Since my late teens I’ve never been sick for more than a 48-hour period. Okay, 72 if you’re talking first symptoms to full recovery. This damn thing I have now has been going since last Tuesday night, for God’s sake. Conditions are somewhat better today as I’m at least strong enough to tap out a few items. “You’re all alone with what goes on inside your body” — a line from Olivier Assayas‘ Late August, Early September. (Hat tip to Joe Leydon’s 7.7.99 review.)
Roughly two months ago a very early draft of Eric Roth‘s screenplay for Killers of the Flower Moon (dated 2.20.17,...
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Frances McDormand‘s Fern was strong but mule-stubborn and at the end of the day self-destructive, and this stunted psychology led...
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Can’t decide which performance is better, although I’ve always leaned toward Tina Vitale, her cynical New Jersey moll behind the...
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Two days ago (1.19) a Facebook tribute congratulated Tippi Hedren for having reached her 94th year (blow out the candles!)...
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A friend suggested a list of the Ten Best American Crime Flicks of the ‘70s. By which he meant films...
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I’ve never been able to give myself over to Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee, a 1965 Civil War–era western, and I’ve...
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