I just want Michael Shannon to yell at me
Fuck. Fuck, how I yearn to be a fast-talkin' 50's newsroom worker. Somewhere between Katherine Hepburn and James Cagney.
Nose to the grindstone, ear to the ground, and never droppin' below fifth gear, you hear? Driver, get me to Rockefeller Plaza, quicker than a flash! I got a story hotter than a skillet workin' a night shift at Marcy's and I gotta get it in the editors hands by noon yesterday!
Fuck. Fuck. What's the fucking point. I'll never have that. Fuck.
I think a lot of great cinema focuses on how toxic the culture is around celebrity, success, and artistic productivity, but I've never seen this focus on the anger.
Worth is tied to success.
You're worth something if people talk about you.
So if you're unsuccessful, you're worthless.
And that means that every single rejection is personal.
Not being the next James Dean already means that the world is telling you that you're not good enough.
Both comedically and dramatically,…
Leone killed the western, video killed the radio star, and Babyteeth killed the sick girl romance. There is now a moratorium on sick girl romance. No, it's still banned if the boy is also sick, Cole Sprouse!
You made me root for romance between a 23 year old and a 16 year old?! You made me cry for them?! On a school night?!
God, the SEROTONIN this gave me. If someone sells this feeling in a pill, give me the connect.
I'm so in love with the "vulgar, insensitive, aggressive person who turns into a lamb when speaking to small children" trope.
I love how, no matter how flawed, dysfunctional and self-absorbed all the people in the family are, they'd all immediately sacrifice their own happiness if it meant making Olive smile.
I love how none of them ever show a single moment…