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"Ours was like a hit and run, too."

Altman's blank check.

After a decade on the fringes, the director of Nashville returns to the panoramic tableaux he's most famous for. And while not as vibrant as that film, Short Cuts is the most delicately layered of his career.

The difference really is in how the characters' lives interconnect and overlap. In Nashville, they have multiple occasions to come together/ cross-pollinate: the airport, the traffic jam, the Grand Ole Opry, etc. In Short Cuts, it's much more tangential than that—more like glancing blows. But where the gracefulness comes in is in how Altman pieces it all together, how one scene touches the next, continuing the same feeling, like an echo resounding through a canyon.

It's really something else. I think this is my third time watching the film and the emotionality of it snuck up on me. The sadness. And how bitter a portrait so much of Short Cuts is.

But it's also a testament to what I think is Altman's defining philosophy as an artist—and maybe as a human being—that the universe balances itself. One person's fortunes go up, another's down, and in this way, we have equilibrium. Tragedy and comedy can exist side by side; death hold hands with folly.

What a filmmaker! No wonder I'm writing a book about him.

🎶 Who knows how some people turn to strange ones?
Is it up to me to make them into dead ones? 🎶

Quite the sight. Cecilia Condit's Possibly in Michigan is the best short film I'm seen in awhile. Singularly inimitable. Creepy, campy and avant garde. We need more experimental comedy horror musical shorts (a sub-sub-sub-subgenre I never even knew existed).

"You can't change your whole lifetime with one picture."
- Byron Orlok (Boris Karloff), Targets

Peter Bogdanovich is a fascinating (read: complicated) figure. His career ups and downs are one thing; his turbulent personal life, something else entirely. Bogdanovich's guiding mantra would seem to boil down to "the heart wants what it wants." Nice in theory, but it can lead to some near-sighted (read: recklessly selfish) behavior.

First, he abandons Polly Platt for his Last Picture ingenue, Cybill Shepherd. Okay, that's one thing. Ten years go by, Bogdanovich and Shepherd split, and now he's dating Dorothy Stratten (with a brief stop-off to woo both Colleen Camp and Patti Hansen, Stratten's They All Laughed co-stars). Stratten is tragically murdered, so where does the director turn now? Well, to her little sister, of course, Louise Stratten—who, let us not forget, was only twelve when they met, the same age as Bogdanovich's daughters. Then he basically proceeds to go Vertigo on Louise, trying to make her over in Dorothy's image.

This is some suspect psychology, to put it mildly.

And yet—and this is the fucked-up part—that broken mindset works its way into Bogdanovich's films (like They All Laughed) and is what makes them uniquely charming. He's able to spin gold from dysfunction.

Not that that makes it totally excusable. He's definitely got blinders on. Like in this doc, when Bogdanovich describes John Ritter's sweet schmuck of a private eye as his surrogate in the film. It just goes to show how warpedly rose-colored some people's self-image can be.

Then again, if you can't forgive yourself, who can you forgive?

"For me at this time, a hand grenade is cheaper than a bullet."

The arc of the Wes Anderson protagonist leads inextricably toward being humbled. Examples are rife: from Max Fisher and Mr. Fox, to Steve Zissou and Henry Sugar. We can now add Zsa-Zsa Korda to the list, for The Phoenician Scheme presents another meticulously outlined lesson in humility—one framed by deadpan hijinks, episodic escapades, and brief flights of Bunuelian fancy.

Similar to other recent Anderson pictures (French Dispatch, Asteroid City), this one needs a second viewing to fully grasp the gist. More next time.

"I weigh less than a slice of bread."

Case could be made this is the funniest Wes. At the same time, Fantastic Mr. Fox hits its dramatic beats with just as much grace and slyness. The whole thing's pretty perfect, if you ask me.

Chose to revisit because I think The Phoenician Scheme is going to pair nicely. Expect a report back on that tomorrow.

"Man don't do the jiving, he the one gettin' jived."

From its stark opening credits, featuring a backlit Army drill team spinning their rifles with expert precision, Streamers is a potent vivisection of masculinity and the Vietnam War in microcosm. Director Robert Altman takes a backseat to the drama here; David Rabe's script is the star, and the young cast who bring it to life. For most, this was their first time onscreen, and you get the feeling of them sowing their wild oats, occasionally to the point of hamming it up. This is an indulgence Altman allows his ensemble that he normally wouldn't—but I suppose he figured it worked for the material. And it does for the most part, with Michael Wright and Mitchell Lichtenstein giving especially strong performances.

As Vietnam movies go, Streamers is obviously in the conversation with Full Metal Jacket (there's the Matthew Modine connection, if nothing else). But there's even more overlap with A Few Good Men. This film feels like a sort of prequel to that one, focusing on the crime itself—the tension in the barracks that finally turns deadly.

"We're ready to begin the Dinosaur Release Countdown."

You get a sense with Frederick Wiseman that if anything too dramatic happened during the making of one of his movies, the director would just cut around it. Wiseman wants the day-to-day reality of a place—the habitual, routine. Not that that excludes special events or colorful characters; he's an astute documentarian, not strictly verite, and he knows to inject a bit of raw entertainment every half hour or so to pull us back in.

While I didn't find Central Park as interesting as some of Wiseman's other mammoth undertakings, like The Store or The Garden, he captures the spirit of the space with as much textural detail as ever.

"Not too many people sud their duds in the middle of the night."

I can't believe I found this online! Surprised and delighted to watch this lost Altman not-quite gem. It's another piece of the puzzle at any rate and backs up my thoughts on his '80s period.

With the exception of Rattlesnake in a Cooler, Altman's theater-based pieces never feel stagebound, even the low-budget ones like Laundromat. But they do feel insular: single settings, small casts, compressed timelines. They also adhere much closer to their scripts. Here, that dialogue is courtesy of Pulitzer Prize winner Marsha Norman ('night, Mother), delivering another two-hander of fraught older woman/younger woman relations. Amy Madigan and Carol Burnett give solid performances, while Altman keeps things visually apace.

"Godspeed, mister."

Weirdly (or not), I thought this would be the last week M:I-TFR was playing in IMAX. Turns out, it's not. Oh well, I felt compelled to see it one more time on the biggest screen possible.

Even after listening to all the mixed reactions to Final Reckoning—especially from podcasts I'm usually on the same page with, like The Big Picture and Blank Check—I just have a soft spot for what Cruise and McQuarrie have cooked up here. It ain't perfect, not by a long shot, but it's got a verve that comes from being both recklessly and meticulously conceived at the same time. The fact that it doesn't all hang together perfectly reflects the spirit of the making of these movies—an absolute faith in the process that if you just keep moving forward, a solution will present itself.

Will the outcome be messy? When is it not in one of these films? The mission never goes according to plan. But Ethan and his team—same as Cruise and his crew—keep on scrapping, while upping the ante every step of the way.

“Don't be polite with freaks.”

Alan Rudolph’s movies are hit or miss for me—mostly miss, if I'm being honest—which is why it was a neat surprise to find My Name worked so effectively. Essentially, it comes down to Geraldine Chaplin’s performance; how unpredictable her character is, scary and at the same time sexy, commanding the screen through a facade of vulnerability. Or is it? That's the tricky thing—you can't pin her down. Just when you think you've got a bead on her - poof - she's someone else. A different face. Different posture. Attitude. But it's all a means to an end, even if she's not entirely in control of her actions minute to minute. On the contrary, being impulsive is her secret weapon.

"Think of the goose. Does he know where he's going or does he just fly into the unknown?"

After the commercial failure of Buffalo Bill and the Indians, you have to ire the maverick lunacy of Robert Altman and Paul Newman reteaming for a film that ventured even further up their own asses. No studio in their right mind should have greenlit Quintet—and yet, Altman was such a hip filmmaker, and Newman such a bankable star, that 20th Century Fox decided to roll the dice, likely knowing their gamble would never pay off.

And oh, doesn't it. Quintet is such a downer—as cold and pessimistic as post-apocalyptic thrillers get. Worse, you're never quite sure what's going on, including the rules of the titular board game. Other directors would have made this more explicit, but not Altman. Rather, the director felt that audiences had failed to grasp something crucial about Quintet, "that in my mind it takes place on a different planet from the one we're on."

Hmmm.

Viewed through this lens, the film doesn't come into any sharper focus, but it does elevate Quintet's status as an anomaly—one we shouldn't be so quick to write off, if only for the context of how far afield it wanders.

"There will always be something to ruin our lives, it all depends on what or which finds us first. We are always ripe and ready to be taken."
- Charles Bukowski

This short is closer to a PSA in its blunt impact and messaging. Wish everything was pushed further—sound, lighting, etc. Really put us in this guy's head.

"There goes Mars."

The Life of Chuck is not the movie you think it is. It's darker and funnier, and stranger, and more mysterious, and less mysterious, than you'd expect. A movie as full of life as it is full of death. But then, those are kind of the same thing... aren't they?

No star rating yet. Need time (and a rewatch) to ponder.

"We gotta start thinkin' beyond our guns. Those days are closin' fast."

My 2000th film logged on Letterboxd. And—because I held myself to this standard—my 2000th review as well. I figured that was a milestone worth commemorating with one of the great films.

Hence, my pick: The Wild Bunch.

Sam Peckinpah's magnum opus is a damning portrait of violence in all its seductive depravity. From an early age, we are drawn like moths to the flame, even while being told to hate what we see. This is illustrated in the opening of the film, as children gleefully gather to watch a swarm of fire ants devour a scorpion—then later, in a single shot of a baby nursing at its mother's breast, mere inches from a bandolier. Peckinpah understood this dangerous, hereditary attraction better than any filmmaker before or since, and his supreme talent was being able to crystalize it onscreen.

At the same time, The Wild Bunch is such an elegiac work of demystification. Whatever these men had, that never existed in the first place, is now slipping away. The West they robbed, pillaged, and slaughtered their way through has vanished—only not really, because it abandoned them long ago.

In other words: they've got nothing to lose. As the movie's climax blisteringly bears out.

And we, of course, can't look away.

"The samurai represents the refinement of the self, a way of living. How the samurai lives and the way he dies is a beautiful thing. Sacrificing oneself to help others over all else. Of course, the enemy has the power and the numbers. But when someone stands up to that, whether it's Chanbara or a Western, you have to root for that."

Had this doc checked out from the library for the last couple weeks—and after Rashomon and Ran earlier today, it seemed like the exact right time to give it a spin.

Toshiro Mifune was a dynamite actor who seems like a semi-complicated guy off screen. Nothing too ugly, just regular human flaws: drank too much, bit of a temper. Mifune's son, Shiro, sums up his father's mystique best when he says, "It was his comion that made him rebellious."

Something I didn't know before watching this doc:
The Japanese film industry was banned from making movies that included sword-fighting for seven years after World War II. So it wasn't so much that samurai movies made a big comeback in the 1950s, but that they were allowed to be made again at all.

"Whatever disguise I must adopt, I won't abandon the Great Lord."

In my review of Rashomon, I talked about how basically there's no such thing as universal truth. So, on a completely subjective tip—

Nobody did better Shakespeare adaptations than Akira Kurosawa.

When I saw Throne of Blood, I first suspected this, and now, beholding Ran, there's no question. Such is Kurosawa's genius in translating the Bard to the big screen*. And it just goes to show, it's not about the words; it's about the ideas. It's about the scale of storytelling—the intimate balanced with the epic. And it's about the ion, the emotion. Every bead of sweat. Every drop of blood. What's worth fighting, killing, and dying for. Those were Shakespeare's stakes.

And the same held true for Kurosawa.

*I haven't seen The Bad Sleep Well yet, but planning to rectify that soon.

"I'm the one who should be ashamed. I don't understand my own soul."

Alt title: Evil Does Not Exist

My truth will never be your truth. The way we see the world will always diverge, whether greatly or slightly. Your version of events. My version of events. And even if you ask a thousand people what happened, you'll never get the full story.

Rashomon interrogates—but is wise enough not to try and reconcile—this very basic concept of being human... and how it continues to vex us to this day.

"There's not much time left in the world, Sarah."

So this won four Academy Awards back in '92—Sound, Makeup, Sound Effects Editing, and Visual Effects—in addition to being nominated for two more, Best Cinematography and Best Editing.

But what about Best Actress for Linda Hamilton?

What about Best Adapted Screenplay??

What about Best Director for James Cameron??? I mean, what does the guy have to do—sink a goddamn cruise ship?!

Jokes aside, T2 was robbed. This was my first time watching it full stop, start to finish, and it quite simply fucking rules. One of the most badass motion pictures ever made, as well as being a huge influence on future blockbusters like The Matrix and The Dark Knight.

And you know what? I don't feel bad waiting until my forties to watch it. Because the truth is, you can never sleep on a great movie too long.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Rear Window / 1954 / Paramount Pictures

"Let's start from the beginning again, Jeff. Tell me everything you saw... and what you think it means."

After a month dedicated to watching one Alfred Hitchcock movie per day, I saved this one special for last. Arguably the director's most perfect film, Rear Window delights with its inventiveness, its craft, and its superb performances.

The name of the game here is the fear of domestication. That's why trapping Jeff (Jimmy Stewart) in his apartment is such an ingenious starting point for the picture. He believes adventure can only be found in the outside world—definitely not in your own backyard. Well, as much as Jeff is proven right about his neighbor committing murder, he's proven wrong about the safety, and supposed dullness, of domestic life. (Added to which, Grace Kelly might be the greatest consolation prize any man ever received in history.)

Rear Window shows Hitch at the peak of his powers creatively: as a technician, a storyteller, and perhaps most of all, as a humanist. The character development here goes further than in any of his other films, especially when it comes to the side characters. Each of the neighbors has a mini arc that we follow, and to Hitchcock's credit, effortlessly track. His touch has truly never been lighter, nor more assured, and Rear Window stands as a masterpiece of studio filmmaking.

And an ideal note to go out on.

But not so fast...
Expect a few more titles in the next week that I wasn't able to get to; Hitchcock staples I would be remiss not to include.

"I said why would you want me to play this part. He said, 'Bruce, I never know what you're going to do next. I know that the frame is perfect—I know that the shot works perfect. All I want is to be entertained. I make entertaining movies.'"

Worth watching for Bruce Dern's decent Hitchcock impression, and Karen Black's god awful one.

"Are you really so down on people or are you just being fashionable?"

A nihilist comic fantasia, Little Murders skewers its way through the landscape of contemporary urban malaise and paranoia. Elliot Gould is the straight man here, disaffected and charmless, trying to keep his head down in a hostile world riddled with absurdities, while the mad men and women around him—Vincent Gardenia, Elizabeth Wilson, Donald Sutherland—do their best to rile him up and out of his apathy.

Based on the Jules Feiffer play, Little Murders anticipates the dark directions 1970s cinema would go—though its particular brand of downtown nightmare comedy wouldn't be matched until After Hours over a decade later.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Family Plot / 1976 / Universal Pictures

"Isn't it touching how a perfect murder has kept our friendship alive all these years?"

Kind of crazy how Barbara Harris and Karen Black did Family Plot and Nashville in back-to-back years. Talk about your old guard meeting your new. What wildly different sets those must have been—Altman's freewheeling, improv heavy, filming in real locations; Hitch's controlled and soundstage-bound. The maverick just hitting his stride versus the aging master on his last go-around.

Family Plot is a bit of an odd, though not unpleasant, note for Hitchcock to retire on. Its story is subdivided between two couples: Bruce Dern and Barbara Harris as bickering, wannabe con artists, and William Devane and Karen Black as kidnapping jewel thieves. The spiraling plots work at cross-purposes, and tonally the movie struggles to coalesce (though John Williams tries his damndest to smooth things over with his score).

That said, as final films go, Family Plot in no way embarasses, nor do we get the impression that Hitch is operating at less than his usual (post-Psycho) capacity. A fun, if disposable picture—as many of Hitchcock's were.

"I guess it all goes under the general heading of progress."

Montgomery Clift grew up so fast. Too fast. An old man before his time, Clift retained the vestiges of youth in his sparkling eyes, which only made the dissonance more noticeable. They say his was "the longest suicide in Hollywood history"—a bit of an unfair statement, but true in a print the legend sense. Still, even before his accident, Clift's performances had a haunted quality that continued into his later years—later being relative—and his work in the 1960s.

Directed by Elia Kazan, Wild River does a fine job capturing the place, time, politics, and tensions of 1937 Tennessee. A handsome film with readymade drama, there's not a whole lot you can say against it. Clift is good in his role as a government functionary stuck between a rock and a hard place—sensitive, though not as assertive as you might like. Lee Remick is better, but that's because she gets to be the imioned one about things.

The ending of the film is both poetic and too pat. Kazan flirts with the elemental, but since they're under man's control, what's meant to feel cathartic, underwhelms instead.

"Is this your car?"
"Not anymore."

Alt title: Iron Men

You watch this short—which was produced in the early 2000s to promote Volvo—and it's both impossible and very easy to imagine RDJ becoming the biggest movie star in the world ten years later.

Timing is fucking everything.

"One branch stronger than the other."

My history with the The Karate Kid franchise stretches all the way back to this Tuesday when I watched the original film for the first time. Other than that, I'm coming in fresh to this legacy sequel.

And honestly, it's kind of a mess. Karate Kid: Legends has a Netflix sheen—not to mention attention span—that robs the film of any actual weight or nuance. Ben Wang is charming enough in the lead, but aside from a tragic backstory, doesn't feel like he has enough to overcome. I mean, how much of an underdog can Wang be when a good chunk of the film is devoted to him training Joshua Jackson's ex-prize fighter in kung fu (something the kid's pretty much already an expert at)?

Surprisingly, the movie functions best when it leans into the humorous side of things—the more Jackie Chan-inspired, ultra-kinetic style of action comedy. The rest is diverting but bland. For Cobra Kai diehards only.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

The Trouble with Harry / 1955 / Paramount Pictures

"If you're gonna get yourself shot, do it where you're known."

Black comedy meets autumnal splendor in one of Hitchcock’s most offbeat efforts, The Trouble with Harry. What a joy this film is—quite unlike anything else Hitch made—almost a hangout movie, with a tone that can only be described as cozily macabre. Gorgeous, too; longtime Hitchcock DP Robert Burks outdoes himself capturing the vivid reds, browns, and oranges of the Vermont countryside in glorious VistaVision. Harry was also the director's first time collaborating with composer Bernard Hermann, and it's so clearly an ideal match.

The patented Hitchcock suspense might be missing, but you don't miss it for a second—not when his touch is this light and happy-go-lucky. A wholehearted recommend.

"You were always the best of men, in the worst of times."

Here are a couple immutable facts about Tom Cruise:

1) He takes the cultivation of his own myth extremely seriously;

And 2) There isn't a more compartmentalized human being on the planet.

Put 'em together and you've got a guy who is genetically incapable of giving you anything less than 100% at anything he does. Acting, stunt work, producing, promotion—Cruise throws the full force of his weight behind it. Because he doesn't know any other way, and will accept nothing less. He's hardwired to deliver.

Which (duh) is how you get moments as jaw-droppingly electrifying as the biplane sequence. Cruise leaves it all on the table—or in the sky. There is a method to his madness, but make no mistake: it's madness just the same. A near-fanatical devotion to his craft, his collaborators, the audience... and himself, of course.

That's Cruise's legacy.
That's his mission impossible.

"My wife's end justifies any means."

I'm always more attracted to the ing players in adult films than I am the lead. Take for instance Day Jason who plays the bit part of the receptionist here. While she doesn't have the golden hair and all-american looks of star Barbara Bourbon, she isn't half as boring either. Jason has personality, which beats conventionality in my book any day. Likewise, Georgina Spelvin, who was a legit star but with a character actor's appeal. Spelvin brings a sense of humor to her minor role, as well as a playful unpredictability, and her tryst with Bourbon is the film's best.

The Private Afternoons of Pamela Mann doesn't have the Continental flavor of The Image or Misty Beethoven—but you can feel Radley Metzger working up to it, on the verge of his ultimate goal: the integration of hardcore and hauteur.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Suspicion / 1941 / RKO Radio Pictures

"Your wife seems to be missing some chairs, old boy."

On the surface, Hitchcock's two collaborations with actress Joan Fontaine—Rebecca and Suspicion—have much in common. However, I think I preferred the latter. To me, it played more like a traditional "women's picture," melodramatic in the Sirkian mold, and only really tipping over into suspense in the last third.

The reason Hitch is able to hold off so long is because the tension between Cary Grant and Fontaine is juicy enough on its own. There was always the element of the shitheel to Grant's persona, but here he digs in and makes his character truly unlikeable. To Johnnie Aysgarth, lying is as natural as breathing. Might murder be second nature as well?

Alas, the answer to that question is No. At the studio's request, Hitch changed the ending to the book, explaining away Johnnie's sketchy behavior and preserving Grant's leading-man image in the bargain.

Our man should have stuck to his guns.

"Think only tree."

With The Karate Kid (1984), director John G. Avildsen recaptures the heart-on-the-sleeve magic that made Rocky a hit nearly a decade earlier, bringing the same focus on character and authenticity to this film. But this is an '80s underdog story, not a 1970s New Hollywood one, and the tone of the film reflects that: less gritty, more genial, eager to please. After all, Daniel doesn't just "go the distance"—he wins the frickin' tournament. The Karate Kid also manages to roll in a couple other genres popular at the time, being both a teen movie and a fish-out-of water comedy.

Avildsen's biggest coup, though, comes down to casting. Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita have a rapport you just can't fake. Not even Sylvester Stallone and Burgess Meredith can touch it. I especially love the scene where Mr. Miyagi's drunk and opens up to Daniel, and we see that this paragon of wisdom is as fragile and human as anyone else.

Fingers crossed we get a similar moment in Karate Kid: Legends. (Jackie Chan, what's your poison?)

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Strangers on a Train / 1951 / Transatlantic Pictures

"I certainly ire people who do things."

Fun and fresh from start to finish. And what a finish it is! Strangers on a Train's carousel climax might be the most purely thrilling Hitchcock ever concocted. But then, there's nothing about this film that isn't note-perfect—cast, script, photography, you name it.

Evidently, Hitch pulled a fast one on author Patricia Highsmith by leaving his name out of the negotiations so he could secure the rights to her novel for the low sum of $7,500. Not very nice—and not the last time he'd pull such a trick; just ask Psycho author Robert Bloch. Underhanded dealings aside, Hitchcock pounced because he saw the potential in Highsmith's story, even when others didn't, and you can't deny the results: Strangers presents the perfect marriage of material and moviemaker.

Now, if Hitch had only ponied up the cash for The Talented Mr. Ripley... I can see it—can you?

"The crowd concept of fun can be terribly overrated."

You can tell Radley Metzger is a big Bunuel fan. The same stymied erotic air that pervades The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie pervades this one—and yet, The Lickerish Quarter precedes Bourgeoisie by a couple of years, making them more or less contemporaries. Even so, you still feel the influence of films like The Exterminating Angel and Belle de Jour in the themes Metzger sets out to explore, the sophisticated European setting he strives to cultivate, and the dreamlike fracturing of desire and time. That's where the Porn Auteur's ambitions lay.

And the miraculous thing about Metzger is he almost has the talent to pull it off. Photographically, he's in the same league as Bunuel or Antonioni, and his scripts are just as stimulating (if a bit too on the nose). Where Metzger comes up short—and it's inevitable given the kind of films he makes—is on the acting side. You're just never going to attract top talent when part of the job requires hardcore sex and nudity.

Still, Metzger didn't let that stop him; the characters in his movies retain their complexity, and it's up to the performer to realize it—or come as close as they can get. As a result, all of the director's films feel like noble attempts, stuck somewhere between the art house and 42nd Street.

"Is any place real when you're making a movie?"

All Larry Cohen films are little bit smart and a little bit dumb, as trashy as they are clever, and a bit too big for their britches (in a good way). Special Effects sees the maverick moviemaker getting reflexive, turning the camera back on the process—specfically, where's the line between art and real life, and once you cross it, who gets to decide what makes the final cut? True to form, Cohen explores these themes while still delivering the kind of T&A and gruesome violence Grindhouse audiences expected.

Maybe it's all the Hitchcock I've been watching, but I detected his influence here as well. You could see him directing the same basic plot, only set in the '50s in Hollywood, with Kim Novak as the actress, Montgomery Clift as the husband suspected of killing her, and James Mason as the director who actually did. Shades of Rope, Vertigo, and Strangers on a Train.

While we're on the subject of triple features, how about sandwiching Special Effects smack in the middle of Blow Out and Star 80? Not exactly uplifting, but it works.

"They look like a bunch of Slim Jim's with googly eyes."

Alt title: Close Encounters of the Furred Kind

It's crazy how much people love Stitch, but then again, not too surprising. He's proto-Minions (and we all know how folks lose their minds over those cheeky yellow bastards). Personally, I've never been much of a fan, as a result of which, the agent of cutesy chaos at the center of this live-action remake didn't do a hell of a lot for me.

But the big sister/little sister stuff was alright. And as kid actors go, newcomer Maia Kealoha brings a spunky yet grounded believability to her first big role.

Not a full-throated recommend—but if you're a family looking to drop $100 on overpriced snacks and merch, Lilo & Stitch (2025) is the Memorial Day movie for you.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

The 39 Steps / 1935 / Gaumont-British Picture Corporation

“You ever heard of a thing called persecution mania?”

Formula unlocked! Hitchcock's first wrong-man romp wouldn't be topped until his last, North by Northwest, 25 years later. It's easy to see why: in every way, The 39 Steps is the template for that film, right down to its man-on-the-run-trying-to-evade-capture-while-thwarting-a-ring-of-spies-from-smuggling-classified-info-out-of-the-country scenario. (You know, that old chestnut).

And the comparisons don't end there. Robert Donat has the same double-take charm that Cary Grant would—and cuts an even more impressive figure in an overcoat. Likewise, he meets his foil-cum-love interest (Madeleine Carroll) on a train, and the picture ends with his hand taking hers, at last out of peril and in love.

"Goddess?"

We used to make things in this country. And by "things" I mean romcoms starring Meg Ryan. (I know there was that David Duchovny one from a couple years back, but that was like an anomaly. Still, I should've gone to see it for like the week it played in theaters.)

Anyway... As a genre, romcoms all have this inherent motor powering them, and that motor is neuroticism. And Meg Ryan's special eau de neurotique always stood out from the pack—whether she was playing opposite Tom Hanks, Billy Crystal, or Kevin Kline. The breeziest of '90s romps, French Kiss is tailor-made for Ryan's eccentricities, and, along with Kline, America's quirkiest sweetheart delivers the goods.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Shadow of a Doubt / 1943 / Skirball Productions

"Nobody that sleeps all day can sleep all night too."

Easily one of Hitch's more enigmatic efforts, it takes a while to pin down what Shadow of a Doubt is playing at. For starters, the film is a whodunnit—or at least, as close to one as Hitchcock ever ventured. But even more perplexing is the relationship between Joseph Cotten's secretive uncle and his impressionable niece (Theresa Wright). There exists a charge between them, an attraction that—while you can't call it sexual—flirts dangerously close to that line. Which is why, when she starts suspecting him of murder, it causes such anguish for the poor girl; her confusion stems not merely from doubt over his innocence, but the not-quite-right feelings she might have for him. It's knotty psychological ground Hitch is covering—at a minimum, hinting at.

On the filmmaking side of things, Shadow of a Doubt leans more subdued, but there are little flourishes here and there that only Hitchcock would indulge (oh, did Hitch love staircases). Theresa Wright also makes a big impression. Wish she would have done more with Hitchcock. Maybe as the young woman in Rope, or the wife in The Wrong Man.

"It was never criticism of the movie—it was always criticism of me."

At a scant 54 minutes, this doc can only present a cursory overview of Michael Cimino's career. But it does get across the point that the biggest threat to an artist's continued survival is usually the artist themselves. To some basic degree, you have to know how to play the game. Which Cimino did; he just refused to. And more power to him. But you don't get to keep making big American epics on Hollywood's dime that way.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

The Man Who Knew Too Much / 1956 / Paramount Pictures

🎶 Whatever will be, will be 🎶

Going into this, the prospect of Doris Day starring in a Hitchcock movie had me skeptical. But honestly, she's the best thing about The Man Who Knew Too Much. Don't get me wrong, Jimmy Stewart's his usual solid self, but Day—probably because she has more to prove—rises most to the occasion. That she's great at the "light" stuff (singing, dancing, acting the picture-perfect '50s housewife) should come as no surprise. But the way she tackles the dramatic beats is just as convincing. And there's really no other role like hers in the Hitchcock repertoire—even when compared to the same character in the 1934 version. As far as remakes go, Hitch is following a similar roap here, but the sights are varied enough to keep the trip diverting.

Fair warning, though: the kid in this is awful. A real milquetoast dud. Which is actually sort of surprising, given that the handful of child actors who feature in other Hitch films—the original Man Who Knew Too Much, Sabotage, The Wrong Man, The Birds—make a relatively strong impression. At the very least, they're memorable. Not so Hank; the sooner he gets kidnapped, the better.

"Doubling down and down again."

The Mission: Impossible movies have a simple formula: it's always two steps forward, one step back for Ethan Hunt and his IMF crew—eternally out of the frying pan and into the fryer. That's the pattern (to steal a line from Henry Czerny's CIA Director Kittridge) and it's one that's worked, to varying degrees of success, across seven previous M:I installments.

So there's no reason it shouldn't work here. And it does, no complaints. With The Final Reckoning, you get your money's worth from Tom Cruise and co. The stakes here are not only higher but, more important, clearer than they were in Dead Reckoning. Sure, it's not all gangbusters—no Mission film is (though the original comes closest)—but for globetrotting, doomsday-defying action spectaculars, who else can compete? Nor does any franchise try harder to wring every drop of entertainment value from its essential premise. Besides the submarine sequence—which everyone knew was coming and would kind of have to just get through—there wasn't a moment I wasn't locked in. I appreciated all the callbacks in what very much felt like a victory lap for this series. A well-deserved one, at that.

Now, after three decades, Ethan Hunt can finally take a much-needed rest. And Tom Cruise, explore new cinematic frontiers.

He's earned it on both counts.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Young and Innocent / 1937 / Gaumont-British

"It's only half dancing."

After the full meal that was Vertigo, I needed a bite-size palate cleanser. And for most of its runtime, Young and Innocent fit the bill. Then came a scene of the most repellent blackface and this trifle turned sour in a hurry.

Not a good look, Hitch.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Vertigo / 1958 / Paramount Pictures

“Oh, Mister Detective? Would you like to come and look?”

Folks, it's all been building to this.

When I found out that the Hollywood Theatre in Portland was screening Vertigo in 70mm, I knew I had to be there—and that this screening would be the crown jewel, the piece de resistance, in my month-long Hitchcock project. I mean, is there a better film of Hitch's to see on the big screen? (Psycho, maybe, but only because it's such an audience picture.) And this viewing—coming on the heels of twenty other Hitchcock films—unlocked something about the movie for me; why it holds a special place in the Master's corpus.

It's because Vertigo is so unlike anything else he ever made.

Stay with me…

Hitch didn't make languorous films. Here, he slows things wayyy down.

Hitch didn't go in for the supernatural. Here, he spooks things up (although it's a red herring).

Hitch didn't mess around with tragedy. Here, he indulges to the fullest.

With long scenes of watching and following, Hitchcock casts his spell on us. We start to feel a bit dizzy ourselves, lightheaded, like we're the ones falling—in love... and to our death. What happens to Scottie and Madeleine/Judy is inevitable: an unravelling of illusion that Hitch slows down so that we may bask in every mesmeric detail.

Through the looking-glass and the fog, and what we'd like to believe and the hollow, angry truth, Vertigo transports us. Now lauded as one of the great films of all time, it remains an outlier in the director's canon—and all the more astonishing for it.

"That was longer than a heartbeat."

In my younger and more vulnerable years, I didn't have the stomach for horror movies. At least I didn't think I did. Now I know I was just chickenshit, because duh: being scared's the point. And once you can embrace that, a whole world of visceral, exciting, provocative cinema opens up to you.

Needless to say, I had/have a lot to catch up on.

Which brings us to 28 Days Later.

This thing is just damn effective. Zombie movies naturally have a built-in suspense factor, but the way Alex Garland's script concentrates that suspense keeps you on the edge of your seat, constantly attune to the characters and their surroundings. Especially in the quiet moments, when the peace could be shattered at any second.

Or not. That's the trick. Sometimes nothing bad happens. And yet the result is the same—you're even more unsettled, guarded, present.

Going a long way towards this sense of immediacy is how the film is shot. I love how unapologetically lo-fi this is. Half the movie sounds like it's underwater, the other half's a pixelated scramble. And all for the better. Danny Boyle's choice to go so bare-bones is a stroke of genius. Just a handheld camera wouldn't have been enough either; we need to see this world through a degenerated filter—grainy, ugly—only coming into focus when our small band of survivors seem on the precipice of relief.

Resolution, finally.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Torn Curtain / 1966 / Universal Pictures

"Both of you be in my clinic tomorrow morning, ten o' clock, punctually. No baggage."

What did Alfred Hitchcock look for in an actor? Were there certain traits that the stars of his movies had in common?

Yes, I do believe so. And it went far beyond mere bankability. Despite often working with big names—Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, Jimmy Stewart, Henry Fonda—there is little doubt that Hitch considered his own to be just as major a selling point. Rather, the director's needs were more crystaline than that, and here they are in descending order of importance:

1. Fit into his scheme.
2. Bring a level of authenticity.
3. Know their business—dialogue, blocking, etc.—so as not to waste time.

Truly and simply, that about covers his basic demands. And where Torn Curtain is concerned, Paul Newman and Julie Andrews meet the criteria.

Unfortunately, this espionage-laced thriller lacks sufficient heat to provide much of a catalyst to strong performances. That's Hitchcock's fault—and while less of a slog than Topaz, we can now definitively say that the Master of Suspense would have been better served staying well clear of Cold War politics.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Spellbound / 1945 / Selznick International Pictures

"It's rather like embracing a textbook."

With a plot both reductive and problematic, Spellbound finds Hitchcock plumbing the depths of psychoanalysis in the shallowest way possible.

Now we must keep in mind, this was a film released in 1945, that came out of the Hollywood studio system of the day, and given those factors, probably should have never been attempted at all. Alas, it was—and the story Hitch cooks up, about a therapist (Ingrid Bergman) falling in love with her patient (Gregory Peck), while simultaneously trying to prove his innocence in a murder he may or may not have committed (spoiler alert: he didn't), is as oversimplistic as it is sentimental.

In addition, the film suffers from the same tonal tug-of-war as other Hitchcock-Selznick collaborations (Rebecca, The Paradine Case): Hitch pulls for pulp, Selznick prestige. Neither wins, and the film's left stranded somewhere in between.

Still, as a curio of pop-Freudianism, Spellbound is of some interest. Also, for the spin it attempts on the "wrong man" formula. And then there's the Salvador Dali of it all (literally ripping off himself here—though I guess that doesn't count?).

w/ Commentary

“Billy Bob always felt that this movie was about atonement… That everybody has something that they want, and within their desire is already the seeds of their own destruction.”

I know I'm a recent convert, but I could listen to Carl Franklin talk about making movies till the cows come home. This is a filmmaker who has the same insight into the process that Sidney Lumet had. His commentary track for One False Move is a great listen, and here are just a few of the gems Franklin imparts…

• In the tradition of Stallone before him, and Damon and Affleck after, Billy Bob Thornton (co-)wrote the script as a means to an end. So he could act in it.

• Franklin and his team thought a lot about how they would differentiate the two contrasting worlds of the story. Los Angeles has a cooler tone of greens and blues, with scenes shot in short staccato bursts. When the action moves to Arkansas, earth tones come into the picture, with wider shots and longer takes.

• Directing is all about choices and it's all about little details that bring even minor characters to fuller life:
“Here we wanted to break the mold a little bit. When you generally see the chief of police, you always see him in a suit and tie, or you see him in uniform. And we thought it would be interesting if there was a feeling that he had been at home and was called from home to come to the office—and he's wearing a windbreaker and an open shirt. Which gives him actually more authority in some respects, because he's the one guy who's not all buttoned down with a tie, etc.”

• Pickup shots for the film were done by none other than Janusz Kaminski, a couple years before he'd lens Schindler's List and become one of Spielberg's closest collaborators.

• Lots of praise for Bill Paxton (rightfully so). “He didn't necessarily want to believe he was a leading man,” Franklin reveals, and it was only after Paxton saw his performance in the completed film that he could see his own potential.

On what made the actor special and a challenge:
“Bill Paxton is one of those actors who has so much at his disposal, who has such a range of things that he can do, such an emotional range, that the key it feels to me in directing him is to just make sure that he doesn't want to shoot all those guns at one time, just because he has so much in his arsenal. The temptation—and it's the case with any talented actor who has a lot that they can do, they kind of want to do it all at once. And yet, you know, when he's spare, it's a wonderful thing to watch.”

On the scene where Paxton’s small town cop overhears the big city detectives making fun of him:
“Again, the key to this, which we discussed, was his nobility, and his refusing to allow his emotions to show while he's being ripped apart—and somehow that makes it all the more heartbreaking, because he's still trying to be a gentleman about it and still trying to uphold some dignity as opposed to giving into any emotions. We've all been there.”

• “At the time that this film was being cast, it was the best role for a Black woman in Los Angeles.” Cynda Williams wanted the part and devised a clever ploy to get it, posing as a reporter writing an article about Carl Franklin, then halfway through the interview, launching into a reading from the script. Crazy, but it worked.

• Casting is one thing, but then there are those choices that are more subtextual, intangible:
“The sound of the whip-poor-will was a part of a characteristic that I wanted to make sure the film had, which was that Southern haunt—of superstitions and all that kind of mystery that seems to crop up from the South… Some of the supernatural elements that we wanted to thread through the film, that would transcend the immediate conflict and would make it have more of an omnipresent, more fatalistic kind of a sense—that there's someone looking down on this whole action that is manipulating it. And the whip-poor-will was yet another opportunity for that.”

• Franklin has a lot to say about the elements that went into the climax of the picture, but this is my favorite bit:
“The combination of the truth and of the con game that Fantasia is playing on the character at this point, the Hurricane character, is an interesting mix. Because at the same time she's conning him for her life, for her freedom, she's also telling the truth. And the dilemma that it places the character in is a little more complicated than if it was a straight-up con. All leading to a moment of decision—where we've had a less than classically structured screenplay… now will take on a classical kind of a feel. Because the classic moment of decision where the protagonist decides one way or the other—and that leads to his ascension or descension—is about to come up soon.”

Like I said, it's a great track and well-worth your time. Next up: Devil in a Blue Dress.

"The humble residence of two outcasts."

Don't judge a book by its cover. Yeah, Jungle Fever is maybe the most on-the-nose title in the director's repertoire—but since when has Spike Lee ever been a subtle filmmaker? Besides that, Jungle Fever's got a lot more going on than just its eponymous romance.

Let’s start with the A plot: Flipper (Wesley Snipes) and Angie (Annabella Sciorra)'s affair. No doubt the interracial element plays a big part in it. But so does infidelity, and the resulting ramifications of blowing up the family unit. That’s why Spike caps the couple’s first sex scene with a hard cut to Flipper walking his daughter to school the next day. Flipper is pensive, silent, moody—and this is just day one; his wife hasn't even found out yet, and already his whole world is tilting off axis.

That's because, thematically, Jungle Fever is just as concerned with family dynamics as it is racial ones (though of course it's all intertwined). Every single child in this film is a disappointment to their parents, something the parents don't hesitate to share. Flipper's Dad calls him a "whoremonger." Angie is beaten savagely by her dad when he finds out she slept with a Black guy. Paulie (John Turturro) is chastised by his father for crying after a breakup, then disowned when his dad finds out he's dating a Black woman. And all that's just the tip of the iceberg because we haven't even gotten to Gator (Samuel L. Jackson) yet, the crackhead son always trying to hustle his family for money. The ultimate disappointment—and the ultimate tragedy.

Here, we see another theme come in that Spike is low-key exploring: Flipper and Gator as two sides of the same coin. The former, a successful architect, loving husband and father. The latter, a drug addict who'll do pretty much anything to get his next fix. One took the right path, the other went down the wrong one. And yet, temptation finds them both, and upheaval follows.

From without and within, the struggle is real, and for brothers like Flipper, it's all they can do to keep their head up and keep moving forward—trying to do the right thing, and when they stumble, trying again.

"It."

Arthur Laurents had a special talent for being incredibly bitchy one second, and complimentary the next. This featurette highlights that gift.

Farley Granger seems like a sweetheart, tho.

DIAL M FOR MAY:
An Impromptu Hitchcock Retrospective

Rope / 1948 / Transatlantic Pictures

"It's the darkness that's got you down... Pity we couldn't have done it with the curtains open, in the bright sunlight."

Clever, coiled, and coded, Rope is one of Hitchcock's most sophisticated comic-thrillers. Brevity is the soul of this real-time potboiler, which Hitch makes the audacious choice to film in one long continuous take. At least, that's how he wants it to look. Slyly moving in on a character's back and quick-dissolving to the next 10 minute shot, the director sells the gimmick—though I would argue that the one or two direct cuts are more effective in their subtlety.

Equally effective is how Hitchcock uses Jimmy Stewart in the picture. Rope was their first of four collaborations and finds Stewart at his most concentrated onscreen—a mix of all his best traits as a movie star: affable, intellectual, nervous, nervy, reserved, and resolute. Here, he plays the role of amateur detective (a Hitchcock staple), as he would in subsequent pictures for the director—a smart ploy by Hitch, who knows that casting Stewart will work as a sort of shorthand for the audience. We like this guy, we trust him; nothing further needed to get us on his side.

Of course, Hitch being Hitch, he would subvert the hell out of that persona with Vertigo.

"Are you dead, mister?"

Been hearing about this one for awhile; the Pure Cinema Podcast guys are big proponents. And they're right—One False Move delivers. A nasty neo-noir with a sneaky emotionality waiting to bubble to the surface. Brutal, bloody, and bittersweet (the bitterest). This is my first Carl Franklin film, and the guy just seems like the steadiest of hands. I'll for sure be checking out more.

Then there's the cast. As good as Paxton is in this, as good as Billy Bob is in this, as good as Michael Beach is—Cynda Williams leaves 'em in the dust. This is an actress who should have had a huge career, and yet her only other major credit is Spike Lee's Mo' Better Blues two years earlier. What happened? Williams is lights out phenomenal here, playing every shade of a majorly complex, highly nuanced femme fatale—as damaged as she is deadly, sultry as she is scarred.

Hollywood, you missed the damn boat.

A wild bunch of films courtesy of Bloody Sam.

1. Ride the High Country
2. The Wild Bunch
3. Straw Dogs
4. Junior Bonner
5. The Ballad of Cable Hogue
6. Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid
7. Convoy
8. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia
9. The Deadly Companions
10. Major Dundee

...plus 5 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

I am Jack's ranked list of Fincher movies.

1. Zodiac
2. The Social Network
3. The Killer
4. Se7en
5. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
6. Mank
7. Fight Club
8. Gone Girl
9. Alien³
10. Panic Room

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Light the fuse and watch Cruise run.

1. Mission: Impossible
2. Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation
3. Mission: Impossible – Fallout
4. Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning
5. Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol
6. Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning
7. Mission: Impossible III
8. Mission: Impossible II

Includes all feature films. Not trying to be objective. What a ride this watch project was. "A good scream," you might say.

1. Blow Out
2. Mission: Impossible
3. Carrie
4. Femme Fatale
5. Dressed to Kill
6. Sisters
7. Phantom of the Paradise
8. The Untouchables
9. Snake Eyes
10. Carlito's Way

...plus 20 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Lots of cult and classic films this year, but these are the first time watches that had the biggest immediate impact, and that I'd most like to own on physical media for further enjoyment and exploration.

1. Testament
2. Matewan
3. All Night Long
4. The Devil at Your Heels
5. Knightriders
6. Christine
7. Tucker: The Man and His Dream
8. Lemon Sky
9. Crime in the Streets
10. The Linguini Incident

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

The main criteria for entry this year is how I felt in the theater while watching these movies. That sense of electricity, surprise, revelation, and catharsis. The films that most made me vibrate with the possibilities of cinema.

1. Challengers
2. Saturday Night
3. Evil Does Not Exist
4. The People's Joker
5. Dune: Part Two
6. The Fall Guy
7. Anora
8. A Quiet Place: Day One
9. Rebel Ridge
10. Rap World

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

These were the ones that took me by surprise with their artistry, imagination, or just plain enjoyability. Usually the trifecta.

1. Zodiac
2. Silence
3. The Store
4. Tampopo
5. The Nice Guys
6. Score
7. The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice
8. Possession
9. Hallelujah, I'm a Bum
10. Crimes of ion

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Here they are - the NEW films I connected to most this year. Many I've already watched multiple times, and when you keep going back to the well, that must mean it's deep.

1. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
2. Oppenheimer
3. The Killer
4. Killers of the Flower Moon
5. May December
6. Maestro
7. Barbie
8. The Iron Claw
9. The Color Purple
10. BlackBerry

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

In an above average year for Hollywood, these are the movies that made the biggest impression on me.

1. Nope
2. Top Gun: Maverick
3. The Fabelmans
4. TÁR
5. Babylon
6. Everything Everywhere All at Once
7. Moonage Daydream
8. Decision to Leave
9. Is That Black Enough for You?!?
10. Blonde

This is what movie watching's all about, finding gems in a sea of celluoid. Only saw 'em this year - but they'll stay with me a lifetime.

1. Strictly Ballroom
2. Barry Lyndon
3. The Whole Shootin' Match
4. His Girl Friday
5. Good Time
6. The Parallax View
7. Winter Kept Us Warm
8. Yi Yi
9. The Hospital
10. River's Edge