It is very funny to me that two of the most loathsome movies in recent memory were made by the inspiration for Coach Z.
“We’re going to show you a film. There’s nothing in here that could possibly harm you, but you must keep watching… watch… watch.”
I love that this is Godard’s De Palma of choice. Pop filmmaking that engages with itself through a masterfully deployed array of cinematic devices, stimulating the form until it (literally, gloriously) explodes. De Palma, like Bunuel, understands film logic to be dream logic. Psychic abilities are represented by Paul Hirsch’s destabilizing cutting, slow-motion is weaponized to prolong…
On first viewing, the climactic turn to outright genre felt like a misstep, as if the balance of cinematic investigation/dramatic polemic had been agitated. Now it reads to me as an ironic manifestation of the Stallone/Norris style of Vietnam filmmaking disdained by the characters, another enthralling reclamation animated by genuine anger.
Lindo’s to-camera address is one of the most moving moments in Spike’s cinema.