The first three minutes might be my favorite opening scene in cinema.
My ur-text for a sleazy future of trashcan fires, black markets, station hijacking, and vicious game show hosts.
The Night of the Hunter opens with the disembodied heads of five children floating in the cosmos and gets weirder from there.
Lovers speak in monologue and monotone. They thrash and sulk in shadows.
A memory-swirled portrait of the judgment and shame that comes with creative effort.
Double feature: Nightcrawler and Bringing Out the Dead are portraits of bearing witness in the worst and best ways.
They pace empty rooms. They speak in non-sequiturs and nod off mid-conversation. They stare at the ceiling and count.
A reminder that 1995 believed the modern world was poisonous. So did 1895.
Surveillance cameras are everywhere. Vicious advertising tactics are killing people.
This season is defined by muted Bergman films projected on the wall in the hour of the wolf.
I cannot shake the airless world of this film that lives in the eerie twilight between calamity and silence.
One of the best films I’ve seen in years. I never thought wearing 3D glasses could be so heartbreaking.
Ghosts in the machine, glitches in the sublime, and rain-streaked neon. Watching Blade Runner 2049 felt like returning to church.
