• Prometheus


    There’s a weird synthesis going on with all the art i’ve been watching / reading / thinking about this week: alien > frankenstein > prometheus > babel > jung 

    creation, birth, death, rebirth, creation, birth, death, again. 

    a film that when it shines it SHINES but also is a detriment to itself because the bits that are great make the bits that are lesser seem truly awful (the same way that having scenes pitting Fassbender and Theron together make any scenes they’re not in…

  • Autumn Sonata

    Autumn Sonata

    MUBI really coming through during quarantine with this one 

    I read somewhere recently that Bergman’s films are like the conversations you have with yourself, saying all the things you wish you’d said in conversations that have already happened. This film IS that. 

    This one did a lot for me. The “no limits” scene is so perfect. Lots of Freudian mysteries to uncover here. Beaut.

  • Irreversible


    hard to watch, even harder to like, impossible to deny.

  • We Need to Talk About Kevin

    We Need to Talk About Kevin

    A fragmented fucking nightmare; less of a movie more than a visual poem or song. There aren’t any scenes, just moments. Fleeting by, trying hard to be forgotten, impossible not to remember. Every look and gaze are amplified by Ramsay’s excruciating and unrelenting use of slow-motion or disenfranchised by her use of editing. Cuts. Seems to match with the rate of your heart, beating loud, trying to free itself from your chest. She doesn’t give you a break, each haunting…

  • American Psycho

    American Psycho

    American Psycho is like pressing rewind on a night out, that coke-addled paranoia you get even in your own bedroom, the sweat you feel on your face even on an autumn night, when every action feels like an underreaction, not sure if the lightning outside is real or not, you peek out through blinds but you close them again, not sure who’s looking in, you know that somebody is probably watching, you turn off the light, put on some music,…

  • There Will Be Blood

    There Will Be Blood

    There Will Be Blood is a dream of dark and troubling things, portraying the worst of ourselves; the savagery inherent in all individuals. Daniel Day Lewis’ Plainview makes you uncomfortable, makes you squirm, perhaps the greatest monster ever put on screen. Lost in the desert, lost in himself. This is a rural fantasy, soaked in blood, seeped in oil, Plainview presenting the darkness that lives in all men, the one that drives the devil and devours reason… the hunger… the…

  • Persona


    Faces entwined.

    This year Bergman would have been one-hundred years old. His mesmerizing masterpiece, an internal crisis displayed outwardly, a complaint about artists and form from one of the greatest artists of the form to ever live. His miniaturization of the art of film speaks more about his personal scars and battered soul, as he paints the screen with his blood and sweat and tears, than any anecdotal memoir ever could. He cuts open the film and spills out its guts for us to watch, transfixed, as he bares all.


  • Blade Runner

    Blade Runner

    Fluorescent-fueled nightmares and neon-lit nights, smoke lingering in the air and silhouettes in the dark. Ridley Scott’s waking nightmare vision of the City of Angels in 2019 is a place where venetian blinds feel right at home with the car flying through the sky outside. Where acid rain rots away at what’s been left behind. Where independent-thinking androids walk side-by-side with mindless humans, where for every tear lost in the rain there are one-hundred-and-six-million more. What Scott missed in aesthetic…

  • Goodbye, Dragon Inn

    Goodbye, Dragon Inn

    The sign at night, flashing in between films. The lane, and street. The balcony, the railings, the corridors. The chairs, empty. People filing in. The projector, light cutting through the room. The curtains begin to pull back. Creak. Dust. Popcorn is munched. The projector whirls. The lights dim. The Cinema. And as we look up at the screen, that canvas, projecting not light or image or life but our dreams and our memories and our truths, flickering by at exactly twenty-four times the speed of our life.


  • Rome '78

    Rome '78

    We are not the new wave, for we are the no wave.

    It is what it is. Pre-dogme. Pre-mumblecore. Pre-fucking-cedential. It’s honestly, truly, unlike any thing I’ve ever seen before. Take that as you will. 
    It’s important, nonethless.

  • Grizzly Man

    Grizzly Man

    “This is gonna be the motherfucker.” 

    Herzog has found himself a kindred soul in Grizzly Man’s subject and the idea of quarrelling with life and death through the lens of a never-fully-realised filmmaker’s life work but looking at it in the context of his death is too much of an existential mindfuck for me to fully comprehend after just one viewing. The motherfucker, indeed.


  • Mirror


    “Words can’t really express a person’s emotions.”

    Tarkovsky: Poet of cinema, sculptor in time. I wonder if he ever had to pitch Mirror to anyone, like, “I want to tell the entirety of my life story as well as delving into the key moments in modern Russian history along the way, and do it all in less than two hours.” Quite literally turning the lens on himself, Tarkovsky understands that every protagonist an author writes is, in essence, an avatar…