I did Top Tens, et al., for Next Projection.
Stylish but narratively low-key tale of a schoolteacher (the luminous Nathalie Baye) navigating the little melancholy crises of the everyday. Unrewarding work, a waning relationship, aging family, decisions of the past, all weigh on this minor inflection point in a minutely-observed life. Delicate but emotionally sprawling.
Pretty great masculine melodrama, merging Walsh’s action theatrics and Hawksian camaraderie and tough dames. There’s a scene between George Raft and Marlene Dietrich shopping for low-rent cosmetics that crackles with more wit and sexual tension than, like, anything in the last few decades.
Could this have been a game-changing psychedelic, philosophical sci-fi epic of gargantuan proportions, somehow bankrolled by a Hollywood studio? I guess, but I sure as hell wouldn't have ponied up the money for a project like this, with only a weighty scrapbook and a surrealistic supergroup helmed by an excitable madman to recommend it.
The movie itself is badly-shot auteur-stroking of the highest order, as indulgent of its subject as Jodorowsky is of himself, but the art and imagery do…
A drifting intellectual late-bloomer's sexual awakening in the guise of an erotic thriller, unfairly if understandably maligned by viewers hoodwinked by advertising and unaccustomed to whodunits slathered in atmosphere and psychology at the expense of rollercoaster theatrics, put off by a reckless and glistening camera too busy charting the headspace of isolated and sexually paranoid Meg Ryan (fearless and vulnerable and as willing to shed her on-screen past as her character is to shed her depressed, idealistic innocence) faced with…