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“And these days, at Imaginary TWA, our friendly skyhops offer complimentary foot massages while you wait on line for your complimentary Richard Reid shoe-bomber sneaker scan. We live to serve!” Remember: Wednesday is “Prince spaghetti day,” and Thursday is “funky old TV commercial” day…
Oh my god and wonder of wonders, here we have a studio movie — a drama! — starring not one but two actors-of-color. God, what a terrible phrase. Don’t we all have a color? Okay: two actors who aren’t the usual medium peachy-beige of those who typically get to star in studio movies unless their name is Denzel Washington.
Fincher rivets us through what could have been an interminable two-hour-and-forty-minute runtime, by daringly jumping through a crime spree that spanned decades with brisk panache, boiling it down into slices of suspense, drama, and fear, with a bit of media criticism thrown in sideways for spice.
I left the screening room on Monday afternoon with Johnny Cash’s voice— no, with Joaquin Phoenix’s where’d-he-get-that-from baritone echoing in my head…
Steven Spielberg has never made a film like this one before, sharp and bright, lighthearted and witty, underplayed and — dare I say it? — hip.
The true story of a modern-day female Robin Hood of India. A powerful and in spots devastating journey through one woman’s conquest of a culture that views women as little more than sexual commodities.
Atlantan Miss Daisy Werthan (Jessica Tandy) is a ‘fine, rich, Jewish lady,’ says her black chauffeur, Hoke Coburn (Morgan Freeman). Driving Miss Daisy is the bittersweet drama about the unspoken friendship between this unlikely pair over a quarter of a century, from 1948 to 1973.
When Pu Yi ascended the throne in Peking in 1908, he was only 3 years old. From his short-lived reign to his arrest as a counterrevolutionary in Red China in 1950, he spent his life as little more than a pawn of those who wished to further their own agendas. Nevertheless, director Bernardo Bertolucci’s gorgeous and seductive The Last Emperor imbues this powerless and constantly thwarted figure with a resolute if melancholy grace.
Never has the chaos and horror of battle been so in-your-face, so personal, as in writer/director Oliver Stone’s Platoon. Based on his experiences in Vietnam, this is a stark, caustic account of one man’s war.
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