I used to be scared of every house that wasn't the one I lived in. Now I'm only scared of the ones that make me sad. I can't live alone. It's disgusting, I know, but it's something I can't do. For me at least to occupy the domestic space alone is to wander pointlessly before… Continue reading Takashi Ito’s Grim
'Vanilla sky' might as well work as a label for the turn of the millennium adult oriented entertainment of which Vanilla Sky is very much a part, and on which Vanilla Sky also seemingly comments (its offensively inoffensive visual, its retrograde approach to form and thematics). The insipid homespun (Hollywood) take on approved European festival import is most plain… Continue reading The sun that never sets: the beige fin de siècle of Vanilla Sky
By eliminating the question of 'how' when providing the audience with an image, Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle exists in permanent shorthand, caricaturing the borderless access that narrative agents are given within the genre, to appear outside the confines of narrative sense (cause and effect), to exist outside of time and space. McG plays these contextless but irrefutable… Continue reading Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle and storytelling in the ruptured now
What in its opening stretch seems like an insular, anti-naturalistic approach to dialogue and line-delivery (having Hold the Dark make sense only within Hold the Dark) soon reveals itself as artistic crudeness, something thwarted on the way to enigma. Its hand is faux-terse, anxious- the film struggles a great deal in and around its grim surface, and while… Continue reading Saulnier lets go in Hold the Dark
Austin Powers as a disposable gag (making ludicrous the insidious 'charm' of golden era Bond) inadvertently entered the pop cultural landscape of 1997 appearing to channel as much as deride the 'new dawn' of British optimism. What Myers thought was safely of the past was in reality being grasped for by a fervent now-time ready… Continue reading Frozen in time, the sun starts to set: the breezy fin de siècle of The Spy Who Shagged Me
A freak show, and then a shitshow, Return of the Jedi is unstable and proud of it. It is easy to see a kind of stoned sacrilege throughout the film as it breaks imaginary promises with its audience and indulges the series' worst impulses, but in spite of this it feels delirious instead of strictly contrary. The sincerity of its craft is in that it desperately wants to give everything it can- revelations, closure, but also new images, new avenues- and so it blunders and drags through its competing desire to move and entertain.
Empire's perspective rejects the propulsion of A New Hope: like turning up unannounced at a friend's workplace only to find that it is really busy, it is concerned about the action but unable to generate an affective perspective toward it. (Concerned about rather than concerned with). It is diligent enough to observe the film's many instances of failure, but (this is where the analogy ends) can't summon enthusiasm for the way this information is relayed because it already knows how things are going to play out.