rewatched A Woman Under the Influence (John Cassavetes, 1974): 3.5/5

Some parts of this are absolutely genius; other parts are surprisingly insufferable, and not re: the personalities on display (wherein you could argue that the detestability is intentional), rather Cassavetes' style. While I do understand the repercussions of questioning the technique of such a prestige and distinct director—and perhaps my Cinephile Card will be revoked for saying so—I'd be fibbing if I said my attention weren't constantly ebbing during the longer stretches of supplementary hyperrealism he often implores.

There's been a trend in his catalog, though, from FACES to HUSBANDS to this, where the interludes feel more relevant and less superfluous; just as well, the most potent moments become even stronger, and the ratio heads upward. On top of that, A Woman Under the Influence has the advantage of Gena Rowlands giving the unhinged performance of a lifetime (that could easily be mistaken for legitimate nuttiness; I mean, seriously, how can someone act like that?).

The Parenting (Craig Johnson, 2025): 1/5

A fairly stacked cast piqued my interest, but this is fairly awful. None of the humor lands and the horror aspect doesn't feel that much better. A waste of talent on this drivel.

Adolescence (Philip Barantini, 2025): 3.5/5

A remarkable portrait of all-encompassing devastation, from its initial ripple effect until its final, irreversible cascade. Fantastic performances at every turn here, and the one-take thing is additive rather than a mere gimmick.

Ghostlight (Alex Thompson, Kelly O’Sullivan, 2024): 3/5

Towering central performances, lovely lived in detail, a sense of play that never overpowers a natural feel. If you love theatre and/or Manchester By The Sea, add a star.

Heart Eyes (Josh Ruben, 2025): 1/5

Bargain bin Eli Roth Thanksgiving which is already discount Scream

Emilia Perez (Jacques Audiard, 2024): 2/5

If one of the Cannes jurors last year were Mexican, I doubt this would have won the Jury Prize. Zoe's a joy to watch though. Her numbers are the best in the film by a mile. But this is a mess and a misfire. Only Almodovar could have pulled this off. Karla Sofia Gascon has presence. Looking forward to seeing her in better films. Adriana Paz does a lot with a little. And can someone explain to me why Edgar Ramirez continues to be wasted? The guy turned in one of the great performances of the 2010s and here he plays a role any telenovela himbo could have handled.

rewatched Only Angels Have Wings (Howard Hawks, 1939): 5/5 

Life as fire burning a match, rapid combustion with no time for grief. A passion for flying only matched by an inner death drive that is not a matter of choice, but of inexorable need. Lighting a friend’s cigarette is worth a thousand words, the only proper way of saying goodbye to a friend is by moving on with life. All of life’s dynamics in a microcosm of aviation. Absolutely unforgettable, just so forceful and deeply true.

Baby Invasion (Harmony Korine, 2025): 2/5

the only thing that worries me is that this looks like an art piece from a society about to collapse

The Last Picture Show (Peter Bogdonavich, 1971): 5/5

I refuse to believe that anyone could finish this without having died a little on the inside, irrevocably calcified by the reminder (or newfound knowledge) that such infinitesimal places did and still do exist—i.e. places engaged in a Sisyphean battle against the tedium of life and experiencing a collective slow death by inertia.

These former idylls melting into pits of desperation from which there is no escape. Bogdanovich’s aim feels neither condemning nor sadistic, though, and he finds ways to oddly but sincerely romanticize his barren template of Podunk, USA, often in the same exact sentence that he lays waste to some blanketed notion of security or comfort.

Every inhabitant of Anarene is either sad or confused or totally unsure of themselves—or, most often, some combination of the three—and if that’s not the most digestible portrayal of crumbling ruralism, then it’s the most honest. This is nostalgia without the rose-colored tint; Americana stripped of the storybook invincibility to which it often gets tethered when baked into reminiscences or exhumed from the deepest recesses of our sugar-coated memories.

We might look back on this tiny dirt-road town with fondness and warmth—with a yen for its non urbanized slowness and simplicity—but beneath the overly sentimentalized veneer are prisoners of their humble environment, a community destined for rot, and a lifestyle on the razor’s edge of extinction. Christ, I had to check my own pulse a few times to make sure I was still alive—the film is admittedly an endurance test of compound miserablism to some extent, so much so that its biggest narrative pivots feel excessive.

Like any train wreck, however, the larger the flame, the harder it is to look away, and Bogdanovich’s uncanny dexterity behind the lens and in the cutting room is a perfect complement to the gallery of entrenched performances from actors both young and old. Everyone’s great, but my MVP is Cloris Leachman—when her film-long piety finally cracks and she flings a fresh pot of coffee up at her kitchen cabinets, I swear I started bending my fingers backward to distract from the pain of watching it transpire.

To Catch A Thief (Alfred Hitchcock, 1955): 3/5

Somewhat middling for a Hitchcock picture, but ONLY because it’s a Hitchcock picture.

Opus (Mark Anthony Green, 2025): 2.5/5
If I were a newborn baby that’s never seen a movie before I’d be so shocked by the twists and turns of this one. 

(We as a society need to accept that the “strange things occurring in a retreat during a weekend” subgenre is played out and needs to stop.)

Mickey 17 (Bong Joon Ho, 2025): 2.5/5

There's almost certainly a different movie that wasn't chopped and recut (and revoiceovered, to the point you can hear different voiceover sessions back to back) to pieces in the edit. Whether it's better, I'm less confident, as I found it frequently incoherent and most of the major performance choices I kind of hated. (Toni Collette innocent!) Love you, Bong! Sorry! The creepers were cute!

Holland (Mimi Cave, 2025): 2.5/5
babe, wake up. there’s a new movie with nicole kidman and her shitty husband #37475. 

The Rule of Jenny Pen (James Ashcroft, 2025): 2/5

Raising Cain - The Late Years.

Credits just rolled and I still don’t understand at all why John Lithgow had to put on fake teeth, blue contacts, and an accent here but ok

Apart from the excellent performances by the two leads, particularly John Lithgow who really seemed to be having the time of his life and having a lot of fun playing the character, there's not much else that really stands out here.

The Horror elements are quite soft, as the movie actually works best as a metaphor of how when we get older we sometimes end up losing a big part of our "true selves", our autonomy and the essence that used to define us as individuals, and quite often that essence is completely lost.

 

 

The Monkey (Ozgood Perkins, 2025): 2.5/5

The family drama makes zero sense, so we’re left with the zany comedy of violent death. Which, amazingly, is nearly enough.  

 

The Fountainhead (King Vidor, 1949): 3.5/5

A very unusual experience. Startling framing and composition, including during a scene where, under Patricia Neal’s drooling gaze, Gary Cooper drills into a wall of granite, arm muscles bursting—a scene that is nakedly sexual enough to embarrass Freud himself. All the characters are just philosophical positions, but the ideas remain bracing. 

 

Within Our Gates (Oscar Micheaux, 1920): 3/5

Not strong dramatically, but full of violent and agit-prop images and harrowing situations, especially for its time. Equally amazing to see regular, normal black life in America, 1919. “The earliest movie from an African-American director known to still exist.”

 

Body and Soul (Oscar Micheaux, 1925): 3/5

Paul Robeson plays an itinerant preacher who is a baaaaaad man. Has the same penchant for flash-back that Within Our Gates has, sapping dramatic power but allowing Micheaux to present and explain late revelations. Paul Robeson played football at Rutger’s College, where he was the only black student, graduated from law school, played football in the NFL, served as a civil rights activist, and as a popular singer released 276 songs. Other than that, he did nothing with his life.

 

Garbo Screen Test, 6m (Joseph Valentine, 1949): 4/5

A screen test for a potential comeback. She starts by smiling broadly and warmly, and she’s a stranger. Then she closes her mouth and looks forlorn and toward the ceiling, and boom there’s Garbo. An incredible testament to her persona, and certainly what Warhol was intending to do with his own screen tests. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDErHzxZnSY

 

Angels Have Dirty Faces (Michael Curtiz, 1938): 4/5

Tough but warmly emotional Cagney is perfect in this entertaining YA gangster picture, the emotional conclusion of which hinges on whether Cagney cries while walking to the electric chair. 

 

Empire of the Sun, rw (Steven Spielberg, 1987): 3/5

Half Spielberg magic, energy and wonder—and half bogged-down hunger, sickness, misery and death. This kind of suffering is normally dished out to people of color (looking at you Ritwik Ghatak’s The Cloud-Capped Star). Here Spielberg makes a warm-up for Schindler’s List but only dares to depict real-life war camps with nice WASPs as the victims. Rated 3.8 on Letterboxd, same as fucking Close Encounters. 

 

Always, rw (Steven Spielberg, 1989): 2/5

In the first 10 minutes we get strong Only Angels Have Wings vibes and a three-person simultaneous three-way conversation that is a fine steal from His Girl Friday. But as the film cycles into a dumb supernatural Cyrano story, we discover that Dreyfuss is no Cary Grant. I actually usually like Dreyfuss, but he’s terribly miscast here and his anxiety brings out the most grating aspects of this character.

 

The First Slam Dunk (Takehiko Inoue, 2022): 4/5

As close a movie can come to the actual feeling of watching a good sports event, where you know and care about the players. 11-year-old Jack was as fully engaged as I was. The first time I’ve dipped into the surprisingly robust “sports anime” genre, but not the last. 

 

 

Frank Borzage Film Fest

“For Borzage, love was not a plot device; it was everything.”

 

Street Angel (Frank Borzage, 1928): 3/5

Borzage has a thing for tall, slim, male, gormless, sweet, naive, dumb, emotional, direct male protagonists, and I’m here for it (and him: Charles Farrell, also so fuckable …ahem …good… in Borzage’s 7^th Heaven, Lucky Star, and The River (not to mention Murnau’s City Girl.)

 

Bad Girl (Frank Borzage, 1931): 3/5

Despite the salacious title, this is the most straightforward drama-free possible romance where boy meets girl, woos her, they get married, she gets pregnant, he’s happy about it, she has the baby, and they live happily ever after. 

 

A Farewell to Arms (Frank Borzage, 1932): 3.5/5

Although it’s kind of a war picture, what really matters is the love connection between casual Hemingway Gary Cooper and innocent but good-to-go nurse Helen Hayes—lounging in gauzy, dappled shadow and light. After a shockingly frank pre- and post-sex sequence in the first act, Cooper is even permitted to mention that he has just taken her virginity. I love Adolphe Menjou as Cooper’s surgeon friend who constantly calls him “Baby,” with great affection. 

 

Man’s Castle (Frank Borzage, 1933): 3/5

A sweet love story among the Depression-era poor, where the main obstacle to the romance is that Spencer Tracy (while charming) is a negging asshole. I really like Loretta Young. She was 20 at the time, and this was her 50th film. 

 

Desire (Frank Borzage, 1935): 3.5/5

A funny, action packed, and clever second act makes up for an OK beginning and end. I’ve come to really love Gary Cooper. He’s naïve and handsome, and I prefer both him and Marlene Dietrich in this movie’s comedic, parodic mode. It’s her first film after her split from Von Sternberg, and she seems happy to let loose.

 

The Mortal Storm (Frank Borzage, 1940): 3/5

Clearly displays the whole Nazi thing in 1940–a contemporary protest document, of the (relevant) rise of the racist assholes. Also features Jimmy Stewart and a romance. As in The Sound of Music, the downbeat third act shifts into a long action sequence and an ultra-nationalistic evocation of god and country. 

 

 

Late Works Film Fest

I’m hit and miss on Karina Longworth’s You Must Remember This podcast, but I’m loving her most recent season, which focuses on the late careers of Hawks, Stevens, Minnelli, Preminger, and Wilder among others. It’s easy to find someone talking about Rio Bravo, but who is talking about the production and qualities of Red Line 7000 and King of the Pharaohs? No one!

 

Red Line 7000 (Howard Hawks, 1965): 3.5/5

In the tradition of Hawks movies where a company of men (and, more incidentally, women) competently ply their dangerous trade with bravery and a casual and cool stoicism—Only Angels Have Wings, Rio Bravo, Hatari, and Red River. This has a large cast of characters, all playing it cool while pairing off and falling in love, including at least four strong and distinct women (Longworth calls it the only Hawks movie from a woman’s point of view). It’s interesting to see Hawks’ trope updated to a sexually adventurous and explicit 1960s. Some excellent, real racing sequences, which were filmed first and then the drama was built around the footage. Also known for its prescient use of product placement and indeed the characters drink Pepsi from a huge lighted soda dispenser while hanging out in the courtyard of a Holiday Inn. 

 

King of the Pharaohs (Howard Hawks, 1955): 2/5

Lots of pageantry and a cast of thousands—these are not what I look for in a Hawks movie, but I suppose he succumbed to the widescreen blockbuster demands of the time. Dramatically turgid, and with horrible sexual politics and a protagonist who uh, owns tons of slaves. Worst sin of all: the costumes are incredibly ugly. Terrible script co-written by William Faulkner.

 

Greatest Story Ever Told (George Stevens, 1965): 2/5

Jaw-dropping landscapes (all shot in the American West) and some delicious Stevens ultra-slow crossfades. But Jesus, even portrayed by a typecast Max von Sydow, is a stiff—and the by-the-numbers retelling moves glacially. 

 

The Only Game in Town (George Stevens, 1968): 3.5/5

The only reason to watch this cracked romance between a Vegas showgirl and a piano player with a gambling addiction, adapted (barely) from a play, is for Warren Beatty and Elizabeth Taylor—and indeed that’s plenty. They are both excellent, and it’s a pleasure to watch them. Beatty’s first movie after Bonnie and Clyde; he wanted to work with Stevens. 

 

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Vincente Minnelli, 1962): 3/5

I always like it when a character changes in the middle of a work, and here Glenn Ford is a feckless cad for half the film and the main actor in a cool spy thriller in the other half. Studio-bound and artificial, but not really in a bad way. Ingrid Thulin, so great in Bergman films like Cries and Whispers and The Silence, reportedly had a hard time on the set (her lawyer wrote a memo to Minnelli telling him he was not permitted to touch and move her body to demonstrate how to stand)—and eventually her voice was dubbed over by Angela Lansbury (of all people). These big epics demand expressive body language and gestural movements, the opposite of Bergman, where battles are all internal.

 

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (Billy Wilder, 1970): 2/5

Dull, hazy, self-satisfied, and tainted by a first act full of gay panic. I can’t imagine how unwatchable Wilder’s beloved three-hour cut would be. 

 

Fedora (Billy Wilder, 1978): 3/5

An interesting pair with Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard, as William Holden deals with yet another reclusive and insane female movie star. This is one is, if anything, more cynical and despairing: “Monroe and Harlow. Those were the lucky ones.” The last hour (!) is a series of gonzo flashbacks that invoke both The Substance and What Ever Happened to Baby Jane—but that unfortunately don’t involve Holden at all. 

 

Skidoo (Otto Preminger, 1968): 3.5/5

Despite its horrendous reputation, I found this to be a pretty even-handed, funny, and LSD positive comment on the clash between the (naive, confused and hypocritical) youth-culture and the squares (here represented by not only “the man,” but also by those who are forced to participated in the movie’s “gangster drama.”). Any movie where the head of a crime family is named “God” and is played by Groucho Marx (the ultimate Little Dickens) is too complex and fun to dismiss as a mere failure.

 

 

Hong Sang-Soo Film Fest

The modern director whose works feel the most like those of (my beloved) Ozu to me. Interested in repetition and variation. Serene and full of forgiveness for his characters. 

 

List, 29m (Hong Sang-Soo, 2011): 3/5

A sweet romance where the irony comes both from the romantic formula (made bare in the form of a literal list) as well as from what we know Hong Sang-Soo’s director characters are always ultimately like. 

 

Our Sunhi (Hong Sang-Soo, 2013): 3/5

A young woman has three very very similar conversations with three men who like her, with the same phrases popping up again and again and passed around among the four of them. 

 

Nobody’s Daughter Haewon (Hong Sang-Soo, 2013): 2.5/5

One of HSS’s least playful, formally, although there is some twinning and looping of situations, which for once feels redundant rather than additive. Also, for once, our lead actress (who HSS only used in a small part in one other film) is amateurish—something that reminds me that the acting is always excellent in his films.

 

Hotel by the River (Hong Sang-soo, 2018): 3.5/5

A uniquely somber tone, emphasized by the wintery setting and cinematography. Searching, philosophical, and open-ended. contrasts a father and his estranged sons with two women in the same hotel. The men are separated from one another and their own emotions and the women have a close and emotional bond. “People have two minds. One that walks on the street and the other that communes with the eternal.”

 

In Front of Your Face (Hong Sang-Soo, 2021): 3.5/5

Performs a kind of magic trick two-thirds of the way through—where something so real and out of character for Hong Sang-soo happens that I was sent scurrying to IMDB to check on the real-life health of Lee Hye-young, the main actress.

 

Introduction, 1h6m (Hong Sang-Soo, 2021): 2.5/5

This one is not well liked on Letterboxd, so I was sure I was going to find something about it that everyone was missing, but nay not so. Just some disconnected scenes from the life of a young man who seems intent to have a deep conversation with someone, but never manages to.

 

Walk Up (Hong Sang-Soo, 2022): 3/5

Tells the story of 5 or 10 years in a director’s (typically self-centered and blithe) life, as he moves from the ground floor, to the second floor, to the top floor of an apartment building. No real formal trickery unless you count non-signposted temporal leaps.