The morning light in Santa Barbara was almost oppressively milky, hazy, foggy. Pretty close to bleachy. It was, in short, a Janusz Kaminski day, and I hated it. I’ll always hate it. I hated it before I was born. I am the Captain Ahab of milky-white-light haters. So generally to hell with Kaminski and his Lincoln lensing.
Roughly two months ago a very early draft of Eric Roth‘s screenplay for Killers of the Flower Moon (dated 2.20.17,...
More »
Frances McDormand‘s Fern was strong but mule-stubborn and at the end of the day self-destructive, and this stunted psychology led...
More »
Can’t decide which performance is better, although I’ve always leaned toward Tina Vitale, her cynical New Jersey moll behind the...
More »
Two days ago (1.19) a Facebook tribute congratulated Tippi Hedren for having reached her 94th year (blow out the candles!)...
More »
A friend suggested a list of the Ten Best American Crime Flicks of the ‘70s. By which he meant films...
More »
I’ve never been able to give myself over to Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee, a 1965 Civil War–era western, and I’ve...
More »