyond the international takeover of the modest French commune. As someone who has worked a number of years digitally filming various sporting events alone with limited equipment, I absolutely love seeing how thoroughly and beautifully this unobtrusive time capsule was realized as it soars by feeling a fraction of its running time. Letterboxd.
The Olympic Games in Paris 1924 (Jean de Rovera)
The Winter Games’ restoration disclaimer regarding chronology correction is also applied here, suggesting with benefit of the doubt that perhaps de Rovera was originally going for more than a simple visual record for posterity. Whether limited by keeping up with a grander scope or simply by instruction, these more established Games are shown in a more straight forward fashion with less of what made the prior film stand out. The sheer breadth of the traditions - held in a more accessible location - forces a sense of obligation upon the arm’s length proceedings, yet de Rovera manages to keep up in a way comparable to the Chamonix effort, if less personal and rousing. Of course the fly-on-the-wall style works better for some events than others (the stark atmosphere of the yachting or the glimpses of humanity at a refreshment table versus the removed feeling that covers most team sports, for example), leaving much of this for serious fans only. Still, though more sparsely sprinkled, the best elements from Chamonix are still present - the few logistics notes such as track upkeep, the joyous, exhausted, and confused portrait tableaus of the victors, and the slow motion moments that feel like technological improvements upon a certain variety of Edison/Lumière/etcetera experimental actuality. Despite occasional humor such as a citizen’s vehicle breaking down in the middle of a cross country race, we’re only really missing a better sense for the Paris setting whereas the snow-banked resort had enjoyed an appealing pulse. This is obviously not a hangout film, but a film that would be cool to hang out to. And yes, Johnny Weissmuller and the “Chariots of Fire” guys add retrospective novelty, but it is really Ville Ritola cleaning up his events that steals the competitive side of the show. Letterboxd.
The Olympic Games, Amsterdam 1928 (Wilhelm Prager)
Techniques and camera placements slightly altered from the prior Games put focus more on following the competitions, but lost in the dutiful procession of events is the 1924 films' personality and relative sense of place. The key improvement we do see comes with the more dynamic crowd reaction cutaways lending a vivacity to the international convergence. For your trivia nights, along with more portraiture of the recognizable and still dominant Flying Finn Ritola, Weissmuller sees more screen time as cameras are brought closer to poolside. Also, curiously, once again the good attendance for the swimming is pointed out in coincidence with the women taking to the water. Viewed with a greater interest in the filmmaking than the content being captured (intriguingly historic though it can be), the very best part of this becomes when the camera operators turn their lenses on one another for a laugh toward the end of the cross country marathon. Just to be a completionist I feel I need to check out the longer Italian version that shares much of the same footage, but this one was already losing me by hour three. I do wish there existed more readily accessible information about these documentary efforts, to at least shed light on details of the commission guidelines and how much artistic license was taken or perhaps discouraged. My searches are only turning up claims Leni Reifenstahl was the first to do any of this, though I don't doubt I'll be impressed once I see what ingenuity she did in fact add in 1936. Letterboxd.
An Oversimplification of Her Beauty (Terence Nance)
I kept thinking about the ad where people are being coached that they don’t need decorative signs with kitschy sayings. No fussin’, no cussin’. Letterboxd.
One Night in Miami... (Regina King)
Might have a higher opinion if not for the tacky introductory scenes before the characters get to the hotel. From there it's pretty okay, with the best part being the epilogue. Cast is good, even if it's impossible not to compare Ben-Adir and Goree to predecessors in their roles. Though he had arguably the least to work with, I especially liked Hodge as Brown.
The Palm Beach Story (Preston Sturges)
Utter knockout. If not as resplendently resonant as “Sullivan’s Travels”, it’s doubly murderous as Sturges’ sardonicism has you gasping for breath with near every fastball line. Letterboxd.
Paris, Texas (Wim Wenders)
Patti Smith's dear departed friend Sam Shepard really wrote the fuck out of this, my goodness. Some of Hunter’s scenes and of course the peep show scenes are unquestionable masterpieces. I will admit the first 5-10 minutes had me worried as the tone felt a touch twee with its obvious reds and shallow fluorescents lighting a comically braindead Stanton, then of course all that follows is anything but. Further still obvious reds and shallow fluorescents become crucial to the thematic look and feel as Stanton works the littlest of expressions to maximum effect. It’s tough to mess up a road trip concept, and this one feels like a contemporary Western to make it even better. Wenders intangibly makes a very grounded and mundane Texas feel dream-like and magical, to utterly engrossing effect. The widest shots in particular stab with emotions, but it is the deceptively simple medium close-up on the hotel set that evokes the most as we transition to her perspective as if we are seeing through her eyes at her reflection in the one-way mirror.
Pieces of a Woman (Kornél Mundruczó)
Works in broad strokes, but too many manufactured details break the cohesion. Points docked for obvious use of Sigur Rós.
Pierrot le fou (Jean-Luc Godard)
Aimless and immature, and perhaps that’s the point, but the mounting absurdity only becomes more and more obnoxious. It’s very on-the-nose even if I can’t quite tell which nose on whose face. Capitalism’s, I guess. Godard just seems mad at the world and expresses as much with the restraint of an anxious adolescent.
Popeye (Robert Altman)
Though this childhood favorite is an infamous Kid Notorious flop, I maintain Altman’s sensibilities were an ideal fit for an adaptation of the specific comic stylings in the Fleischers’ cartoons, as best exhibited in the Oyl dinner scene. “You owe me an apology” is still the funniest bit in what is still a consistently hilarious film. Trying to imagine who else could possibly have pulled off the lead role as well as Williams, Dustin Hoffman comes to mind... and a quick Google reveals he was in fact Evans’ first choice (to be fair, this is the guy who wanted to recast Pacino in “The Godfather”). Letterboxd.
The Postman Always Rings Twice (Tay Garnett)
Buñuel wishes his movies were this weird. Letterboxd.
Raya & the Last Dragon (Don Hall, Carlos López Estrada)
Boy, could have dumped that entire prologue and used its flatly squandered time to better set apart, y’know, every single other scene left to anonymously barrel into the next. Instead the seemingly Shaw Brothers-inspired adventure sprints past a much more possibly evocative and “She-Ra & the Princesses of Power”-esque mixture of reliable Disney formula and areas the studio has never quite been before. And I will happily forgive a magical blue Awkwafina for saying things like “pop ‘n’ lock” since not only is it probably about equivalent to Robin Williams’ Genie doing Groucho, but in trade we also get the main rivals repeatedly calling each other a b-word that super sounds like they’re not about to say “binturi.” Letterboxd.
Reminiscence (Lisa Joy)
Soderbergh’s “Solaris” seeps into a “Minority Report” construct for a rabbit hole noir that feels as though it was transplanted from the early aughts. Where those vastly superior films thrive in their believable depictions of a near future, however, “Reminiscence” feels flavorless and insignificant compared to the world in which it’s inexplicably set. Letterboxd.
Rent (Chris Columbus)
I'll never comprehend the critical and financial failure. The cast of (mostly) Broadway originals is impossible not to adore. Infectious and emotional song driving it all. Elsa shows you her butt. I mean come on.
Sabrina (Billy Wilder)
Worth it for Bogie suddenly breaking out his Chaplin at the end. Letterboxd.
The sea lions' home (James H. White)
Through vertical rocking and perhaps uncertain lateral adjustments, the resulting images compel with autonomy nary seen in their time. Though devised as more mere exhibition fodder, the creatures’ grainy distance amid erupting waves generates chance mystique elsewhere unseen on American shores. Letterboxd.
Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings (Destin Daniel Cretton)
Counteractively riddled with CG when it wants to be in “Police Story” mode, but engagingly referential to decades of Eastern action milestones from “The One-Armed Swordsman” to “Oldboy” and beyond while more importantly reverent of the culture in which it is based. A welcome element in this brick-laying phase of the post-Thanos MCU. Letterboxd.
Shazam! (David F. Sandberg)
Enough narrative substance to forgive its atrocious performances and stilted presentation.
Siberia (Abel Ferrara)
So that's what “Togo” was missing. Seeing what Ferrara did with this I think I now understand what people mean when they say someone is “wildin’.” Letterboxd.
The Silent Partner (Daryl Duke)
Every other scene is an “oh, shit,” and not just because of how sexy Christopher Plummer is. Letterboxd.
The Sleeping Beauty (Catherine Breillat)
Took a while to win me over, but it got there. Rocky start, and still certain "othering" elements utilized to achieve its various scenarios' exoticism don't jive with me... but overall this particular sort of dream format - which fits perfectly into Breillat's implication-heavy storytelling - works very well for me and reminds me of my loose perception of fairy tale and fantasy films I saw as a child. For everything most may classify as very adult subject matter, it very much does feel like a children's film... and even though there probably aren't many kids watching naked French people wrestle with issues of gender and sexuality, I like to imagine there are a few kids out there who love this and ask their parents to put it on for them all the time.
The Song of Styrene (Alain Resnais)
The opening sequence of “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” but with... well, you know. Wanders through a monstrosity of a factory, finding symmetrical form in entangled behemoths of pollutive change with stunning wonder. Guides one to ponder the chain of artificial creation - unnatural things to make even less natural things - while slyly throttling the appearance of organic matter among the mechanical sentinels to a point that cutting to a shot at first entirely composed of rippling water plays as a startle. Letterboxd.
Sound of Metal (Darius Marder)
Its only worthwhile element is its simulation of a version of the deaf experience, which stands to educate but fails to connect.
Spider-Man: Far from Home (Jon Watts)
Yet another of these I'd never have given a chance, nor given a second chance, if not for having children. Yet, it is another of these I'm glad to have given those chances since Disney's overarching plans for their interconnected Marvel properties have started to prove they can actually pay off in the long term. This one's grandstanding reveal scene that simply hurls reams of exposition in effort to close up plot holes (the fixes for which are already baked in by design) still churns the stomach enough that I don't blame myself for revolting against the whole on a first go, but with another look the successes overcome as this Spider-Man characterization is framed to be an Iron Man protégé gradually living up to that mantle. Damned if I'm not suddenly finding myself trusting in the deluge of "big picture" Marvel we have coming our way. Letterboxd.
Suspense. (Lois Weber)
With “The Lonely Villa” Griffith had already exponentially improved upon the editing between locations of “A Narrow Escape” to timelessly tense effect. With the particularly formula-fueled nature of the flicker house days, Weber gets an easy pass for again drawing upon this setup to add her own touches. While not ascending to quite the echelon of, well, suspense that Griffith’s elegant simplicity did, what puts this well over the top is the breathtaking ingenuity Weber absolutely piles on through narrative layers and especially through the many camera angles that shock due to how abnormal they were for the era. Letterboxd.
Synchronic (Justin Benson, Aaron Moorhead)
Makes the mistake of setting its bowling pins efficiently enough that the procedure of catching main characters up to speed feels like time wasted on the concept’s least interesting aspects. Fifteen years ago this might have blown minds from Blockbuster shelves as it flips through history like a series of whimsically dark “Choose Your Own Adventure” endings, but it’s at its best when it settles down and just lets Dornan and Mackie have honest bro chats. Letterboxd.
Target Number One (Daniel Roby)
Are you familiar with the Alfred Molina part in Boogie Nights?
Jim Gaffigan: Say no more
mediocre but i was engaged enough to care what happened scene-to-scene
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Tenet (Christopher Nolan)
It might even be impressive Nolan finally found a way to make his insistence on expository overload work. My main complaint about "Inception" is that it's ages of exposition so we can understand one action sequence. This is the same structure, but the exposition is much lighter and we get to extensively paying it off much sooner. This is Nolan's "James Bond", and this time 007 has one hell of a gadget to play with. Harmless, and novel enough to justify a single viewing.
Those Who Wish Me Dead (Taylor Sheridan)
Could this have fruitfully tread further into the fertile matters of smokejumping? Is it comical seeing the ethereal Jolie cast as a former smokejumper? And, after all that, does the climactic fadeout followed by an oddly propagandistic coda of rescue vehicles leave us wanting? Sure, maybe, and definitely (in more ways than described, even), but along with a solid supporting cast this sufficiently entertains the same way a late ‘90s star vehicle like “Dante’s Peak” entertains, and if anything it’s at least miles ahead of the limp “Wind River”. If someone who fancied being a fire tower ranger as a child and worked in northern Yellowstone can come out with their biggest problem being that the lush Rio Arriba County is a transparent substitute for the irreplaceable Park County, you can do a lot worse. Letterboxd.
Thunder Force (Ben Falcone)
It’s fine for a flick focused on the worthwhile laughs to feel otherwise thinly stitched. “Worthwhile” may be too strong a term to describe the better laughs here, however, even if Pom Klementieff pops off the screen and a couple Jason Bateman character exploration moments in particular should become .gif reaction mainstays. Frustrating is just how close the arbitrarily titled “Thunder Force” does come - within one or two punch-up passes, really - to hitting that satisfactory mark. Falcone’s McCarthy vehicles are consistently inoffensive, with “Tammy” being fairly good even, but it is weird to leave one thinking, “Paul Feig could have done it better.” Letterboxd.
Tom & Jerry (Tim Story)
Looking forward to this hanging out in my 2021 top ten for the next eight months. But seriously, for a movie advertised as something to put on for other people while you leave to not actually watch it, it’s honestly one of Tim Story’s better efforts. Contextualize as you will. Letterboxd.
Tomorrow Is Another Day (Felix E. Feist)
So... this is incredible. Every next coincidence a comment on our wave-tossed status as both victim and benefactor in a world we only convince ourselves we know, energetically composed and romantically performed from beginning to end. Intimate, layered camerawork frames the relationships between each character's honesty and their vulnerability. Would be a great double-feature companion to “The Postman Always Rings Twice”. Letterboxd.
The Tomorrow War (Chris McKay)
The first hour, while just as lower-rent as the ubiquitous marketing conveys, contains enough conceptually that when I describe it to my partner later she’ll think she missed out on something. Then the thing just kinda stalls out… and after it ends there are still about 45 minutes left to go. But hey, nice cyclical storytelling with Chris Pratt angrily kicking a trash can in defeat at the beginning then later angrily kicking an alien head in victory. That’s art, man. Letterboxd.
The Tramp (Charlie Chaplin)
Even with such a substantial catalogue Chaplin almost never missed, but this uneven affair just barely gets by on being - as the title retroactively suggests - the closest to this point our guy Charlie had come to fully realizing his most iconic character (enjoyable though the jerkass camera hog of the Keystone days is). This being an Essanay, the presence of Broncho Billy’s redemption formula causes one to wonder whether Billy had more to do with Chaplin’s greater ascendance than the simple “The Champion”/“His Regeneration” cameo exchange. A must for buffs that is sadly flat outside its few key moments. Letterboxd.
Undine (Christian Petzold)
Dude totally got catfished. Letterboxd.
Vacation Friends (Clay Tarver)
A new zenith in the nexus of awful filmmaking and uproarious performance. I’m embarrassed on behalf of the careless production while breathlessly guffawing over every delivery from the principles. Letterboxd.
Vivre sa vie (Jean-Luc Godard)
Hip as fuck. Also very relatably sad. But mostly hip. I laughed at the shot of the theatre playing "Jules et Jim".
Walkabout (Nicolas Roeg)
This more or less plays to my sensibilities, and its roughness is mostly fine where it is a detriment to “Don’t Look Now”. Wide stretches of wandering and surviving feel like something I would have latched onto as a kid. Then there are other, more avant-garde bits that just don’t click at all. But what really puts it over the top is the idea that while we may romanticize the natural world and the “Robinson Crusoe” inside ourselves, when our roots are in modern civilization a return to natural ways is practically impossible. This idea is what makes the several juxtapositions of flat brick walls the film’s most evocative moments.
WandaVision (Matt Shakman)
Winds up treading dangerously close to the anticlimactic homogeny its 'Universe' has faltered with time and again, but ultimately gives reason amid its impressively realized concept to finally care about previously shortchanged characters as we move into a post-"Endgame" continuity. Marvel films have at last proven their narratives can be worth remaining on board for, and this first Disney+ miniseries' quality plays a key part in following through with that validation while justifying the full year of further miniseries ahead. Galvanizing the conversion of a disillusioned scoffer to a 'true believer' is a resounding success. Letterboxd.
Week-end (Jean-Luc Godard)
Feels like the same film as the lesser "Pierrot le fou", but far more refined and targeted where "Pierrot" just impulsively throws stuff at the wall. The absurd humor mostly works for this time, maybe because of the darker edge but probably more because it feels more cohesive. I’ll remember the “eat the rich” ending forever, probably.
Whimsical Illusions (Georges Méliès)
In which, nearly a century after the publication of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”, Méliès brings Santa Claus to life but Santa is pissed about it so Méliès immediately pulverizes him with a giant mallet. Letterboxd.
Why Broncho Billy Left Bear Country (Gilbert M. Anderson)
Content seems to have been king in the flicker days, as well. For being one of the first screen actors to sell a character as a brand, 'Broncho Billy' Anderson was also one of the firsts to fuel a high production rate with strict formula. Billy establishes a hard edge, Billy chooses to do the right thing, Billy leaves a note, Billy goes to church. One needs but a sampling of his work to see that by 1913 Anderson had already done this better and would go on again to do it better than in this dead-on-arrival and practically interminable (and bear-free) episode. As Keystone's brick-conjuring mashers rarely miss for me even in their least inspired retreads, genre devotees will still find something to latch onto in Anderson's affectingly frontier-weary eyes, but most will do best to steer clear of "Bear Country" altogether. Letterboxd.
The Wild Bunch (Sam Peckinpah)
These cowboys fuck. Starring Ernest Borgnine. Letterboxd.
A Woman Surprised (Georges Méliès)
An improvement over Méliès' "Le coucher de mariée" remake of sorts in that from what we can see today it adds a cheeky narrative to justify its otherwise still extremely basic exhibition of a woman in her undergarments. Letterboxd.
The Woman Who Ran (Hong Sang-soo)
Comfort food. Gentle conversations with copious latch points provide pure escape to simple cinema bliss.
Zack Snyder's Justice League (Zack Snyder)
Didn’t hate it, which is a giant step from the unwatchable sludge it was in 2017. A lot of it is still sludgy, though, pretty obviously feeling stitched together in a computer, and even the better parts are very fragmented. But hey, better parts! They are actually there! For a four-hour movie where a lot of it is just the heroes standing around not knowing what to do intercut with prolonged backstory, I never once wished it would just get on with it already. So... success? Oddly my favorite scene (that didn’t include my favorite character the alien face crab, anyway) was probably the left field nightmare epilogue. Just needed Cyborg's cassette tape to start playing “The Night Begins to Shine”.
