by ·Comments Off on One Battle After Another (2025, Paul Thomas Anderson)

John Semley in The Nation:

From Pynchon’s 1990 novel Vineland, Anderson borrows a basic conceit: A group of countercultural misfits, living underground, whose lives-on-the-fringe are disturbed by the return, years later, by a government tormentor operating as a stand-in for that all-American avatar of authority and oppression typically called “The Man.”
…
At first blush, Vineland seemed unadaptable in a contemporary context. Not only because of the density of the prose or the lunacy of its plot—which includes a Godzilla attack, a UFO, and a tow truck that ferries the spirits of the damned to hell—but because of its chronology … But Anderson’s film proves that these more central divisions — between freaks and squares, parents and children, the rigid brokers of authority and subversive agents of liberation — can be mapped across American history.

Josh Lewis:

Perhaps what I liked most about this After Hours-esque odyssey of Leo being a bozo father trying his best though, is that he ultimately contributes next to nothing in terms of physical help to Willa who is experiencing her own completely separate bravura setpiece, that builds itself out so patiently from so many gradually accumulated details you honestly don’t realize you’re in PTA’s version of a T2/Friedkin car chase until it’s already under way.

Israel Daramola in Defector:

I’m reminded of another great character in the film: Deandra (Regina Hall), who generates so much sadness and empathy with how she looks at and regards other characters, especially Willa, and how Anderson photographs those feelings that can’t be grasped with words on her face and then frames it in a scene. There’s so much love and care all over this movie full of anguish, explosions, and weed jokes.

Also Good: Paul Duane

Reminder to revisit Robert Daniels’s Time piece after seeing The Mastermind and Eddington.

And of course Nayman, whose Coens book I just finished and whose Anderson book is on deck.

by ·Comments Off on Orphans of the Storm (1922, D.W. Griffith)

I was kinda dreading this, but after putting it off for a couple months I hit on a music plan, put a bunch of not-terribly fast/aggressive instrumental albums in a folder, hit shuffle, and it was perfect. Righteous story of poor girl and her blind sister who come to the cruel city and get kicked around until the French Revolution arrives and solves everything. A couple mistaken identities and a pile of blustery men later, all is well.

L-R: Gishes Dorothy and Lillian

by ·Comments Off on In the Lost Lands (2025, Paul W.S. Anderson)

Look like somebody wanted to remake Resident Evil 6 – this looks more similar to RE6 than any other movie looks to RE6, even other Resident Evil movies, and Milla is even named Alice again. There’s some Monster Hunter thrown in (they are in the wasteland hunting monsters) and some post-apocalyptic Mad Maxisms. I haven’t been going out to the movie theater this year, missing important big-screen pictures like Nickel Boys and The Brutalist and Mickey 17, but prioritized this because I thought it would be… not great exactly, but fun/cool, and I nailed it.

Deep Lore sourced from an early George RR Martin story, Milla plays a cursed(?) magic mind-control witch, hunting a mighty werewolf alongside softie tough-guy Dave Bautista who thinks he’s hiding his werewolf identity from her, at the behest of Queen Amara Okereke (British theater actress), pursued by fanatical church assassin Arly Jover (Blade). Some good train action, including an escape from dangling railcars that doesn’t hold up great against the last Mission Impossible, some good fire, and too many CG snakes. The queen’s rival for control of the people “the patriarch” is Fraser James of Shopping, Anderson’s longest-running actor. Bautista’s girlfriend is Deirdre Mullins of Mandrake, her equally doomed business partner is the Polish Sebastian Stan. I said if this turned out to be good then I’ve gotta watch Pompeii, and I guess I’ve gotta.

by ·Comments Off on Fistful / Sucker (Sergio Leone)

A Fistful of Dollars (1964)

What a picture. Clint comes to town and meets the grey-haired bartender next door to the busy coffin carpenter, proceeds to get paid by both sides of the warring criminal families, then after Clint does a good deed by rescuing an imprisoned girl, he and his bartender are tortured. The coffin maker secrets Clint away to a cavern so he can recover then return and slaughter everybody.

Been a while since I saw the not-really-sequel – this is just as good, though it suffers from lack of Lee Van Cleef. The girl was in Franju’s Spotlight on a Murderer, the lead Rojo gangster in Le Cercle Rouge, his main brute in Dead Pigeon, and at least two others are from Viridiana. If nobody has yet made a supercut of atrociously dubbed children in Italian movies, nobody ever should.

–
Duck, You Sucker (1971)

Real class-warfare pervert stuff, right from the start. “He doesn’t know anything” says the white man’s mouth in grotesque Svankmajer-esque extreme closeup about the peasant their coach picks up, unaware they’ve picked up bandito Rod Steiger. The bandits next encounter a fellow criminal, explosives-rigged James Coburn, so they team up. Coburn is fighting for a cause, Steiger for cash, but after the idiot bandito gets pulled into the revolution and the government slaughters his family he becomes a true believer.

Steiger is the Run of the Arrow guy, and Coburn is the oscar winner for Affliction who was also in 100 other movies I haven’t seen. I’d preferred the alternate title A Fistful of Dynamite but once you hear Irish Coburn say his catchphrase moments before his bombs go off, you realize Duck, You Sucker is correct. He drops the accent almost immediately, but Steiger lays his on so thick I had to turn on subtitles – at long last the Italians are working with sync sound, and it’s actually worse than before. Ultimately the movie gets tedious, and the Leone apologists out there making excuses for Steiger are wrong, but some stuff blows up real good.

Coburn + parakeets:

by ·Comments Off on Life is a Dream (1986, Raoul Ruiz)

At a movie theater with birds flying around, a man talks with the police stationed behind the screen and with the Chileans in a club accessible through the ladies room. Not exactly an adaptation of the 1600’s Spanish play, but our man has used the play as a mnemonic device to memorize (then forget) the names of 15,000 Chilean revolutionaries, and the film apparently includes footage of Ruiz’s prior staging of the play. Life may be a dream, or a movie, as the man tries to re-remember the list of names while the story blends dreamily with the genre films playing at the timeless theater. Variations on themes and images I’ve seen before, and then there’s this:

Lesley Stern wrote about it, reprinted in Rouge.

Maybe too complex for me, but hopefully we’ll get a restoration some day and I can get lost in it again.

by ·Comments Off on The Congress (2013, Ari Folman)

“Lousy choices, that’s your whole story, lousy movies,” someone says to Robin Wright, playing “herself.” This one’s not exactly great, but better than lousy – at least we get interesting topics and some fun animation. Getting around to watching this due to one of those topics – the idea of movie studios scanning actors then using their digital images indefinitely is back in the news.

Harvey Keitel as her agent gets a good monologue during the scan procedure, then Robin takes her money (they never say how much) and goes home with her hard-of-hearing kite-obsessed son Kodi Smit-McPhee. Twenty years later she enters the “animation zone” to attend a contract renegotiation party. The company which has successfully controlled and redefined her image for so long (one of her future sci-fi films is named RRR) stupidly puts Actual Robin in front of a live mic. There’s a revolution, real or imagined, and Robin is stuck in animated form so they freeze her body for future scientists to deal with. This is where Paul Giamatti comes in – he specializes in explaining insane situations to people in movies.

by ·Comments Off on Zeros and Ones (2021, Abel Ferrara)

Why does this open with an Ethan Hawke personal intro, between the production logos and the title? The movie’s broad motivations are obscure, and I don’t buy many of its details. The music has Dead Man guitar improv vibes, and if it’d cut out those military marching band beats it might be truly great (the music, not the movie). Some kind of a cyber military thriller, mainly shot in ugly nighttime handheld digital. Pandemic-era: kissing through masks, smartphone in a freezer, disinfectant sprayed on $100 bills, a computer gets shot during a skype call. One Hawke zooms around Rome holding out his camera like it’s a gun (“shoot it so they believe it”), his revolutionary imprisoned Hawke Brother seems Nick Nolte-inspired.

by ·Comments Off on The French Dispatch (2021, Wes Anderson)

Back in theaters for this one. I love going into Wes movies with absurdly high expectations, because he always meets them. I’ll read the hater critics some other time – maybe they were looking for something more than an endless parade of favorite actors and impeccable production design, but I wasn’t. Much of the movie is in 4:3 black and white, and either my screening was over-matted or the titles appear at the extreme top and bottom of frame.

Bookending segments in the newspaper office, with editor Bill Murray alive in the first piece and dead in the second. Bicycle tour through the town of Ennui by Owen Wilson. Story 1 is relayed by Tilda Swinton, involving art dealer Adrien Brody patronizing imprisoned painter Benicio del Toro whose guard/model is Léa Seydoux (they get some actual French people in here sometime). I was least involved in the middle piece, about faux-May’68 student revolutionary Timothée Chalamet’s affair with reporter Frances McDormand. Then Jeffrey Wright is reporting on celebrated police chef Steve “Mike Yanagita” Park, who helps foil a plot by Edward Norton to kidnap chief Mathieu Amalric’s son.

Michael Sicinski (Patreon) also liked the Benicio story best:

By contrast, Anderson’s snotty riff on May ’68, “Revisions to a Manifesto,” succumbs to the director’s worst comedic instincts, essentially declaring that political desire is nothing more than sublimated horniness … The final segment, “The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner,” sort of splits the difference, although it is elevated considerably by a fine performance from Jeffrey Wright, channeling James Baldwin as a melancholy ex-pat uncomfortable with his journalistic distance. The story itself is mostly just a riff on The Grand Budapest Hotel‘s portrait of courtly civility as a bulwark against anarchy. But it’s Wright’s representation of honest inquiry, and humanistic curiosity, that makes it far less silly than it should be.

Watched again a month later, with Katy this time.

by ·Comments Off on Can’t Get You Out of My Head (2021, Adam Curtis)

You had me at “Ayn Rand follower befriends Lee Harvey Oswald and creates parody religion called Discordianism, spreading the Illuminati myth as a prank codenamed Operation Mindfuck, accidentally creating the modern conspiracy theory.” We also trace the fall of the communist revolution (and ALL revolutions), invention of mass electronic surveillance in order to catch the Red Army Faction, how counterculture transformed into consumerism, and of course, flawed and simplified models of human thought and behavior leading to widespread disaster. Kill the cop in your head.