• Paris, Texas

    Paris, Texas


    There is always great magic in a foreigner’s view of that desolate desert landscape that is the Mojave. A nostalgia for a Miocene tundra never experienced in its prime state. To see it only littered with the dusty trash of a civilization running on forgetfulness and waste, and yet cherished in its rot; the eyes of one willing to move through a neglected infrastructure and paint it as beautiful and worthy of love nonetheless. In that there is an immense…

  • Out of the Furnace

    Out of the Furnace


    Is that Forrest Whitaker? Willem Dafoe? An Appalachian bare knuckle gambling drug cult? A Christian Bale performance of the highest quality in a slow-burn revenge thriller straight out of the late seventies with immaculate film photography, a brilliant script, and an ensemble giving it 110% across the board no matter how small the part? WHY DON’T WE TALK ABOUT THIS MORE?

    This is why cinema is dying, because Scott Cooper’s name stays out of mainstream mouths. And that’s a fucking disgrace.

    Goddammit, the man makes ‘em like they used to.

  • Burn After Reading

    Burn After Reading

    Burn After Rimming
     death scene will always be the most misanthropic and hilariously brutal kill in the Coen bros catalogue for me. It’s quick, but it’s so damn jarring and grotesque, the way his body slams into the back of the closet in a burst of blood with his eyes shut in sheer, brief pain and panic. Killer SFX, too.

    Still can’t get over John Malkovich throwing his arms out like that when he shouts “political.”

    No biggie.

  • Jackie Brown

    Jackie Brown


    Penis Brown
    Gonna be completely honest, been a couple years since I watched this but seeing Barret’s review really gave me a hankering for some of that good stuff.

    And there’s really not much I could add to his thoughts. I really think the man nailed it, something about De Niro’s eyes in that first scene. That boy Bobby is runnin’ from somethin. As is everyone present here. An shockingly mature work from such a new director known then for his taste for pure kitsch.

    Chicks Who Love Guns is better, more coherent and powerful satire than the entirety of Southland Tales.

  • Paths of Glory

    Paths of Glory


    Gentlemen of the court, there are times when I am ashamed to be a member of the human race and this is one such occasion.

    Kirk Douglas is an ethical punch to the gut in this. Some of his finest work to be sure. Though The Killing is itself an achievement and earlier than this, I still think here is where we witness the birth of a legend. That final scene is the advent of the genius we’d all come to know and love.

    Pure cinema of the highest order, end-to-end.

  • Scarecrow



    Fuck you, Tim. I had to let it sit, let it stew, give it some time, watch it again. You know. That sort of thing. I can’t go around suckin’ everything off immediately like it’s Wake In Fright. Sometimes a man’s gotta meditate when confronted with the next FTB classic. Anyways…

    Al Pacino is the greatest actor of his generation, arguably the greatest actor of all time. Lion, his tragic, woefully innocent, paternal wanderer, might be the greatest thing this…

  • Jackass Forever

    Jackass Forever

    Jackass Forever?
    I hardly know ‘er 😪

  • Logan Lucky

    Logan Lucky

    The slow burn, inbred cousin to the intoxicating, suave, big band jazz fling of Ocean’s Eleven, I think I’ve always preferred this. Soderbergh is at the height of his character weaving powers here, with a full ensemble that feels both overtly cartoonish but subdued and real enough that I could latch onto them in a much deeper than the aforementioned casino heist’s emotionally unladen cool guys.

    There are too many banger moments throughout to count, but the fact that we…

  • BARDO, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths

    BARDO, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths


    Bimbo: Fat Testicle in a Handful of Gooch
    This might be the closest anyone’s come to truly emulating and elevating that previously singular style people call Fellini-esque. The way it moves through very real scenarios with these fantastical, surreal vignettes and interactions interwoven to the main plight really culminates into something that, for the first half, feels almost disparate and aimless. But right when it seems like it might lose steam, the circle snaps closed. When this thing rolls back…

  • From Dusk Till Dawn

    From Dusk Till Dawn

    The feature length equivalent of a Tarantino foot shot but the foot gets cut off with 48 minutes left and you just sit there and watch it bleed til the credits roll.

    Somehow a uniquely ballsy movie in an era of big swings. No easy feat.

    George Clooney can fuck my wife.

  • The Toxic Avenger

    The Toxic Avenger


    An instant classic this time around.

    The scene that really solidified it for me was that one where that scuzzy dude with the mustache is going around the gym selling roids and then he goes back to the mayor with the money he’s made and literally says: “Mr. Mayor, I got today’s receipts from the DRUG DIVISION.”

    He says it just like that. And I clapped. If Adult Swim got back into really making movies, they’d be the new Troma. We need more Troma.

  • The Banshees of Inisherin

    The Banshees of Inisherin


    How’s the despair?”
    This one knocked me out for a second. McDonagh does something here that’s very lowkey but so resonant that I think his other films almost lack, save Seven Psychopaths. Colin Farrell’s character gets more screen time and his struggle is certainly the primary and obvious focus, but there’s a surprising amount of subtextual sympathy for Gleeson’s antagonist and the way in which he unwittingly starts an eternal blood feud with a man he still respects but simply…