"Otis, plug it in."
That one line could be the punch line of a sick joke (and it almost is). As delivered by Michael Rooker (as the titular Henry), it is both a coldly functional instruction and an unflinching glance at psychosis. I realize I'm speaking about the line out of context. If you are reading this, there's a high likelihood that you know exactly what I'm speaking about. And for those of you who haven't seen Henry...it involves a…
I'm having a difficult time reviewing The Disaster Artist without doing two jobs of psychoanalysis. The first one would be on myself, and the second is on James Franco. Neither one will be fair or nonjudgmental, but I don't know how else to do this. I'm writing this retrospectively after having seen the movie a week or so ago.
I'm struggling with that familiar sensation of having an initially positive feeling dissolve after a bout of overthinking. I hate it…
I've danced all around how to tackle writing a review for Sound of Metal. Should I start with the personal first? Should I praise the same things everyone else already has? Should I talk about what matters to me most about this story? I've been a bit like a school kid with a book report due. (That says more about my own psychology than it does about anything else).
Okay, the personal first: I was born with an extremely rare…
Is this movie even worth mentioning? I don't know why I have this sudden commitment to telling strangers about the movies I watch. I don't know why I have this need to convince them that I'm witty, charming, and insightful. Am I that much of a narcissist? Is my life that empty?
Oh, wait...how was the movie?
I watched Sweet Kill (aka The Arousers) at the dead of night; Tab Hunter's homicidal adventures with numerous topless women kept getting interspersed…
