I honestly can't fathom where all this hostility toward this film is coming from. I have a deep appreciation for Miyazaki and the other masters of animation, yet I find myself equally drawn to Spike. Perhaps it's because I grew up watching The Muppet Show, where Jim Henson taught me that a mere scrap of fabric and two buttons could practically convey a lifetime of emotion. I find myself longing for that level of simplicity and directness in cinematic storytelling, and it feels as though this movie will provide exactly that. Arcade Fire in the trailer????? Pure perfection.... How many of you who primarily watch films intended for children actually have children of your own?
He truly is a genius, even if Hollywood tends to cast him as the villain most of the time. I suppose producers are still clinging to those outdated notions of phrenology, aren't they? Personally, I find his performances at their peak when he portrays characters who are completely detached from reality. Think of those moments where he and Gary Oldman are debating relativity, or when he’s playing those haunting melodies for the crew on the ship, or perhaps that scene where the group with 2Pac tries to kick their drug habit on New Year's Eve. By the way, if anyone happens to own a copy of that film (Gridlock'd translation: chaos), I would be immensely grateful if they would reach out.
The reality is that the Odyssey took four years to develop, and back then, everyone in the London art scene knew exactly what Kubrick and Clarke were cooking up. Apparently, through Antonio Waters, there were even attempts to connect with studio executives to secure a gig scoring the Odyssey, but Kubrick wasn't particularly fond of the idea of using rock music for his film, leading him to hire Gregory Light instead. If you read Floyd's biography, it suggests that Echoes from Meddle was actually a sort of personal retaliation against Kubrick, given that it clocks in at roughly 23 minutes—matching the length of the final chapter of the Odyssey. It subtly mirrors certain stages of David Bowman's journey. I suppose I might have to dust off both my CD player and DVD player and run them simultaneously once more.
Jessica Nguyen85 As specified by: I find myself in agreement. There is something profoundly compelling about watching a singular genius navigate their own cognitive evolutions and shifts in perspective. When you speak of an "upward trajectory," aren't you essentially describing the pursuit of one's own purpose, vision, and unique voice? Even if we consider Eraserhead to be a purely experimental work—and thus naturally rough around the edges—it remains vital. Even Blue Velvet possesses a certain raw quality to it, though I certainly don't mean to diminish its impact. Now that we are witnessing a fully realized artist who no longer feels the need to prove himself to anyone, someone who creates simply out of necessity rather than external pressure, what do we get? We get the perfect marriage of maturity and imagination. A true tour de force. There is an undeniable resonance between Inland Empire and Mulholland Drive. Both seem to dwell within that same orbit of Hollywood—the glitz of the stars, the power plays of directors and producers, and all that messy, whispered gossip happening just out of sight. They capture the entire cycle of the industry: the hungry newcomers clawing their way up, the legends being cast aside, and those who somehow manage to rise from the ashes. It’s a portrait of beautiful chaos, a swirling vortex of disorder and madness.
I couldn't agree more. It brings to mind a situation from my high school days when a group of friends started a band and swore up and down they would never go commercial. They eventually released a cassette through an indie label and managed to sell a few dozen copies. But really, if you manage to sell even a single copy, haven't you already crossed that line into being commercial? This is exactly the kind of illustration I'm talking about. I remember sitting there, eyes glued to the television, back in the early nineties when Twin Peaks was quite literally the biggest thing on the planet. It was during those years that Lynch successfully marketed his unique cultural vision to the masses. And this high-profile piece of art is presented to everyone, yet for someone like me—a young grunge enthusiast just trying to find my footing—who actually understands its weight? I can't help but wonder if my mother—a woman who has spent her entire life dedicated to the quiet rhythms of being a housewife—would find herself lost in a scene like a party hosted by Bobby Briggs? He is... Having achieved success by staying true to his own singular vision, Twin Peaks remains a series defined by its refusal to compromise—surreal, haunting, and utterly unforgettable. Since then, he has maintained that same uncompromising creative voice, yet the massive commercial breakthroughs have eluded him, a fact that seems to have left him frustrated for the last fifteen years. I suspect the same thing happened with Inland Empire, particularly when you consider the hurdles regarding distribution and the business side of things. It is notoriously difficult to function as a true artist in cinema, given that it is arguably the most expensive form of art there is; unfortunately, once the patrons lose patience, they rarely offer forgiveness.
I find myself respecting him today, quite simply because of everything you’ve pointed out—his integrity, his vision, and that unmistakable sense of character. I just don't love him anymore.
What are your thoughts on Lynch's approach in The Straight Story?
The movie is a classic study in perversion—sick, yet strangely charming. I suppose they thought that because Cabaret worked, and because David Bowie captured that whole transvestite aesthetic from the early seventies, they could just roll up and film something similar. It seems they hit a wall pretty quickly. What happened later on is an entirely different story altogether. We were having a Halloween party at a local bar nearby, so I decided to play it along with the cult following right at midnight (following screenings of Night of the Living Dead and Evil Dead II), but the reaction was nothing short of disastrous; perhaps Americans just aren't ready for it yet.
What do I know? Lynch was on an incredible upward trajectory from the late eighties through the mid-nineties—specifically looking at the relationship between Blue Velvet - Lost Highway—and everything he produced during that stretch was nothing short of flawless. He reached his absolute zenith with The Straight Story, where he demonstrated exactly what kind of director he is: a master. Then came Mulholland Drive, which was originally intended to be a series, but didn't quite make it... yet it turned out to be this unforgettable, chaotic mess that I rushed to see in theaters. It felt pointless, especially when people start claiming there are 19 different keys to unlocking the plot, supposedly hidden on the DVD extras... Honestly, thank you, but I have far more important things to do with my life. A film shouldn't be some complex gadget that requires an instruction manual just to function. Consequently, I find myself quite skeptical regarding the new Lynch, as it feels as though all this surrealism he employs is merely a way to flaunt his status rather than being true art. It isn't the art itself. Eraserhead is a masterpiece.
That was beautifully put; I personally found The Sweet Hereafter to be an incredible piece of cinema. It’s such a stunning film, especially given the subject matter. Perhaps it's just my affinity for winter, but there is something about it. Did he happen to mention Felicia's Journey on the radio?
Why hasn't someone started a thread about critics? They really are an essential part of the cinematic landscape, aren't they? Personally, I eventually outgrew Ebert for one simple reason: when you’re forced to watch and review ten films every single week, staying original and brilliant becomes an impossible task. You inevitably end up becoming repetitive. I still respect him, though, because he often wrote from such a deeply personal perspective, which isn't a bad thing since we all interpret movies through our own unique lenses. But, he did lose a bit of that spark over time. Regardless, I wish him a speedy recovery.
For me, the highlight of any critique is found in Woody's SUPERSTAR, specifically that bit where he talks about a famous critic who used to hate every movie until he married a woman with a great figure, and suddenly, he loves everything.
It reminds me of how Jurica Pavičić used to despise every single film just a few years back...
Benjamin Murphy2 said:It remains one of my absolute favorites.
It lost a bit of its momentum toward the end once Capra entered the picture, but overall, it was still something you couldn't afford to miss. Northern Exposure... ah, if only I could go back.
Capra served as a sort of testing ground for what the creative team was looking to achieve. If you recall that specific episode where Capra explores his heritage at two Italian restaurants in Cicely, only to find the owners were actually mobsters, you can see the blueprint being laid. It was there that David Chase first began experimenting with that intricate dynamic between a doctor and the mafia, the very foundation that would eventually evolve into The Sopranos. I would actually welcome some bad news from Fleischman.
Excellent. Considering how much horror cinema has evolved since 1988, one can only wonder what kind of imagery will be haunting the minds of today's kids.
He isn't exactly a veteran; truth be told, he barely even left his bed. Granted, the eighties were a phenomenal era, weren't they? Studios were throwing around massive amounts of money for projects like this—take *Brazil*, for instance.
So if you think a De Niro playing some guy devouring a fried egg is enough to impress you, then I suppose you’re the type who thinks Armageddon is the height of cinema...
Lawrence Booth2 said:here is a list for vampire fans
1. Nosferatu (1922) 2. Vampyr (1932) 3. Martin (1978) 4. The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967) 5. Nosferatu (1979) 6. Blood for Dracula (1973) 7. Near Dark (1987) 8. Addiction (1995) 9. Shadow of the Vampire (2000) 10. Vampires (1974) USA, Hozier 11. Wisdom of the Crocodiles 12. Reflective skin (1990) Philip Ridl 13. Hunger (1983) 14. Love at First Bite (1979) 15. Nadja (1994) 16. Innocent Blood (1992) 17. Fright Night (1985) 18. Night Flier (1997) 19. Habit (1997) 20. From Dusk Till Dawn 21. Interview with the Vampire 22. Lifeforce (1985) 23. Dracula (1992) 24. Daughter of Darkness (1971) 25. Requiem for a Vampire (1973) 26. Mr. Vampire (1985) 27. Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (2000) 28. Vampires (1998) 29. Three Faces of Fear 30. Dracula (1958) 31. Salem's Lot (1979) 32. Cronos (1993) 33. Dracula (1931) 34. Et mourir de plaisir (1960) 35. Razor Blade Smile (1998) 36. Talent of Vampire (1992) Sato
It is quite a shame that Coppola's Dracula and that film starring Nicolas Cage aren't included, wouldn't you agree?
Even though you have Kate Hudson starring and Ian Softley behind the camera (who directed K-PAX), the movie feels incredibly thin; if you're actually looking for that thick, sticky Southern voodoo atmosphere, you'd be much better off watching Angel Heart with De Niro and Rourke.
I’ve always had a soft spot for supernatural thrills in both cinema and literature, yet lately, I find myself unable to get through much of it because King hasn't quite hit his stride over the last two decades; he presents these compelling ideas that demand your patience and attention, only to undermine them with poor execution at the finish line. I’ve been hearing more and more that he’s become far too preoccupied with graphic physical gore and excessive descriptions in his recent work. Since he is the King, everyone else seems to follow suit, leaving us with very little genuine Horror to actually sink our teeth into—nothing quite reaching the heights of Radiation, Talisman, or those short stories he contributed alongside H.P. Lovecraft and Clive Barker in the Horror anthology. I even attempted to read Summer Night Simmons, but found him just as suffocating with his overly detailed descriptions of delicate situations. Why is it that so many of these authors have become so sadistic toward their own characters?
I find myself agreeing regarding Sandler, though it seems the executives at the major studios operate under the delusion that this master of toilet humor is some kind of indispensable titan whose mere presence guarantees a box office windfall. While the film itself is excellent, wouldn't it have been even stronger had he stayed away? Nevertheless, James L. Brooks did oversee the production of The Simpsons. The most poignant moment occurs when they declare him one of the finest chefs in the country, only for him to return home from work and simply assemble a sandwich for dinner. Tea Leoni is truly remarkable.
While many Japanese horror films lean heavily into sheer violence and sadism, I find myself most unsettled when a director crafts a scene that is visually striking yet leaves you with the lingering sensation of an axe buried in your spine. Consider, for instance, that moment in The Village where Adrien Brody strikes Joaquin Phoenix, or perhaps any of those visceral Martin Scorsese sequences featuring Joe Pesci. It brings to mind the philosophy often attributed to Alfred Hitchcock: "Film violent scenes as if they were love scenes, and love scenes as if they were murders."