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It’s sort of adorable and sort of terrifying to look at Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps and see the ultimate 80s icon of sharky, sociopathic greed — Gordon Gekko — reduced to an object of quaint amusement, for both the characters onscreen and for us in the viewing audience.
Is the day of the auteur over? If it isn’t, who is our greatest auteur? Does it matter if Hollywood doesn’t care about directors anymore? Is that something that can be left to serious film fans?
Wants me some ice cream. And also a singing cow that sounds like Bing Crosby…
It’s not a pulsating green blob inside the Dalek warrior casing, it’s this…
If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, then you’ve likely already heard about my minor odyssey this afternoon. If not…
Gaspar Noe’s Irreversible was a brutal trip. This looks like it could be another. Do I want to put myself through that again?
I know that the last time I tried to find a certain DVD in the few stores left in Manhattan that sell DVDs, it was an exercise in aggravation…
Letters of Note — an awesome site that publishes cool old documents and letters — recently unearthed a most intriguing Doctor Who artifact…
Writer-director Adam Green has been hailed as the future of horror: The future of horror is the past of horror, apparently.
If the grownup fimmakers have learned to move past the adolescent notion that girls and women are either virgins or whores and nothing in between, they nobly step aside to let Zack and Matt’s ideas about the male ownership of women — and the sullying of women that thereby occurs — dictate the course of the film.
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