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David Wark Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation is often called a cinematic landmark, typically lauded as not just one of the most influential films of all time, but as the first true blockbuster. it was also the first motion picture screened at the White House and was praised by then-president Woodrow Wilson, who said, “it is like writing history with lightning, and my only regret is that it is all so terribly true.” many people loved the film, and it arguably sparked the first press parade in Hollywood history—what we’d now call hype or box office buzz. in the 115 years since its release, the film has been considered mandatory viewing for film scholars and has been credited with a laundry list of innovations so long it could occupy several pages of twelve-point text.
so what’s the problem? it sounds like old D.W. made a banger. well, for those who aren’t in the know, The Birth of a Nation is one of—if not the single most—horrendously racist major motion pictures ever made. it depicts the rise and reign of the Ku Klux Klan in the Reconstruction-era South and frames the organization as glorified heroes and champions of the white race.

so now you might be wondering why on earth i’d even consider watching this picture. well, for me, it’s not about lauding the film, nor is it about experiencing Griffith’s so-called establishment of the “language of cinema.” no, i think literally all of D.W. Griffith’s supposed innovations already existed elsewhere in films of the period, even if most of those films have been lost. i think there’s really only one reason to watch this film today: to understand what white supremacy really means and, through the grotesque imagery of this movie, begin to deconstruct what racism truly is.

when The Birth of a Nation was released—and for many years after—the version of history it presented wasn’t seen as some wildly sensationalized fantasy. for much of white America, this was what they believed. the newly freed former slaves are depicted as drunk, depraved, vengeful, stupid and constantly on the prowl for white women to assault. Wilson didn’t screen this film at the White House to be a good sport and the big new Hollywood epic. he screened it because he genuinely thought it was an excellent portrayal of American history. excerpts from his own book are even featured in the movie. here’s where we start to see that white supremacy was never some fringe ideology. it was held close to the breast by some of the most powerful people in the country. this wasn’t radical—it was disturbingly normal.

today, we often hear that white supremacy is the domain of a small, extremist minority. the narrative is that most “regular” white Americans have nothing to do with it. but shortly after The Birth of a Nation was released, Ku Klux Klan hip surged to somewhere between 5 to 8 million. to put that into perspective, the U.S. population in 1920 was about 100 million. that’s as high as 8% of the entire country who weren’t just sympathizers—they were dues-paying, robe-wearing, cross-burning, lynch-mob-attending, card-carrying . their marches on Washington dwarfed military parades and most Civil Rights demonstrations. just sit with that for a second. millions of motherfuckers in hoods walking through the nation’s capital without an inkling of fear and absolutely zero pushback from law enforcement.

if you’re white and live in the United States, and you can trace your family here back to the turn of the century, chances are someone you’re related to was either in the Klan or directly sympathized with them. white supremacy isn’t something created by neckbeards on 4chan—it’s endemic to our society. you can chalk it up to fragile egos that couldn’t handle the death toll of the Civil War, or to propaganda films like this one, but it’s there. it’s been there. it’s still here. a lot of what’s depicted in The Birth of a Nation is still, to some extent, believed—especially by certain white Protestants. modern Christian Nationalism is a direct successor to Klan-era white supremacy. no two ways about it. the Klan was, and is, a Christian organization. and no matter how hard they try to hide it, the modern political right’s Christian agenda still echoes a lot of the Klan’s core tenets.

this is why i think everyone should see this movie. not because D.W. Griffith made some masterwork of cinema worth studying. that’s bullshit, and that argument is, at best, a washed-out echo of white supremacists in the film industry. i can already hear the voices: “but Scott, the scale! the editing! the masterful execution!” shut the fuck up. this movie is nothing but a pillar to racism.
that same argument could be applied to Nazi propaganda. “oh but the audio! no one else had the technology to capture sound on magnetic tape with that fidelity! they were so good at it they tricked the Allies into thinking Hitler was in multiple places at once!” yeah. they did. and The Birth of a Nation captured people’s imaginations with its stoic images of Klansmen fighting off crazed black people played by white actors in blackface. so if you really believe this movie is worth studying as a masterpiece of epic cinema—congratulations. that and ten cents will get you a cup of coffee.

this isn’t me asking every man, woman and child to rush out and watch this film at their earliest convenience. i get that it’s a lot. honestly, if watching The Birth of a Nation doesn’t make your stomach turn at least a little, there might be something wrong with you. what i’m asking is that you consider it. think about it. especially if you spend a lot of time watching movies. you want to know what the real power of cinema is? here it is. this movie singlehandedly revived one of the most evil organizations in history and made it bigger and stronger than ever before. it normalized racism in a way that’s difficult to even comprehend, and we’re still dealing with the fallout.

if you do decide to watch The Birth of a Nation, please keep all of this in mind. it’s a film that deserves to be ed—not for the tone-deaf reasons your aging film professor might tell you, but in the same way we the Holocaust. if you let it be forgotten, history will repeat itself, and these ideas will find their way back into the mainstream. don’t believe me? just open your fucking eyes and ears. take a look at the world we’re living in. does this look like a post-racial society free from the bloody and horrifying past of white supremacy? i think not.

since the early 70s, there have been two camps: those who prefer M*A*S*H the movie and those who are ardent defenders of M*A*S*H the show. but regardless of your opinion, the movie came first, and any perceivable greatness of the television program is highly indebted to this picture. while the show is packed with earnest sitcom tropes and lighthearted laughs, the movie is essentially the opposite: crass, subversive, blunt, even mean. while some of the hijinks resemble boyish games of grab-ass, more often than not they’re bleak and distressing. some might even call them cruel, but in the twisted world of Robert Altman’s M*A*S*H, they’re just par for the course.

it’s clear what Altman and screenwriter Ring Lardner Jr. were trying to accomplish: an infusion of 1960s counterculture and abject nihilism into the hellish world of combat. if you dissociate and divorce yourself from the idea that these people are combat surgeons stationed only a few miles from the frontlines of a war zone, M*A*S*H sort of feels like a funky version of Animal House for adults. yet the unmistakable images of the aftermath of extreme violence always pepper the screen like buckshot on a mailbox. Hawkeye and Trapper might be cracking wise, but they’re still standing over the bullet-ridden body of a young man fighting for his life. the television show sort of coddles its viewers by adding heartfelt moments here and there, but this screenplay is almost entirely devoid of human feeling aside from humor. it leaves the audience as the only ones capable of absorbing the discomfort or the possible ramifications of the on-screen poor taste pranks—and to me, therein lies the genius.

viewed in 2025, it’s obvious that certain things haven’t aged as well as others. the blatant racist jokes and the open demeaning of women in particular feel wildly dated today, but i don’t think they were ever supposed to feel hip, even in 1970. the fact of the matter is that today humor has been deliberately throttled back for fear of societal blowback in the social media age. the more subversive and transgressive elements of comedy are now viewed as too risky, and we would simply never see a picture like this made today—let alone one that would go on to be adapted into one of the most successful media franchises of the century. but this was a movie made by people who wanted to push boundaries and press buttons. hell, screenwriter Ring Lardner Jr. had already been blacklisted by Hollywood a decade prior for being a hostile witness before the House Un-American Activities Committee. the man had nothing to lose. and Robert Altman himself was a decorated veteran of the US Armed Forces, so perhaps he saw merit beyond humor in satirizing the military-industrial complex. regardless, M*A*S*H still works 55 years later despite the best efforts of people trying to sanitize comedy.

this is my first time rewatching the film since i was a kid, and it’s the first time i’ve seen it not on a slightly sun-damaged VHS. the picture is simply beautiful from a visual perspective and should be considered a must-watch for fans of biting satire and films that take on the heavy load of demonstrating an anti-war message. while i don’t know if the crass humor will resonate with everyone, i do think, at bare minimum, it can be appreciated for its craftsmanship and its undeniably iconic visuals.

Guzoo: The Thing Forsaken By God – Part I is not just a mouthful of a title—it’s a mouthful of tentacles. what starts as a vamp on Nobuhiko Obayashi’s House, with a group of teenage girls venturing somewhere far outside their comfort zone, quickly descends into a gory bonanza that feels like an anti-kaiju movie. 

it’s not bad or anything, but it’s also not exactly going to keep you on the edge of your seat. there’s almost no substance here—narratively or thematically. it’s a movie propped up purely on vibes and aesthetics. if you’re a fan of practical effects, it’s definitely worth checking out for the fireworks display of bloody, wiggling appendages alone. but if you need more than that to sustain you through a film, this is hardly a desert island pick.

that said, it clocks in at a brisk 40 minutes, so if you do hate it, you’re only out about 90% of a network cable program.

Celluloid Nightmares is Hisayasu Satô’s techno-horror surrealist meditation built to play nice within the pinku macro genre. while moody and more than slightly depraved, the film’s social commentary element is actually kind of hilarious. like, someone at some point most certainly rented this film on VHS with the intent of jerking off by themselves, but was instead greeted with an uncomfortably visceral horror film hard-coded to call that very act out in a public way. it’s not exactly shaming the act of masturbation or looking at pornography so much as it’s making a statement about the headspace of an individual whose intent is to watch an incredibly exploitative work for self-pleasure.

in a way, Celluloid Nightmares feels like a protest film against the rest of the pinku catalog. it’s a clear and blistering demonstration of how misguided and demented the mind of a person deliberately seeking the most transgressive media they can find really is. and for this reason, i kind of adored the film.

it has a lot in common with pictures like Videodrome, with its vivacious statement about the relationship between humanity and video, but it also echoes a lot of tropes from film noir—despite them being filtered through so much avant-garde visual language and an incredibly disted storyline. the sex in the film isn’t quite titillating in the way a true pornographic picture would be. instead, it’s delivered in this hyper-elevated and grotesque fashion, as if to say it’s only here to fulfill the bare minimum requirements to be considered pinku—all while mocking whoever the unlucky individual is trying to get off while watching this enigmatic haze of a movie. it’s almost begrudging in nature and comes off as more visually fascinating than erotically stimulating.

in true Satô fashion, the cinematography is punching well above the weight class of traditional adult entertainment. more than several moments in the film are genuinely inspiring from a filmcraft perspective—enough to make even the most battle-hardened photographer applaud. additionally, the way scenes are blocked out is unmistakably non-amateur. it’s professional and openly artistic. at times it feels flashy, but just as often it holds that incredibly calculated darkness and unease in the style of David Lynch’s Lost Highway or perhaps even Inland Empire. it’s simply stunning and provocative in a way entirely separate from the sexual content.

going into the film, i knew i’d probably be watching a loosely pornographic movie with some kind of deeper narrative foisted into it, but i didn’t expect it to be so self-aware. if you’re a fan of Japanese techno-horror like Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse, or if you find yourself wanting to experience adult cinema turned surreal, there’s a really strong argument for watching this film. i also think fans of Cronenberg—especially his more erotic, cerebral work in the vein of Crash—will find Celluloid Nightmares checking a lot of boxes. is it perfect or some kind of hidden masterpiece? perhaps not. but it’s absolutely worth your time for the oddity and the alarmingly biting social commentary alone.

Final Destination for the thinking man.

The 4th Man is very much Paul Verhoeven flexing the muscles that would soon make this Dutch director Hollywood’s go-to guy for anything sci-fi or slightly weird in the coming decade. deploying a myriad of Hitchcockisms and practical effects in this novel but entertaining queer cinematic experience, Verhoeven makes the picture feel a little special. this is a film that feels like it could’ve been truly magnificent if some of the fat were trimmed—or rendered—just a little more eloquently, but it’s far from a clunker.

“when the union’s inspiration through the workers’ blood shall run, there can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun. yet, what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one? but the union makes us strong.”

Barbara Kopple’s American Dream is an in-depth look into the mid-80s Hormel strike in Austin, Minnesota. the film is blunt in its depiction of the fallout of Reaganomics and today serves as a benchmark glimpse into the now-crippling wealth gap that exists in the United States. 

while not a direct sequel to her masterpiece debut Harlan County USA, it is certainly a continuation of the same meditation on pro-labor rights. that said, Kopple doesn’t quite go full native in American Dream. while filming Harlan County, she fully ingratiated herself into the tight-knit Kentucky community, making that film as a form of cinematic protest in the name of union labor. but here, we see many sides of the story. one could argue this is Kopple evolving as a filmmaker or perhaps trying to appear less militant in the 80s to avoid being blacklisted from securing funding for future projects. however, i think it’s clear that she takes this approach because the very fabric of organized labor had begun to irreversibly change by this point in history. 

as Ronald Reagan rolled out new policy to propagate his economic ideals for America, the very concept of unions almost became a bad word. many Republicans—and even centrists—began to see organized labor as a problematic force. perhaps they justified this with unions’ past ties to organized crime, or more likely, it was the result of a full-court press by corporate-owned media conglomerates to make unions appear as a thorn in the side of economic progress. additionally, unions had grown in size and began to resemble less of the traditional, community-led organizations in the vein of a working-class fraternity and more often presented as fully developed political apparatuses. regardless, Kopple doesn’t shy away from depicting this new semi white-collar version of the American union, and this gives American Dream an incredibly complex emotional dynamic.

as a viewer, you’re sort of lost in the process of picking a side. yes, the Hormel company is clearly the bad guy here—but at the same time, they’re not portrayed as wholly irrational monsters. in fact, there are a few moments where you feel this strangely earnest plea from the company men, asking the workers to take the contract—or even any contract—so they can attempt to salvage not just the plant, but the workers’ jobs and the integrity of the union itself. furthermore, the dynamic between the local union and its international counterpart is incredibly tumultuous and, quite frankly, desperate. on one side, you have the prideful local unionists who want what they feel is justice: a wage they believe they’re owed. on the other, the international union is trying to get the workers some kind of fair contract while preventing the strike from bleeding into other plants and industries in what they know is a fundamentally unwinnable fight. it’s an incredibly riveting depiction—but also depressingly forlorn. 

at the end of the day, the strike at the Hormel plant between 1985 and 1986 was a moment in the history of organized labor that represented a shift. many of the old tactics that unions had relied on throughout the 20th century had grown weak over the decades, but the state of American capitalism under Reagan had reduced them to near ashes. this picture allows viewers to see just how far corporate greed had grown by the 80s—and to this day, it continues to swell. we now live in a time where the middle class is functionally dead and the American working class is on life . gone are the days when you could get a job, work and make enough to survive. today, it’s not uncommon for people to need two or even three jobs just to maintain. you’re not prospering—you’re just getting by and paying bills. Hormel was once a company that stood as a beacon among family-run American businesses, known for its early adoption of profit-sharing and an employee-forward work environment. but what Kopple shows us here is just another company that has chosen to put profits over the wellbeing of its workers. the men and women who work for Hormel are treated little better than the hogs they cut up and can—offering a bleak and provocative exposé on the evisceration of the American dream.

“we must be doing something right to last 200 years…”

Robert Altman’s Nashville is an indisputable masterpiece of cinema. following two dozen characters as they intertwine, mix and each other through the unexpectedly cinematic mise en scène of various venues, establishments and institutions in the Music City as it sits on the cusp of America’s bicentennial. it’s meticulously woven with equal satirical parts: comedic representation of the southern way of life, social commentary on the disillusionment of the American political process in the post-60s era, the busted but subtle state of race relations in the South and the nearly insane but very real relationship between John Q. Public and the tinsel-draped concept of celebrity. all of this is bow-tied together through Altman’s lens in this musical and sometimes dramatic masterwork.

seeing this film here in my home of Nashville, TN on the big screen for its 50th anniversary at the Belcourt Theatre—which is simultaneously celebrating its 100th anniversary—was truly something else. it was kind of emotional seeing perhaps the most iconic representation of our city surrounded by bodies in this sold-out showing. everyone there was likely a Nashvillian and likely lives only a few short miles from most of these shooting locations. i certainly do. Altman’s lens manages to capture the city both as it was and as it is. Nashville is a city that has changed a lot over the last half century. even more than most in this era of America dominated by large-scale land development and gentrification. yet, there are still some things that remain unmistakable identifiers in the cityscape. obviously the Parthenon still stands, as do some of the venues depicted, but large pieces of the skyline have received a facelift through the years—but still i’m able to pin down most of these shooting locations within fifty feet of accuracy. it’s hard to describe, other than transcendentally timeless.

finally, it’s difficult to say who the standout performer is in Nashville. the cast is peppered with so many legends—from Henry Gibson, Shelley Duvall, Barbara Baxley, Ned Beatty to Ronee Blakley—it’s actually jaw-dropping how many not only memorable but remarkable performances are packed into one picture. it’s also saying something when Jeff Goldblum and Elliott Gould are in the movie but are almost not worth mentioning because they’re relegated to a nonspeaking hippie caricature and a cameo, respectively.

Nashville is a film that deserves its flowers and then some. yes, it can be a bit overwhelming with the sheer amount of content packed into this epic, but it’s perfectly digestible if given the appropriate attention it commands. the pacing never drags and not a shot is out of place. some filmmakers have attempted to mimic or draw influence from Nashville, but they simply aren’t up to the task of crafting something to match the caliber of one of the most brilliant and perfectly made movies in the history of cinema.

happy belated birthday Agnès Varda!

it’s always interesting listening to an incredibly well-versed individual discuss and dissect art, and that’s exactly what Varda does in this collection of short analyses of various photographs. she provides both her insight and brings new life to these immediately captivating still frames. providing characterizations, stories and possible inspirations, she lights up your mind with her words. while not the most immediately stimulating work on the planet, one can’t help but have an immense sense of respect for the commitment to the confines of her own self-prescribed parameters for this infinitely deep well of introspective and deeply human content.

today one of my dear friends reached out to me to see if i wanted to take his extra ticket to see Pavements at the Belcourt Theatre here in Nashville, TN. of course i said yes. Pavement are one of those bands that have really spoken to me on a profound level in my life, and the fact that there would be a Q&A with of the band after the screening was just the icing on the cake. 

if you’re a fan of Pavement then you’ll know that the one incredibly pervasive theme they’ve maintained throughout their career has been a strong sense of irony. through their lyrics, their antics, their attitude—it’s always been at the forefront of their existence. always a bit lazy and more than a bit tongue in cheek, they spent the 90s somewhere near the top of the heap of “other bands” that were critically accepted as possibly genius but also served as bait for their fair share of critics. but as the true fans know, they’re the shit. however, director Alex Ross Perry takes this attitude and humor and morphs it into this wild, meta, but also hilarious gag reel of a visual love letter about his favorite band that he seems to have written to himself. 

to even begin to connect with Pavements, you’ll need at least a decade’s worth of time listening to Pavement religiously. Perry pulls from the deepest reaches of their catalog to make this film feel so for-the-fans that it’s almost grotesque. elements of the picture are genuinely hilarious and so well made that it’s a bit spooky, but at the same time go so far into the world of lampoon that it’s a bit exhausting. i was openly questioning if parts of the film—which i won’t go into for spoilers’ sake—were real or just deeply committed bits, and after listening to Bob Nastanovich, Steve West and Rebecca Cole talk about it, it’s clear they weren’t sure themselves. it’s bonkers what Perry did here, and it’s easy to see why of the band and their families were a bit uncomfortable with how far he took things.

all of that said, there were moments that i will treasure about this experience forever. there are some truly magical moments in the film, and getting to listen to an open dialogue about the picture among friends in a sold-out show was something money can’t buy. if you’re considering watching this film, please make sure you’re already a deeply seasoned Pavement fan, because if you’re even slightly on the side of a casual enthusiast, i think you’ll find the whole experience borderline deranged and pretty emotionally alienating.

Martin is George A. Romero’s creative spin on the sometimes tired vampire horror sub-genre, doing what he so famously did for the zombie film: reworking and innovating. although the way vampirism is portrayed in Martin has never to my knowledge been replicated, it is instantly captivating and feels like it should be more well regarded than it is. 

vampirism is framed as this very unsexy, unsensational, unglamorous blight that one suffers through the fault of genetics. the hunting and blood sucking is treated much in the same way as how a junky must find their fix. when they have their drug, they can be quite functional and present as relatively normal of society, with problems only really arising when they’re out of their drug. this gives Martin a sense of relatability, and we as an audience feel sadness and even sympathy for his character instead of the usual fear, disgust and abject terror.

furthermore, in typical Romero fashion, the feelings of hope and happiness among the characters are so remote they might as well not exist. this film is bleak, much in the same vein as Dawn or Night of the Living Dead. Romero gives us little threads that allow you to briefly think things may shake out alright, but they’re quickly dashed and extinguished like the flimsy flame of a birthday candle.

from a filmcraft perspective, Martin is both sparse and stylish. the editing is kind of insane and at times verges into a territory reminiscent of surrealism or French New Wave. but pairing this odd, choppy feel are moments of debatably some of Romero’s best writing. bits of information are fed to you in small, bite-sized pieces that leave you questioning what’s happening—almost like a mystery movie—but in a really rewarding fashion, everything is unveiled to you in due time. 

while not as culturally iconic as one of Romero’s zombie pictures, Martin is every bit as connective. this is far before the term “elevated horror” existed in the mainstream lexicon, but the social commentary on alienation and societal rejection is biting and well framed. i think as a whole Martin might be just a bit too dark or even a bit too real for it to be allowed by audiences to resonate with the sonics of Romero’s other work. that said, if you’re a fan of the Night of the Living Dead series or vampirism in cinema, Martin is more than worth your time.

am i insane or just some kind of grinch? how have none of these movies even scratched the surface of being good? Final Destination 5 is so abominably bad it’s breathtaking. surely i can’t be the only person who feels that not a single element of this movie worked. i mean, i’d never even talked about this film until today and still called the ending 20 minutes in. and then, to make matters worse, i realized it was another shoehorned 3D gimmick. my god. i don’t usually say this, but i’m confident i could have made this movie—fuck it, i’d even go as far as saying i could’ve made a better one.

not that supernatural horror needs Oscar-worthy acting, but it’s genuinely disturbing how bad everyone is. Nicholas D’Agosto’s line delivery feels like it was lifted from a blooper reel. i half expected him to look straight into the camera and wink. Miles Fisher brought the emotional depth of a Hallmark Christmas extra, and Emma Bell looked like she wanted to be anywhere else. movies where David Koechner gives the best performance shouldn’t exist. like, what were we smoking during casting? a spliff rolled with late-season Office burnouts and second-string Scary Movie spinoff stars? it’s grotesque.

after the underwhelming opening and clocking the film’s entire arc by the first act, i lost all interest. dragging myself through the rest of it was painful. in fact, i started this yesterday and had to force myself to finish it tonight. for a 90-minute movie, that’s inexcusable. i don’t even have words for Steven Quale, other than maybe: do less? why are there so many weird, melodramatic romance subplots that feel like they were written by bargain-bin AI? if this hadn’t come out in 2011, i’d assume Meta AI version negative 0.5 wrote half the dialogue. if it had leaned into camp, maybe it could’ve taken on spoof-movie energy and been fun. but instead it pretends to matter.

i’ll it i laughed. quite a bit, actually. but not because the movie is funny—because it’s so badly made. the editing is deeply mid, and some of the shot choices feel like satire. that whole Ratatouille-style French chef subplot was already absurd, but the kitchen scenes with D’Agosto’s character were batshit. why did that establishing shot of him doing prep last a full ten seconds? it easily could’ve been two. it felt like the scene was broken—or maybe something got cut, so they just padded the runtime with long static shots of mise en place.

i don’t know. maybe i should’ve tempered my expectations. maybe i should’ve watched a bunch of b-grade schlock around these installments instead of mixing them in while watching genuinely great films. i can usually get down with trash. in fact, i like trash—especially when it has a sense of humor or at least doesn’t take itself so damn seriously. and that’s why i kind of loathe these movies. they feel uptight, like they’re engineered to shock people who don’t actually watch much cinema. i don’t know. maybe it’s finally happened. maybe i’m just a fucking snob.

why is it that every time Anne Charlotte Robertson picked up a camera, she immediately created something viscerally iconic and distressingly relatable?

Depression Focus Please serves as a moving, cinematic monument to that state of teetering on the edge of depression. you know the one—just before you careen off the cliff of isolated, motionless numbness. you’re aware of what’s happening, but powerless to stop it. your mind races through loops of guilt and frustration, but you still want to grab the nearest stranger by the collar and beg them for help. and yet—you don’t. you just float. you try to sleep it off, shrug it off, eat your way through it. you force yourself into social situations, only to feel more alone than ever, surrounded by bodies that can’t quite reach you. your brain feels governed by some invisible limiter that won’t let you move forward or push through. your thoughts are still sharp, but everything else is thick and slow, like moving through molasses. and it’s just exhausting.

Robertson uses her fast, haphazard lens to capture the blisteringly mundane. there’s no real attempt to keep things in focus or even coherent—and yet it’s perfect. Depression Focus Please moves like the kaleidoscopic vision of a 24-hour photo clerk with the memory of a goldfish, but it hits you in the gut with moments of raw, prickling truth. if you’ve ever been depressed—or if you struggle with it regularly—this film will speak to you on a level you probably aren’t prepared for. i can almost guarantee it.

The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived is a boots-on-the-ground documentary directed by Heiny Srour, a Lebanese filmmaker and the first Arab woman to direct a feature-length film. it documents a largely forgotten chapter of the Cold War—what’s often called the Dhofar War, or the Omani Civil War. the aim of this guerrilla revolution was to end British influence and occupation in the region, freeing the Omani people from over a century of colonialist control under a British-backed Sultanate.

the film is remarkable not only for its political content but for what it captures about gender. influenced by Marxist-Leninist and Arab nationalist teachings, the rebels of Dhofar extended full, radical equality to women—true, lived equality, not the symbolic gestures we often associate with Western feminism. women weren’t just allowed to vote or work—they were armed, trained, educated, given leadership roles. they built infrastructure, taught others to read, governed. Dhofar, a region with no roads, no hospitals and near-total illiteracy, became a functioning, self-determined society in a matter of years. and because this movement was leftist—and because the region floats on a lake of oil—the capitalist West responded the way it always does: by crushing the light with bombs and famine.

what’s most powerful about this film is that Srour approaches its politically incendiary material without flinching. she builds the film with the same bravery and resolve as the revolutionaries she’s filming. The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived isn’t just about the PFLOAG—it believes in their cause. yes, the film has a handmade, rough-edged quality, but its heart is unmistakable, and its commitment is clear.

no one treks hundreds of kilometers into a war-torn desert with no electricity, no roads, no running water—carrying camera gear—just to take a few pictures. you do it because you mean it. and the fact that this film exists at all is a minor miracle. Srour’s crew had no power, so they used cutting-edge solar chargers to keep their camera batteries running. and this wasn’t some neutral observation of geopolitics. this was a film that, if released in the wrong country at the wrong time, could have been censored—or worse. the last thing capitalists want is for young people to see a leftist rebellion working. these aren’t grainy shots of the Viet Cong sprinting through the jungle. this is a film that shows organized, deliberate, educated resistance—even under impossible conditions. and whether or not you align with the ideology, that level of conviction is inspiring.

this should be must-watch cinema for a lot of reasons—but most of all because The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived deserves to be preserved, studied and talked about. the first feature film made by an Arab woman? that’s not just historic—it’s essential. if you’re remotely interested in feminist thought, or even if you just women in cinema, you owe it to yourself to see this film. it’s visceral, urgent and intoxicatingly hopeful. because if the people of Dhofar could challenge one of the most powerful imperialist forces in modern history with nothing but the clothes on their backs and ramshackle vintage Soviet armaments, then chances are—you can survive, endure and fight for whatever feels impossible to you.

growing up, the water was a part of my life. from learning how to drive a 52-foot twin diesel wooden vessel to whipping around the intracoastal waterway in a mid-80s Boston Whaler, i learned from an early age the magic the water could bring—but also the danger. while my whole family had their favorite nautical activities, my dad and uncle were the two who showed me how to drive a boat. my grandmother and mother taught me how to crab. my grandfather taught me how to read charts and the history of different vessels. my uncle taught me how to target specific species while fishing. but my dad was always the most romantic about all of it. he and my uncle had a commercial fishing boat, which i’d occasionally go out on during the shorter trips. no three to four week extended voyages—just a day or two—but my dad always had a copy of this book in the cabin. it was one of his favorites, and of course, he loved the movie. i staying up late on school nights to watch it with him. he’d point out the inaccuracies but also what they got right. the thing he was always most adamant about was how Wolfgang Petersen portrayed the spirit of these men. to be a member of a sword boat crew took guts—and, to a certain extent, insanity. these men were incredibly brave despite catching a species of fish essentially reserved for fine dining. for them, it wasn’t about appeasing diners in an upper-crust restaurant—it was about the thrill of the catch. fishing on this level can, for many, be the ultimate high.

i lost my father in 2014. not to some cataclysmic storm at sea, but to a slow battle with cancer. i rewatching this film with him several times during his chemo. we used to have it on VHS, but eventually we graduated to the DVD. he reread the book around that time too. your mind gets funny when you’re blasted with chemo drugs and painkillers, but he’d always fire the same few quips at this movie. sharp as a tack. when he died, i returned to college. i went to school in a small beach town, and whenever we went out on the water, i’d always think of my dad quoting George Clooney’s famous “you’re a goddamn sword boat captain” speech.

so naturally, this is a movie i can’t really be too objective about. over the years i’ve shown it to people and have heard all the criticisms. it’s corny, the CGI hasn’t aged well, etc. but for me, it purely represents a memory and an attitude i shared with my dad and family. i’ve had moments where i’ve fallen in and out of love with The Perfect Storm, but now i look back at it and just smile. even after fifty-plus viewings, it still does something for me. it’s not quite nostalgic, but it also doesn’t really represent my own taste in cinema. the picture is just kind of a timeless watershed moment in my life that now serves as a constant reminder of my love and immense respect for the sea—and all bodies of water.

watching alone tonight, i did sort of analyze it more than i have in the past. The Perfect Storm is definitely a product of the post-Titanic era of blockbuster cinema designed to make audiences feel while showing you a tragic course of events. it’s one of those films where you know how it’s going to end from the beginning, but it still gives you the necessary dramatic beats that let you root for the characters and still feel suspense. i think Wolfgang Petersen does an excellent job of paying homage to the community of Gloucester, Massachusetts and the lifestyle of swordfishing. i know that after the success of the film, there were some lawsuits from the families—including that of Captain Billy Tyne—over how they were portrayed. but i’ve also heard that some families were incredibly happy with how it turned out. you can’t please everyone, especially when dramatizing a story that is, by necessity, speculative due to the loss of the entire crew. but as a whole, i think its heart is in the right place.

i can’t promise you’ll enjoy this film, especially 25 years after its release. there are plenty of problems with it. but if you’re a fan of maritime dramas—or even just a fan of god-tier film scores—there’s definitely something here for you. even with all his legendary compositions, this will always be my favorite James Horner score. it’s effortlessly moving and immensely underrated. while it’s ed by some as a cash-grab attempt in the post-Titanic era, laden with shameless Spielbergisms, for me it works. it invokes a feeling of reverence and remembrance for those we’ve lost—both at sea and on land. may they always live in our hearts and in our dreams.

The Killing of America is pretty much the quintessential mondo film. yes, it’s a documentary, but its primary goal is exploitation. leaning heavily on archival footage and Chuck Riley’s monotone but dramatic narration, the film is clearly made for international audiences—essentially rehashing American domestic struggles from the early 60s through the death of John Lennon in 1980. that said, it does present some striking statistics, brutal, uncensored imagery and reasonably thought-provoking commentary on America’s relationship with violence in the late 20th century.

watched 45 years later, The Killing of America is especially distressing because almost all the same issues still plague us—chief among them, the unending battle over gun control. mid-century America was basically the wild west; you could mail-order guns for cash without any ID. after several high-profile killings, that changed. one small step for sanity, one giant shrug from gun-crazed America. since the 1970s, our gun laws have been locked in a cycle of push and pull: one step forward, two back. for every law ed in the name of public safety, another protecting firearms jams up the courts for decades. as an American, it’s maddening that we’re expected to live in fear so a politically connected minority of wack jobs can hang on to their private arsenals.

maybe the most gutting thing about this film today is how short the American attention span really is. we riot one day, grow exhausted the next and fall back into complacency while the people in power stack the deck. The Killing of America points this out again and again: horrifying crimes and conflicts that barely made headlines. and that’s still true now. while i write this, it’s highly likely that hundreds of violent crimes have occurred—some fatal. it’s even more likely that, somewhere in this country, another mass shooting happened within the last 48 hours. but i haven’t heard about it. and it’s not because i’m not paying attention. i’ve consumed multiple live news broadcasts today. it’s just that we’ve careened into this brain-dead version of bourgeois nihilistic fascism, where we’d rather be distracted by nonsense. even the few outlets that try to stay focused on reality still have to report on a baby otter being born at a regional zoo so their staff doesn’t jump out a window.

so, how is the film? well, it’s certainly graphic. and keeping in mind that it was designed to shock while informing—it does its job. but this isn’t exactly biting journalism, or even a fresh take, not even by 1980 standards. what it does do well is condense key moments from America’s post-WWII decline into a kind of celluloid hell. while we haven’t had modern civil wars like some nations or a mainland incursion since 1812, make no mistake—this country has been fighting a slow, bloody internal war for over half a century. we call ourselves the best country on earth, the land of opportunity. but if you look at the raw stats from the last 70 years, you’ll realize we’re a nation whose resting bitch face during peacetime is more violent than almost anywhere else on Earth.

Crumb is a bizarre walk through the life of the influential cartoonist Robert Crumb. it’s a documentary that presents itself in a polished, even artful way—but its subject matter is anything but. incredibly crass, demented and often deeply disturbing topics are explored, both in Crumb’s work and his personal life. he’s a figure where the more you get to know him, the worse it gets. 

and that’s sort of how the film unfolds. it begins by showing you the zany comics of an eccentric, maybe even lovable weirdo—but slowly, it starts peeling back the veil. beneath that surface is a man riddled with misanthropy, sexual obsession and a magnificently bizarre, damaged family. the longer i watched, the more i began to understand Crumb—but also started to resent him as a character.

it’s odd to watch a documentary that begins by framing things as a battle between prudish critics and the misunderstood artist, only to find yourself, by the end, siding with the critics. at least, i did. i’m a fairly open-minded guy, but some of his content—and especially his personal beliefs—are so fucked up that i couldn’t even begin to justify them. and yet, i couldn’t look away. Terry Zwigoff unveils this story with such calculated restraint that it wraps around you like a slow-motion tsunami of realization.

i think Crumb is an incredible film for a lot of reasons. yes, Robert Crumb is empirically fascinating, but it’s the way Zwigoff uses the medium to pull you directly into the strange architecture of this cartoonist’s mind that makes the film masterful. almost every biographical element exists solely to help explain how this guy thinks, and in doing so, the film builds a kind of anthropological map through 20th century counterculture. from his sexually deranged brothers, to his ex-wives, to the magazine editors who published him, to his harshest critics—they all serve as stars in the constellation map of one sicko’s brain. none of this is easy to do, and Crumb stands as a true high-water mark of narrative documentary filmmaking.

what an incredibly telling directorial debut.

watching Kern’s clearly captured without a permit footage of 42nd Street in early-80s Manhattan is magnificent. it’s just miles of now long-shuttered venues, ranging from neon-lit pornographic peep shows to dingy grindhouse theaters. having been there a couple of times and now seeing this, i feel like Vito Corleone: “look how they massacred my boy.” this is what gentrification really took from us. now you can go to the Times Square Raising Canes and see the Minecraft Movie in this very same location. 

what’s perhaps most hilarious about this film is that it functions as Kern’s love letter—or farewell card—to 42nd Street’s era of exploitation cinema and open-air prostitution. but in reality, this period was already considered well past the end of 42nd Street’s golden age. from a conventional historical perspective, the street that cuts across the Manhattan island like a belt had fallen from grace nearly 30 years before this film was made. i guess Kern was saying goodbye to his version of 42nd, because the imagery he flashes across the screen feels both unmistakably grindhouse and uniquely his. 

that’s one of my favorite things about Kern—his films are glimpses into his own warped perspective of reality, and he never apologizes for it.

Billy Wilder’s One, Two, Three is a fast-paced, intelligent comedy that manages to satirize American capitalism, Soviet communism and the complex social dynamics of pre-wall Berlin. at first, i wasn’t sure how well this film would’ve aged, but if you’re reasonably educated on any of the above, it’s kind of a riot. despite being a film designed around fun, it’s shot with the precision of a true masterwork. this style of hyper-intelligent comedy is fairly rare these days—and when paired with its breakneck pace, it’s functionally extinct. but man, does it work!

the casting is simply marvelous and no talent is wasted. that said, so many players feel like they’re being dwarfed by James Cagney, who is firing on all cylinders. his electrifying performance is so commanding it feels like he’s carrying the entire production. the third act in particular isn’t just a masterclass in line delivery and comedic acting—it’s a fireworks display of production design and editing. i was glued to the screen even through my heavy laughter. it really takes a special picture to pull that off.

many of you know my affinity for Cold War–era film and how much of a fan i am of well-executed satire. Dr. Strangelove is, of course, an all-time favorite of mine. One, Two, Three is a contemporary of Strangelove, but it’s not really in the same pocket of humor. this is decidedly lighter, tackling the darkest aspects of divided Berlin with a lot of tongue-in-cheek whimsy. i could see some people finding its total disregard for the gravity of the situation—or its depiction of dated stereotypes of Russians, Americans and former Nazis—a little offensive. but come on. lighten up. it’s supposed to be a good time. it shares some of the absurdity of Jojo Rabbit, but instead of “going there,” Wilder stays in a playful lane.

so yes, One, Two, Three probably hasn’t aged as well as Wilder’s best or as neatly as other Cold War satires, but if you let it do its thing and view it as a time capsule, it’s hilarious. and this isn’t one of those comedies you can zone out on. you really have to be locked in from the jump. it’s clearly meant to be seen in a theater—so if you’re watching at home, turn down the lights, grab some popcorn, silence your phone and let Billy Wilder and this magnificent cast take you on a slightly dated but brilliantly made satirical rollercoaster through the Cold War.

after hearing all the buzz around the Oscars—and having rather enjoyed Edward Berger’s previous adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front—i figured i’d eventually feel compelled to watch Conclave. and after giving it a spin, i get why some folks found it to be their thing, but it’s far from mine. i just found it kind of plain. sure, it has its moments, and some pseudo-arthouse influenced cinematography from Stéphane Fontaine, but it lacks that je ne sais quoi that makes a film feel special.

Ralph Fiennes delivers an undeniably proficient performance, and the casting is solid across the board—but again, it just feels sort of bleh. i really wish it were cooler than it is. sadly, i found Conclave to be little more than a loose dig at Catholic reform and only a mildly intriguing peek into the conclave process.

i’d wager that within the next five years, whatever memory or perceived influence this picture had will be completely erased by the sands of time.

Salesman is David and Albert Maysles’ documentary about door-to-door Bible salesmen, shot in the direct cinema style. we follow a group of men whose job is literally to go into someone’s home and lie to their face so they’ll buy—or even finance—an overpriced Bible. is there anything more poignant or a more apt critique of the American Dream? i think not.

this is one of those documentaries that’s so insane and so good at its job that it feels like you’re watching a scripted film. it’s just another example of the Maysles brothers discovering absolute fucking golden subject matter. like, this is what screenwriters dream of to draw inspiration—but here it is. the real thing. it actually exists, and the brothers Maysles filmed it.

editor and co-director Charlotte Zwerin does an immaculate job making not just sense, but a gripping and incredibly cohesive world out of what we can only assume was hundred of hours of black-and-white unedited film reels. in the background of one of the hotel sequences, we even see what looks like a half dozen full-size reels of 16mm film mixed in with the luggage. that was probably just from that day alone. so she deserves all the flowers—and then some—for her valiant effort.

what i love most about Albert Maysles is his eye for finding the one thing in an otherwise mundane scenario that turns a scene into genuinely captivating drama. in Salesman, it’s often the faces and subtle body language. i mean, most people have a pretty visceral reaction when someone tries to sell them something. certain folks light up under the praise designed to lubricate their pocketbooks. for them, capitalist culture is their happy place. but others shut down completely: closed body language, evasive eye , constant cigarette drags, nervous hair-touching. for some of these people, the Bible salesmen are literally talking them out of their last piece of disposable income—using their faith not just as leverage, but as a crowbar. it’s really twisted stuff when you start to think about it.

Salesman is the type of film designed to provoke you in all the right ways. at first, you might think “traveling Bible salesmen”—that sounds kind of folksy. but then you consider how consumerism works, how religion—particularly the Catholic Church—can manipulate people. and that’s when you realize Salesman isn’t a fun movie. it’s a movie that shows you the America we’ve all been told about isn’t real and never was. nope. it’s just as much of a fugazi as one of these guys’ spiels, spinning the purchase of an overpriced Bible as a lifetime investment. you hear what you want to hear. and the Maysles brothers capture that perfectly.

simply put, Errol Morris is a god. spell that backwards? a dog.

Gates of Heaven is hands down one of the weirdest films ever made—both in documentary and conventional cinematic circles. it’s a bizarre, wholesome and slightly tongue-in-cheek exposé of a totally unexplored, mundane piece of Americana: pet cemeteries and the people behind them. is it a gag, or is it earnest? it’s kind of both. but one thing’s for certain—it’s incredibly, unmistakably human.

this is what i’ve always appreciated about Morris’ work. the facts and the learning always play second fiddle to the humanity of his subjects. you don’t watch Gates of Heaven to learn how pets are laid to rest. you watch it because it makes you feel something. Morris devotes most of the film to letting folks in the industry—and just ordinary people whose pets have recently ed—ramble about anything. yes, they’re all here because of pet cemeteries, but the words coming out of their mouths drift toward almost anything but burying a pet: family dynamics, recording music for yourself, the ethics of local economics, childhood trauma, the woes of parenthood. and yet it’s in these odd vignettes that the most insight is gleaned about why the pet cemetery matters to them. in some sense, Gates of Heaven is “bad” at being a documentary, but damn if it isn’t brilliant at peeling away the thin shell we often hide our most human traits behind. there’s something about being close to death that makes people speak freely—unguarded, unfiltered—and that will always be captivatingly refreshing.

if you know me and my taste in cinema, you’ll know i’m deeply drawn to true oddities in the format. it’s all well and good to watch a predictable film—be it a romance or a genre picture—but i yearn for something i can’t easily find elsewhere. make it a head-scratcher or make it freaky, i don’t care. just don’t subject me to overly derivative garble. that’s not to say i don’t love a good action movie or whatever from time to time. i really do. but when a film forces me to reevaluate my stance and let it define the rules while i orient myself within them—that’s when i’m at my happiest. Gates of Heaven does that for me. Morris isn’t just challenging what a documentary can be—he’s showing you that cinema can be anything. it’s a meta conversation with the audience, presenting something sad, even macabre, but also kind of cute. the death of pets and what happens to them afterward isn’t something we’re eager to talk about. but by creating a lighthearted, disarming space to open that discourse, Morris shocks you a little—but also pulls you into the dialogue.

finally, this is one of the best directorial debuts i’ve ever seen. i have a thing for debuts. it’s always interesting to see where a filmmaker’s journey begins, and few fly out of the starting gate this fully formed. the only other debut that comes to mind and feels this immediately strong is Michael Mann’s Thief. obviously that’s a very different movie from a very different director, but it’s another example of a film that arrives completely itself, serving as a manifesto for the filmmaker’s unique aesthetic.

if you’ve never seen an Errol Morris film, Gates of Heaven could be a great place to start. The Thin Blue Line is probably his most immediately accessible work, but this is so unique and one of a kind that it’s hard to beat.

ah yes, another film about death’s design. except let’s imagine that death was designed by washed-up fringe Hollywood types with more than a slight cocaine problem. while i don’t know all that much about David R. Ellis, this feels like a fair assumption based on the movies of his i’ve seen. maybe the most interesting thing about him—aside from his fairly impressive resume as a second unit director—is that only a few short years after this film’s release, he died under mysterious circumstances. was he a victim of death’s design? food for thought.

The Final Destination—or, as it’s most often colloquially referred to, Final Destination 4—is basically what would happen if a Lifetime movie had sex with the worst 90s horror movie ever, and that unholy coupling resulted in a pregnancy that birthed this racist cheeto fart of a picture. i was holding out some hope that i’d like this one more than literally any of the last three, given the bar is basically hell, but no. this one’s complete garbage too. somehow, none of the kills are even iconic. like, say what you will about Final Destination 2 (which Ellis also directed)—it’s a flaming dumpster fire, sure, but at least it has the infamous logging truck scene. this one is just a never-ending parade of cheesy, throwaway kill sequences that only barely justify its 3D theatrical gimmick.

other token 3D entries in long-running horror franchises at least embrace the gimmick. Friday the 13th Part III does fun stuff like bounce a yo-yo in your face and design kills specifically to pop out of the screen. this just feels like a straight-ahead Obama-era horror movie that was retroactively shoved into the 3D format. if anything, the whole thing is weirdly overproduced for no reason. it has that distinct mid-2000s color grading—like an early Instagram filter—and when you pair that with the mountain of makeup caked onto every actor’s face (which, if scraped off, could serve as impromptu powder for an Olympic snowboarding event), it all just looks sterile and ugly. and don’t even get me started on the costuming. whoever worked wardrobe must’ve been huffing an ungodly amount of 2009 Aeropostale cologne to think any of this was okay.

i guess i’m doomed to never like a Final Destination movie. i do still have 5 and now the new sixth installment to watch, but i’m not exactly holding out hope. if anything, i’ll be wading into their waiting waters with a deep sense of apprehension and existential dread. at least the first four have been relatively short, but that two-hour runtime the new one’s rocking looks… dubious at best.

Chris Hegedus and D.A. Pennebaker’s film The War Room follows the daily interactions and life-on-the-edge existence of political strategists James Carville and George Stephanopoulos during Bill Clinton’s 1992 presidential campaign. it’s an incredibly riveting work of cinéma vérité because a political campaign is a fast-paced environment run by people far more concerned with winning an election than being part of a film. Carville and Stephanopoulos make instantly iconic—but also relatable—subjects. political campaigns in the United States are often three-ring circuses totally divorced from any tangible grasp of humanity, but this film provides a reference point, a north star for understanding the psyche behind what makes them tick. presidents, volunteers, voters—everyone involved is just a person, and The War Room does an excellent job of capturing that often forgotten fact.

when viewed in 2025, it’s fascinating to witness some of the then-groundbreaking tactics that Carville implements, which now feel benign or like obvious strategy. using the media as a weapon and adapting to a news cycle evolving by the minute wasn’t standard at the time. the way he spins negative press, in particular, feels incredibly familiar when compared to Trump’s most recent campaigns. it underscores the fact that political strategy is rarely bound to ideology. people in this field operate with militant focus, the precision of a sniper and the ethos of a headhunter. they want to win—no matter the hand they’re dealt or the stakes at play.

while The War Room no longer feels as cutting-edge as it likely did in the early 90s, it serves as an excellent time capsule of both American politics and a by-then already fading form of documentary filmmaking. there’s no narration. Hegedus and Pennebaker simply float through the chaos of the campaign, observing with the same unobtrusive presence that defined the vérité documentaries of the 60s and 70s. the story is told entirely through visual cues and organic, freeform dialogue. and yet, through the mastery of their craft, the film unfolds with a kind of preternatural ease. it’s conversational and relaxed but never aimless or incoherent.

for anyone interested in American politics, this is a must-watch. it’s an honest, fly-on-the-wall of the cloak-and-dagger machinations behind every vote cast, but more than that, it’s a god-tier example of the power of editing in documentary film. from miles of raw footage to the polished final cut, the film flows with remarkable clarity and purpose. it never drags. every moment feels deliberate. and if for no other reason, The War Room deserves your time just to witness what true mastery of an art form looks like—all from the comfort of your couch or a cinema seat.

“they say in Harlan County, there are no neutrals there. you'll either be a union man or a thug for J. H. Blair. which side are you on boys? which side are you on?”

Harlan County USA is Barbara Kopple’s powerful film following the mid-1970s Brookside Strike against the Duke Power Company in southeastern Kentucky. the picture is as tenacious as it is informative, despite leaning into the neutral playground of cinéma vérité. Kopple focuses on the men and women of this small community’s generational, daily struggle to contend with rich mining operators pressing their thumbs on the backs of workers until they either give up or die.

i’ve spent the last several months listening to Pete Seeger’s recordings of famous union anthems on repeat. it’s no secret that Seeger dedicated his life to the preservation of folk music, but he was also one of the strongest voices in the Civil Rights Movement and an ardent activist for workers’ rights—or any noble cause that needed a hand. naturally, i’m incredibly familiar with his various recordings of Which Side Are You On, written by 1930s union activist Florence Reece, so i was completely floored when she not only appeared in this film but sang her famous leftist anthem. can you be starstruck while watching a film? perhaps that’s the power of direct cinema documentary filmmaking.

these days, we often talk about giving women a voice by drawing attention to their work in the medium. sometimes we see pictures made by women that feel uniquely colored by a feminine perspective or take on a life of their own through feminist subtext. but with documentary, the filmmaker is almost as much a presence as any one of the subjects, so Kopple’s voice and perspective feel bled straight into the celluloid. we spend a lot of time with the women of Harlan—we see just how much the strike is their fight too. they stand with the men on the picket line, receiving all the gunfire and violence. and it sort of feels like Kopple, being a woman herself, brings down the guard of some of her subjects. the women clearly feel comfortable speaking their minds to her, and even the most brutal of men speak candidly and gently. it’s incredibly interesting to witness in the midst of a powder keg situation like a year-long union strike.

i think Harlan County USA is easily one of the best documentaries i’ve ever seen. it’s visceral and really feels alive. the people, the place, the time, the situation—they’re all key players. and even if you’re totally unfamiliar with the historical context of workers’ rights or coal mining, i’d wager you’ll still be invested in this gem of a film. in many ways, Harlan County USA is a call to arms for all workers throughout history. despite focusing on this one strike in a relatively isolated pocket of the United States you’ve probably never heard of, it feels transcendental and timeless—mostly because the same things Kopple shines a light on here are still the problems we face today. the battle of the working class is a constant. and it always will be a push to gain a few steps forward before the companies push you back at least one.

“it was a fight before and it's still a fight. fight before we had the union and still fighting. and they're going to keep fighting. the coal miner will always be fighting.”

i can’t even really put into words how much i hated this movie. it’s basically like someone over-fried a sketch that would’ve aired on Adult Swim at 2 am and then stretched it into a 100-minute feature-length dredge. by the one-hour mark, i felt genuinely trapped by this movie’s existence. i wanted to escape so fucking bad. 

Dude Bro Party Massacre III is just doing too much at all times. it’s relentless and so overwritten for what it is. like—did any ideas get thrown out? because it feels like every single suggestion was not only entertained but forcibly jammed into some line of dialogue. i get that it’s supposed to be bad, a deliberate spoof of SOV horror and B-movies, but part of what makes those films work—and why they gain cult followings—is the earnest effort behind them. this just felt way too self-aware, and as a result became totally insufferable. any recognizable remnants of the subgenre are buried under YouTube poop style humor so aggressively that the whole thing borders on bad taste.

maybe i just wasn’t in the mindset or headspace to even begin to want this kind of film today, but i can’t be alone in thinking this is categorically overhyped trash. i get that it’s meant to be cheesy and dumb—but overwriting is real, and this is a textbook case.

Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers was the perfect film—and opportunity—for the then publicly disgraced director to win back the hearts and minds of the sci-fi community. now, i love Showgirls, but for much of the cinematic world it was considered the worst thing that could’ve possibly happened. in 1995, many didn’t understand the film’s bizarre sense of humor or its diet-breaking dose of campy sleaze, totally satirizing the entertainment industry. but with Starship Troopers, Verhoeven took what he learned from Showgirls and this time offered the meal with his satirical mayonnaise on the side.

you could just watch Starship Troopers as a cock-rocking, campy good time of titanic sci-fi proportions—or you could see it for what it is: a colorful satire of the Nazi war machine and the propaganda tactics of militaristic totalitarian regimes. it’s very overt with its messaging, but the tongue-in-cheek delivery allows some viewers to divorce the politics from the experience and just enjoy the battles, sexy actors and humor à la carte. 

on this viewing, i found that ability to compartmentalize the film’s message only adds to the satire’s punch—especially in today’s political climate. we live in a time when it feels like 95% of people are walking around blissfully, deliberately ignorant to the overreaching and often blatantly illegal machinations of their governments—especially here in America. maybe it’s a collective consciousness still unable to process the severity of the situation after the psychic gut-punch of the Covid-19 lockdown era. or maybe people are genuinely fine with the rise of global fascism. i prefer to believe the former, but watching this film be interpreted in two wildly different ways is what makes it feel so prescient. all the signs can be there—the propaganda, the erosion of human rights dangled in front of your face like meat on a string—but if you’re not hungry or if you’re blinded by the now glamorized and weaponized ignorance, you won’t see it.

i don’t think this was necessarily Verhoeven’s exact intent when making Starship Troopers, but i’ll be damned if it isn’t even more thought-provoking now. 

if you watched Starship Troopers and didn’t pick up on the satire or the blatant Nazi imagery, maybe it’s time to open your eyes a little wider. so next time Doogie Himmler strolls onto your screen in full SS regalia, you’ll actually catch it. who knows—maybe that’ll help in real life too. maybe then people won’t call Elon’s Nazi salute “autistic stimming” or a “Roman salute.”

Grey Gardens is a film that’s so special—both as a truly one-of-a-kind work of art and to me personally. it just lifts the viewer by the scruff of their neck and plops them into this hidden world that the Maysles brothers reveal to you armed with nothing but cameras, microphones and open minds—standing as one of the most effective and immediately captivating works of direct cinema ever produced. 

it’s always seemed to me that this approach to the film is a blend of both the Maysles’ modus operandi and the general personalities of their subjects: the now borderline destitute Beale women, living relics of the by-then functionally extinct American aristocracy. Big and Little Edie are not acting, per se, but i do think there’s an element of their behavior that is certainly being ramped up by the sheer novelty of these hermit women having guests. for nearly 50 years the two existed in relative isolation, and for the first time in decades, the Maysles brothers are not only guests but also some of the only outsiders to greet them with little judgment. pair this unique relationship with a camera and the women really come to life—especially Little Edie. there’s this cyclical conversation between the mother-daughter duo about what life could’ve been for Edie if the cards had just fallen into place. she would’ve been a star, she would’ve been married and she would’ve been truly happy. the film serves as Edie’s way to show off some of her “skills” and, in a way, reclaim a sense of self that she lost while living in total codependence with her mother.

i can only imagine what it must’ve been like to walk up to that house on the first day of shooting and realize what a goldmine the Maysles had stumbled upon—an endless trove of bizarre, eccentric behavior and stories from two women who want nothing more than to be heard. there’s a perspective in which you could view the film as exploitative. these women were clearly in a compromised state, both mentally and financially. but at the same time, their unrelenting engagement with the filmmakers has always calmed those thoughts in my mind. if they’d truly not wanted to be filmed or to have the world see into their cat and canned food infused world of total insanity, they easily could’ve kicked the Maysles to the curb—or, in this case, the hedgerow turned coastal rainforest.

i think the reason this film is so effective and still profoundly interesting 50 years later is because we can all see a little piece of ourselves or our families in it. these days it’s incredibly common for millennials and gen z kids to move back in with their parents for one reason or another—usually due to the ever-expanding wealth gap and a lack of jobs that pay a livable wage. hell, even an extended stay over Christmas with my mom can start to feel like a scene from Grey Gardens. but above all, it’s how alive the Beales feel as subjects. even though they’re dropouts from a social class and time that most of us couldn’t begin to understand, moments in the film speak to something deeply human. through the filth, the decaying home on the verge of being condemned, the totally out-of-touch social perspectives—we’re still able to connect with them. they have dashed dreams and a contentious but clearly deep love for one another, and it’s infectious. 

i think Grey Gardens is a movie everyone should see at least once in their lives. in cinematic circles, documentaries are often forgotten or written off when we’re talking about the great works that define the medium, and that’s totally unfair. today, when we mention the documentary genre, a very specific type of film tends to come to mind—the kind that lives on streaming services and echoes the dramatized style made famous by Errol Morris. but the documentary genre is one of the broadest in all of cinema. they can range from photo diaries to political statement pieces, to silent art films, to home movies. and Grey Gardens is just another stylistic variation—raw, pure and unlike anything else. nothing quite like it has ever been made, and nothing quite like it ever will be again.

Paul Verhoeven’s Total Recall is kind of what movies are all about. it flexes every muscle that separates cinema from every other artistic medium—beautiful visuals, otherworldly set designs, delightful effects, a crazy story, explosions, fight sequences, iconic character designs. this is pretty much the picture that would be next to “movie magic” in the dictionary. the film is just out there enough to keep you stimulated at all times, but grounded enough to not alienate any viewers. it’s one of those perfect blockbuster experiences and serves as a truly telling example of what we’re missing in theaters today. they just don’t make them like this anymore. Verhoeven’s style might sometimes be viewed as silly, but damn if it doesn’t make for immediately memorable pictures that deserve to be ed by all future generations.

i’m glad i finally took the time to sit down and watch this movie properly. it’s one of those i had seen in pieces on TV over the years, but had never gone out of my way to watch in its entirety. i would say i regret this path, but i don’t. there’s something about seeing a film like this after having as many films under my belt as i do now that allowed me to appreciate it even more. cinema is definitely a journey, and this milestone early 90s sci-fi gem should be a stop for everyone.

is Final Destination 3 a good movie? no, it is not. do i appreciate that the film is attempting to satirize 9/11 conspiracy theorists through its now-signature absurdist digital exposition sequences? oh baby, yes.

in Final Destination 3 the real battle of life or death is Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Ryan Merriman attempting to backpack this shockingly dramatic motion picture with their barely competent acting skills. if you played a drinking game where you had to take a shot every time Winstead had to draw forced tears for a scene, by the end of this movie you’d be dead. however, despite all of this ridiculous, barely-above-water screenwriting and execution, i did find myself enjoying the film. maybe i’m just finally acclimated to its godly brand of Loose Change-style exposition and hilariously complicated kill sequences, but i think this might be the peak of the franchise. of course, i still have 4, 5 and now 6 to tackle, but i don’t see things really getting better.

James Wong does sort of attempt to right the ship in this third installment with a concerted effort to return to form. not that Final Destination 2 was really that creative of a deviation, but also it didn’t exactly improve or help in any way. it just sort of exists and has the infamous log truck scene. for some reason that seems to correlate in people’s minds with it being “the best in the series,” but i can tell you that it’s not. it’s still quite fresh in my mind. and if it is? god help me.

so should you watch Final Destination 3? i kind of think so. it’s definitely more self-aware than the last two films and is clearly trying to use that as a strength, but instead of leaning too far into self-satire, it just sort of waddles around it while still firmly taking itself pretty seriously. i think in 2006 there was still hope that this film would be considered legitimately scary. it’s not. or—i don’t know. if you were a person who survived 9/11, then somehow lived through Hurricane Katrina, then returned a veteran of the Iraq War, maybe this film played on some kind of early turn-of-the-millennium paranoia. then you went on to really deep dive on 9/11 conspiracies and started showing some early signs of schizophrenia. oh yeah—then this movie would be fucking terrifying.

but for most of us jaded millennials, i think Final Destination 3 is just an adequate early 00s horror experience that gets lumped into situations where it’s punching well above its weight class because we all it as this generational cinematic phenomenon. and maybe that’s the real reason anyone gives a shit about these movies. because they were there and saw this buzzed on bad weed in a mall movie theater on the brink of the collapse of the American housing market. Final Destination serves as the only thing from that time period that can make you feel anything—and if that’s the case, rock on man.

i can’t the last time i watched a new movie totally blind and laughed this hard for the entire runtime. i mean, i’m sitting here feeling like i might throw up because my stomach hurts so much from laughing. there were tears pricked in the corners of my eyes, and my jaw feels like it might cramp from smiling for so long. Rap World is just a nonstop SOV comedy masterpiece. if you were alive and sentient in 2009, this movie feels like a window into the past—just the dumbest shit ever going on: friends hanging in this weird proto-internet-induced ennui, Nintendo Wiis as far as the eye can see, the worst clothes, the last hoorah of slacker hangout culture. and Rap World not only embodies but captures all of it perfectly with its mockumentary-satirized, docufiction, no-fucks-given, MySpace-brained glory. fuck, i think i’m obsessed with this film.

it wasn’t until midway through this watch that i even realized this movie wasn’t made in 2009. i googled it, but i shouldn’t have. i should’ve just accepted my fate. that’s how i would’ve done it in 2009: flip phone on vibrate, texting in T9 to my friends the cringiest millennial random humor imaginable. then i would’ve rolled around the corner in a blown-out office chair to the iMac G4 to load Google the old-fashioned way. i would’ve also been stoked to see if the logo had a theme that day. man, nostalgia is a bitch—but this movie is fucking hilarious and speaks to me on a spiritual level, especially as someone who spent a lot of hours making music with my friends back then.

i think everyone should watch this movie, but especially if you’re part of the aging millennial cohort like me. and if you laugh even a quarter as much as i did, you’ll walk away a happy camper.

despite having access to this film for the better part of a month, i remained totally blind to both its premise and content… until tonight. loosely based on the real-life crimes of Michael H. Kenyon aka the “Illinois Enema Bandit” (yes, you read that correctly), the film follows a deranged man—played by the legendary Jamie Gillis—who sort of goes through a Taxi Driver-style character arc to become a serial rapist whose signature move is to deliver enemas to women against their will. in fact, when i realized both Water Power and Taxi Driver were released in 1976, i had to quickly check which came out first, because my oh my would Paul Schrader have some explaining to do if this had hit theaters first.

if you’re reading this and questioning my sanity, well, you’re well within your rights to do so—but Water Power is, against all odds, a good movie. as far as Golden Age of Porn actors go, Gillis is easily on the Mount Rushmore, and the suspense-building tactics deployed in the film work obscenely well for what it is. sure, we get our fair share of goofs and momentary breaks in character, but for the most part, this is reasonably compelling cinema. so what was all that nonsense about enemas? surely they were simulated or offscreen, right? …right???! wrong.

this is the part of Water Power that is perhaps the most challenging to take in as a viewer—but also might serve as its primary draw. there’s something undeniably wow-inducing about seeing a bushel of onscreen, scripted but certainly real-deal enemas. and they’re not clerical in nature whatsoever. these are sexually nuanced and depraved to the bone. and to any and all questions that may be popping into your head right now, the answer is yes. what happens is exactly what you think happens. i’m just doing my best to keep this as readable as possible without giving any spoilers.

so should you watch Water Power? well, if you can find it and you’re not averse to watching some of the most batshit insane sexual sequences maybe ever filmed in a porno of this vintage, go crazy. i just don’t know if i can recommend it to most people in good conscience. i’m far from some puritanical prude, but even the best of us have our limits. i guess there’s something to be said about viewing this film almost as a form of performance art—using the human body as a kind of canvas or amusement park of pure chaos is, regardless of your emotional or ethical considerations, deeply compelling. yes, Water Power sort of feels like you’re watching some demented sideshow of freaks doing things the body simply shouldn’t—except it’s also something everyone does, in some capacity, almost every day. i don’t know, man. i don’t have all the answers on this one. i guess my final note would be: this is definitely not the best choice of picture to toss on while you’re eating dinner—and i’m speaking from experience on that one.

on the poster of Night of the Living Babes it says, “if John Waters met George Romero you’d get…” well, one would hope something far more consequential than this time capsule of bottom-of-the-barrel 80s SOV editing tactics. i think literally every transition in this film is the same wildly distasteful wipe that it would be kind to call retro. it’s one of those wipes or transitions more reminiscent of an unhinged PowerPoint presentation than anything that should exist in cinema. at the end of every scene we were like, are they going to do it? you bet your sweet ass they are. it must’ve been the first transition option in whatever Byzantine-era video editing suite these cats were cooking on. anyway, sorry, i don’t mean to rant about the transitions too much—it’s just so frequent it pretty much becomes a meme within the film.

the acting is exactly what you’d expect. somewhere between a high school play performed on a stage with absolutely no sound reinforcement and a b-grade porno. you know, everyone is basically shouting or putting on the most ridiculous version of a stage whisper you’ve ever heard at all times. the humor is actually pretty great. it reminded me of that post-Monty Python, incredibly dry delivery à la the classic british sitcom Black Books. the film could’ve even had a laugh track and it wouldn’t have felt remotely out of place.

the horror elements of the movie are very dim, and it’s far more propped up on comedy. it’s sort of giving backyard haunted house vibes. smoke machines, outlandish lighting colors, costumes your mom could’ve slapped together in 15 minutes if you decided you weren’t too old to go trick-or-treating. but man, it’s a vibe. i don’t think most people need to see this movie, but if you do decide to watch it, there are far worse choices you could’ve made. if you’re a fan of the work of David DeCoteau, i’d say Night of the Living Babes is kind of a no-brainer. while not as iconic or as stunning as Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama or Dr. Alien, this film does offer some of that campy, cheesy late 80s b-movie goodness that will scratch your deepest sleazy comedic horror itches.

my god. if you thought the first Final Destination was dumb, the direct sequel makes it seem like child’s play. in true sequel fashion, this film ramps things up a notch on all fronts—more absurd deaths, somehow more early digital exposition, more poorly written mystery elements. it’s basically a crash course in the lowest tier of entertainment. the one thing i think Final Destination 2 does that actually breathes a welcomed sense of levity into the cheese is it never takes itself seriously. while not an overt comedy per se, it has so many moments that are so extremely ornate or ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh your ass off.

i’m beginning to think there’s a formula—or at the very least an expectation—to Final Destination movies. you dump all creative effort into crafting an immediately iconic overture sequence, then just let the rest of the narrative fall into place like you just dropped a mason jar of bouncy balls down a wooden staircase. who knows where they’ll go, but you know for certain the chaos will end at some point. i’ll be shocked with awe and dismay if a single one of these films somehow wanders its way into a remotely coherent or cohesive final product, but i know better than to rule that prospect out entirely.

Videodrome is one of those high-water mark examples of incredibly unique cinematic excellence that really only crops up every once in a while in every generation. it’s a film that’s certainly incredibly ahead of its time while also simultaneously showing its age, and yet, it feels delightfully timeless whenever it graces your screen. it’s not the most Cronenberg of Cronenberg’s films—and yet somehow, it is. it’s a psychosexual body horror masterpiece with a statement being woven in for good measure. while maybe not as instantly satisfying as The Fly or as sexually depraved as Crash, Videodrome perfectly walks between those two worlds while creating some of the most memorable moments in early 80s cinema. some of it is obviously incredibly deliberate, but when viewed 40-plus years later, i think some of its most impressive social commentary occurs almost as if by accident. i love Videodrome, and i consider this film a must-watch for anyone—both those just getting into movies and seasoned cinephiles alike.

once upon a time, i was a teenager who smoked pot and had weird friends that would show me movies like Cannibal Holocaust in their basement. that was many years ago, but it was the last time i saw this film in its entirety. tonight, i was hanging out with some friends, and one of them was also one of the stoned teenagers who watched this in our buddy’s basement all those years ago. we decided that now, in our 30s, it would be as good a time as any to revisit this often-dubbed “most controversial film ever made,” being that we both have a lot more films under our belt and, of course, we are now both—relatively speaking—of sound mind. after tonight’s watch, i don’t really agree with the “most controversial” moniker that gets loosely applied, but i think there’s solid ground to call this one of the most insane and meta horror films ever produced.

i sort of wish Cannibal Holocaust were just an incy bit more tasteful—or perhaps just a wee bit more reined in—so that its fairly poignant message weren’t totally obscured by its retrospectively ineffectual marketing tactics. the effort by Ruggero Deodato to make the experience feel more visceral and real, beyond what’s accomplished on screen, by basically faking the deaths of his lead actors, vastly damages the picture. if you just view it straight up, it’s definitely a social commentary on the very real war crimes committed during the Cold War—namely in Vietnam—but also on the perverted obsession from film studios with making movies that were cheap but just salacious enough to draw a crowd. Cannibal Holocaust takes those important observations, douses them in gasoline, sets them ablaze, then jumps over them completely nude like some kind of fucked-up Jack Be Nimble.

it just takes it all a little too far. the amount of on-screen animal deaths alone is enough to make any sane person want to turn off the film, but somehow that wasn’t enough. Deodato doubles down and decides to rub the viewer’s nose in the debauchery even further by including an alarming amount of sexual violence. all of this doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of the murders—or hell, the fucking cannibalism?? i mean, my god, man. we get it. and yet, there’s a part of me that wouldn’t change a thing. yes, it’s deeply depraved, and gratuitous is somehow too light a word to even begin to describe it. but god damn it, the film definitely invokes feelings. you could call it cheap, but what the fuck is cheap about trekking into the Amazonian jungle to film crazy acts of barbarism against anything that’s alive on several different analog film formats? it’s a lot of things, but cheap is not one of them. no, this is not your grandma’s exploitation film. Cannibal Holocaust is operating on a whole other level.

where the film starts to veer into genius territory is how it handles the incredibly meta nature of the narrative in a way that almost feels like self-social commentary that then bleeds into actual social commentary. the whole film-within-a-film-within-a-news-broadcast structure—it’s super fucking out there. like yes, there are a million reasons you could never make this film today, but the million-and-one reason you couldn’t make this film now is just how self-aware it is across multiple mediums. broadcast news and film studios don’t come close to being this intelligent or interesting anymore, and we live in a time where violence is so commonplace that i think this movie would almost feel dry. the shock factor it imparted in the early 80s would be met with political resistance and social media echoes to the point that it wouldn’t even matter if the movie actually existed or not.

so should you watch Cannibal Holocaust? i’m going to keep it real with you—probably not. most people just aren’t equipped with the backlog of knowledge required to truly appreciate this film without putting in a ton of legwork. i guess if you want to see some incredibly graphic shit in a film that’s for sure subversive but could also be interpreted as tasteless violence, then go crazy. i just feel like today there are plenty of films at one’s disposal that get you where Cannibal Holocaust seeks to take you without subjecting you to so much upsetting imagery. it’s sort of a dinosaur in that way. it’s been eclipsed and bested many times over, but no one has ever repeated this level of gory, bloody, rapey, murderous depravity since. so i suppose if that’s your main attraction to the film, yeah, have fun. but also maybe seek a little help. i do think this is kind of a masterpiece in its own way—a true cinematic one-off of insanity. but i appreciate the idea and thought it inspires far more than i enjoy actually watching it. therefore, i don’t think this should be something any prospective viewers dive into without a great deal of mental, emotional, socio-political and historical preparation.

Gary Sherman’s Dead and Buried is a truly weird cinematic artifact in that it’s a confluence of nearly perverse, over-the-top cinematography and a fairly interesting, albeit tediously explored, narrative. the immensely choreographed photography—often involving long tracking shots with actors moving across remarkable distances—is nothing short of a marvel to behold. but there’s almost no homogeny with what ended up on the editing room floor. between these sweeping sequences that could make Hitchcock quake in his penny loafers, there exists this bizarrely choppy editing. the result is a strange push-pull effect that, paired with a subtle mystery plot, makes the film drag significantly while giving the viewer a kind of cinematic whiplash.

i didn’t hate the film, but at some point it became a bit of a chore to stay fully invested. after a while, i found myself more enamored with the cinematographer’s visual acrobatics than anything happening in the plot.

that said, i did enjoy the premise, and the final sequence was pretty awesome. Dead and Buried has more than its fair share of blunders—including some basketball-sized plot holes in its already strained hull—but for a lot of reasons, it remains incredibly watchable. if you’re the kind of viewer who demands a certain amount of energy from a film, this is probably an easy skip. but if you can appreciate technical excellence strangely housed inside a pseudo-noir mystery horror, there might be something here for you.

i think it’s pretty common for us to view our mothers as larger than life. for many of us, they represent the core of our system, the backbones of our families, the foundation of our humanity. in our lives, they become these almost supernatural pillars, but as we age, at some point the process begins—of, for lack of a better term, humanizing our mothers. we begin to see mom not as the being that granted us existence, but as a person. we see their flaws and love them for them. we realize their powers have limits. mothers are amazing, but they aren’t as massive or earth-moving as we once thought when we were small. to me, that’s what this film is about. it’s about asg an identity to mom—in this case, posthumously.

many of us are lucky to still have our mothers around, but for just as many, she’s been taken from us. whether it’s from old age or something more sudden, more often than not, we outlive our mothers. this is life. it’s the full circle. the very being that brought you into this world—someday, you’ll watch her leave it forever. it will just be you. but because of you, she lives on. you might have children of your own. you might not. but you’ve likely touched someone’s life in a deep and meaningful way, and in many regards, they—and you—owe that to your mothers.

it’s often written about what a gift it is to be a mother, but i think the more universally felt but rarely discussed gift is having a mother. someone who loves you unconditionally. your partner or spouse might grow into that kind of love, but your mother is the only person in your life who’s had it from the very beginning. so, this mother’s day weekend, maybe that’s something we should all consider. your mother is love. she’s a hero. but she’s also a person with her own unique experience on this earth. and before her, she had a mother—and so on. think about what a gift and truly immeasurable experience that is. as far back as we’ve walked on two feet, there is an unbroken chain of women, and your existence is the direct result.

pondering this endless, largely untold history is one of the most profound experiences we can have as human beings. yes, the Egyptians built the pyramids. men went to the moon. people have stood on the tallest peak and at the bottom of the ocean. but there’s a silent story of women across the planet bringing new life into the world. it’s literal creation that we can see, and we rarely talk about it. just like the man on the moon, your mother has fears, dreams, vices, flaws—but she overcomes them so that you can exist. and it’s paradoxically one of the most magical and biologically mundane things you can be a part of in this life.

happy mother’s day weekend. i love you, mama.

i simply can’t begin to describe how much i truly adore this film. Deborah Brock’s directorial debut is just underwritten enough in some areas and just overproduced in others that it feels like it fell out of another dimension. the best way to describe this film is just a little off. it’s hard to pin down. like, obviously there was a concerted effort by Brock and producer Roger Corman to steer this ship into the potential honey pot of Nightmare on Elm Street residual box office scraps, but it effortlessly fails in almost every aspect. in fact, i’d go as far as to say if you’re viewing this as a straight-ahead slasher, Slumber Party Massacre II is categorically a letdown. we’re not introduced to our killer in a meaningful or even remotely tangible way—he’s just sort of there, suddenly. and our emotional connection to any of the characters isn’t exactly built on firm bedrock either. from the beginning, it’s not immediately clear how it’s even tied to the original film, and as the runtime sures the 15-minute mark, it’s as if it weren’t a sequel at all. however, this is where i find the genius of the film—albeit entirely accidental.

somewhere around the time when the attempt to weave the plot line back into the first film completely implodes, something magical happens. Slumber Party Massacre II just becomes this late-80s valley girl surrealist fever dream of reality-breaking narrative structure and weirdly wholesome imagery interspliced with the usual Corman-associated gratuitous female nudity. it’s as if the picture is trying to hold court with the male gaze but lacks all spatial awareness and reasonable understanding. instead, it just becomes a jumbled and mesmerizing series of increasingly bizarre vignettes building toward the final showdown. it’s flamboyant in the way that a John Waters campy romp might be, but it also has that difficult-to-place weirdness we often associate with David Lynch’s most surreal films. yes, there are moments that spring to the surface as if to scream “look at me, i’m doing Nightmare on Elm Street,” but they’re almost always squashed down into the semi-broken cinematic mire, quickly lost by the viewer.

i think this film has more in common with Lynch’s Inland Empire than it does with, say, John Carpenter’s Halloween. it has some of that slasher grit, but it’s almost universally misplaced. instead of being in the killer or the haunting atmosphere, it’s in the ideas and the out-there writing structure. i don’t think this was deliberate, but i still find it profoundly effective. there’s no badge, award or acclaim that requires a picture to have been so well thought out that the aftereffects it leaves were all preordained. i think that’s one of the most beautiful things about this artistic medium. sometimes shit just happens, and the way it shakes out takes on a whole new life. so if you’re looking for a run-of-the-mill slasher or even a traditional teen horror experience, Slumber Party Massacre II is not really that movie. but if you like surrealism or find yourself gravitating toward cinematic oddities, then i think this film should definitely be on your radar. sure, it’s not some ambitious allegorical tale of life that other arthouse movies might have in store, but i’ll be damned if it isn’t incredible in its own right.

Fingered might be Kern’s most boiled-down work. a babbling stew of transgressive punk cinema left over an open flame until it’s reduced to the consistency of brutal sludge. the dialogue is devoid of feeling, the comedy is devoid of substance, the sex is devoid of ion. this is definitely the mind of a junkie. the film looks in all directions, demanding the strongest sensation from anything and everything it can get its paws on. it so badly wants everything you have and more. it’s really wringing out the towel, so to speak. when everything that makes a film feel remotely human is finally boiled away and then taste-tested by the demented genius Richard Kern, what you’re left with is one of the most quintessentially gen x works of art i think i’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Blue Peanuts is Todd Graham’s short film mashing up David Lynch’s Blue Velvet with various Peanuts cartoons, and is somehow a lesser work than Apocalypse Pooh. it’s basically exactly what you’d expect, but once again done in a remarkably early example of the now overproduced chop of the fan edit genre (if you can call it that). its delightfully rudimentary execution is the only thing keeping it from veering into what we’d now refer to as YouTube Poop, and its incredibly short runtime saves it from becoming torturously monotonous. it’s worthy of a chuckle or two, but it hardly demands the attention of anyone but fans of cinema so deep in the weeds of short films that they’re losing their minds.

in 1987, Todd Graham did what can now be had with little to no effort on TikTok, YouTube Shorts, Meta Reels and Twitter—or… X? it’s essentially a fan edit before fan edits were cool or logistically feasible. now you can just slap some clips of whatever movie or show together, fly in some audio and wham bam thank you ma’am, you’re off to the races. shit, half the time you don’t even need to do it yourself. these days you can just have AI do it for you. but Apocalypse Pooh did it first. well, maybe not first, but certainly early on. it represents a moment in proto-fan edit history that stands out because it’s so reminiscent of what we know today.

is it good? no. i’d even go as far as to say no fan edits are actually “good.” they can be fun or, more often than not, serve as a cheap reminder of the greatness of another work, but their obvious derivativeness and today tired format make them a total wash. the only way any of them actually become successful now is through seemingly pure algorithmic RNG or because they’re so bad it’s actually funny.

maybe if you’re the kind of person who spends all day on one of the aforementioned apps watching—or god forbid making—fan edits and mashups, then you’ll get a kick out of Apocalypse Pooh, but otherwise you’ll probably just watch it, chuckle a few times and say, “what’s the big deal?” oh bother.

showed this to a friend who had yet to bask in its fleshy, bloody and transgressive super 8 glow. it’s pure magic. i have nothing to add from my previous review.

i absolutely fucking adore John Carpenter’s Vampires and i’m willing to die on this hill. i don’t really understand the shade or general low regard for it. it’s satirizing Westerns and makes for a fairly unique and exciting spin as far as vampire movies go. i’d even go as far as to say that, for me, this ranks near the top of all of John Carpenter’s films. James Woods and Danny Baldwin’s homoerotic absurdist line delivery of this totally unhinged dialogue is hilarious and instantly iconic. tonight’s viewing also marked my first time ever seeing this underrated masterpiece in proper high definition, and it only amplifies the signature color grading and delightfully depraved practical effects.

i guess some folks might be turned off by the ridiculous machismo characters or the blatantly blasphemous version of the Catholic church that’s depicted, but i mean, get off your high horse. i’ve always felt that Vampires was Carpenter’s response to Tarantino, but unlike other post-Tarantino films, this actually has a swagger of its own. i don’t know. maybe i’m wrong and all of you are right, but if that’s the case, allow me to live out my days in blissful ignorance while James Woods interrogates me on what kind of wood he just gave me while kicking my ass. mahogany? ebony? teak?

A. performance art? B. transgressive punk cinema? C. a few friends with a particular goal who allowed their buddy Richard Kern to tag along with his cameras? or D. all of the above.

The Sewing Circle might be the only Kern film i’ve seen so far that has actual field recorded audio. it’s definitely not for the squeamish or the faint of heart, but if you’re down to get a little freaky and watch a woman get her… well, you know, sewn shut, then by all means, come on in! the water’s fine.

The Bitches is what transgressive adult cinema is all about. Kern builds a little world in this short—a world of performative and deliberately sexually deviant gender bending and a kinky fireworks display of human sexuality. this is a multiple Michelin star visual consumé of decadent perversion. i loved it and all its stylish and subversive erotic glory.

wow, who knew the British government had a better eye for horror than most directors alive today? maybe this should be a thing—state-sponsored PSA’s that are just dope horror shorts. i can see it now: the state of Florida would be more prolific and more interesting than Blumhouse.

there’s just something so distressing about imagining the crew of people whose job it was to motion capture Seth Rogen and edit him into this movie as an animated alien. Paul is exactly what you’d think it is: a gimmicky, born to be on Comedy Central 2010s bromance road movie full of nerdy gags and titanically underwritten subplots, all culminating in a big reveal that would only land if you were smoking a galactic amount of weed. that said, it’s fine. i kind of had fun, plus the cast shouldn’t be as stacked as it is. the humor straddles the line between one of those strangely earnest episodes of Family Guy, every stoner buddy comedy you’ve ever seen and one of those Scary Movie-adjacent spoof films that plagued the straight-to-DVD market for a time. i’d hardly consider this a worthy film for most people, but if you’re just trying to turn your brain off after work like i was, it definitely delivers on that promise.

while measurably not as narratively strong or emotionally gripping as Star Wars (1977) or The Empire Strikes Back (1980), Return of the Jedi is perhaps the most immersive of any Star Wars picture. the story definitely feels a bit rushed when it comes to wrapping up the trilogy, and the whole second Death Star thing is certainly ridiculous, but i think it more than makes up for those shortcomings with its new creatures, elaborate set pieces and iconic characters.

i’ll never forget this film—it’s pretty much burned into my brain, but only from the Endor sequence onward. why, you might ask? well, when i was a kid, the version i had was one my parents taped on VHS from TV, and in their rush to find a blank tape, they completely missed the opening sequence at Jabba’s palace on Tatooine. i would watch this movie over and over on a small TV in my bedroom, and the tape would always begin with the gang already on Endor. somehow, in all that time, i never questioned why Return of the Jedi lacked the famous rolling preamble or how they ended up in those woods. then one day, i got my hands on the trilogy VHS box set. it flipped my world upside down. suddenly i realized Boba Fett was actually in this movie, and i became obsessed with that battle at the Sarlacc Pit. i’d try to reenact it with my little action figures, and to this day, it remains one of my favorite parts of any movie ever.

so why do i share this fun little story? is it to demonstrate the sheer scale of blinding, crippling nostalgia? well, perhaps in a way. i think it’s an important detail because it shows the real magic of Return of the Jedi. of all the original films, it’s the one that speaks most deeply to me as a fan. it’s like the fan service Disney tries to do now, but done well—creatively and originally. Lucas pushed his little universe that could just a few light years farther in this film, and in doing so brought it to life in a way that made the other films feel even more important. Star Wars isn’t just a series of movies, it’s a world you can immerse yourself in, just like Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings or a game like Dungeons & Dragons. it’s infinite—and Return of the Jedi is what made it that way, evolving it from a really well-produced space opera into something people could obsess over for the rest of their lives.

i’ll always adore Return of the Jedi. it’s the movie i think of when i’m home sick, reminiscing about the earliest sick days of my life. it’s the one i quote so casually in daily life that i don’t even notice anymore. if you’re a fan of movies looking for the most dramatically or cinematically rewarding Star Wars experience, obviously i’ll steer you toward the original or The Empire Strikes Back. but if you’re already a fan and want more—or even if you’re not fully a fan but love fuzzy little monsters in movies—Return of the Jedi is probably your movie.

May the fourth be with you, always. 🤓

my knowledge of Sinners had remained relatively in the dark, so with some spare time on this rainy afternoon, i decided to take a solo trip to the cinema to see what many are calling the best film of 2025. i was a little dismayed to see it was yet another film making use of the single acclaimed actor playing “twins” trend, but after a few minutes i decided to ignore the hokey nature of that trick and let it wash over me—i ended up having a pretty good time. despite being billed as a horror film, Ryan Coogler’s direction and writing make it a drama-forward movie with action tropes and only a dash of horror. there’s an almost alarming amount of character exploration that’s clearly meant to build a strong attachment to the players, but it drags on quite a bit. i didn’t hate it. i just think it’s worth noting that for a solid hour i sat there thinking to myself: is this actually a horror movie or some kind of period drama historical fiction?

my favorite part of the film was the implementation of the endless musical medley ranging from delta blues to hip hop. it doesn’t go full tilt into the world of a musical, but sort of dances in the same corner as Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis, using music as a narrative tool and an interesting expositional element. it does, however, suck the wind out of some of the darker elements of the horror side of the film. it gets a little campy, but refuses to lean all the way in. instead, it simply gives the movie a memorable flair that’s at least superficially hypnotic and interesting.

finally, i think there’s no way around it—Sinners is a film about race relations in the United States. there’s a very ionate attempt to shine a light on Jim Crow-era Mississippi in a serious way, but the outlandish nature of the story softens the punch that issue bears with it. furthermore, the siege horror and revenge elements are just a little too serious for the extremity of their content and almost beg for a few witty quips or tongue-in-cheek splatter gags. it makes everything feel a little mashed together, and it didn’t work as well for me as it seems to have for others.

overall, i’d say Sinners is a decent film that could’ve stood to pick a lane and stay in it. instead, the picture is essentially riffing on From Dusk Till Dawn with a little more music and a lot less laughs. it’s not horrible, but its attempt to appease everyone just leaves that bland flavor of a blockbuster flick in my mouth. it’s just a bit overhyped at the moment. Sinners is a fine movie, but i don’t think it’s guaranteed to blow your mind. at least it didn’t for me.

Prozac Nation is simply a bad movie. it’s a nauseating experience visually, with cinematographer Erling Thurmann-Andersen doing way too much at all times. the acting is melodramatic and totally devoid of anything actually resembling tangible human emotion, and for a film clocking in at a cool 95 minutes, it feels like a lifetime. it’s just a total mess. the only redeeming quality it has, as far as i’m concerned, is the surreal on-screen encounter with Lou Reed. everything else teeters on insufferable and tasteless.

i get that some people think this is some kind of apt depiction of young female mental health issues, but i find it ludicrously dramatized and plagued by an overwhelming influence of the male gaze. like, why is Christina Ricci topless in the first ten minutes of the film? because boobs. it’s clear director Erik Skjoldbjærg thinks he’s cooking with gas and making a semi-artistic statement piece with Prozac Nation, but really it’s just a firm early 2000s representation of the worst kind of filmmaking, with an endless bounty of weightless pretentiousness in a paltry adaptation of a well-regarded memoir.

• Me
• Lake Mungo
• Villains
• Don't Move
• Kuroneko
• The Hazing
• Deconstructing Harry
• Aftershock: Earthquake in New York
• What Just Happened
• You Don't Know Jack

...plus 552 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

all the films streamed on the LBE Discord in my Grindhouse Theatre channel.

• Heavy Metal
• Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!
• The Girl and the Wooden Horse Torture
• House on Bare Mountain
• Bikini Summer
• Torso
• Bar-B-Que Movie
• Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers
• Barbarella
• Night of the Living Dead

...plus 67 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

everything i watched or rewatched in May

• Roar
• Eaten Alive
• Catholic
• Psycho
• Psycho Path
• The Fog of War
• A Haunted Turkish Bathhouse
• 28 Days Later
• The Idiots
• Prozac Nation

...plus 43 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

experimental, silent or anything with under a half hour run time

• A Trip to the Moon
• The Consequences of Feminism
• The Cabbage-Patch Fairy
• The Race for the Sausage
• The Cameraman's Revenge
• The Alphabet
• The Rink
• The Big Shave
• Carrots & Peas
• Geri's Game

...plus 112 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

the only thing more disastrous than the deaths are the movies themselves.

god help me. i think i hate Final Destination movies. how am i supposed to bring myself to walk into a theater and willingly sit through another one?

1. Final Destination 3
2. Final Destination
3. Final Destination 2
4. The Final Destination
5. Final Destination 5

not every movie is shot in Tinseltown! sometimes directors want a city with a cool breeze, scenic beaches, a flowing river, historic architecture and a price tag that’s as cheap a trip to the Piggly Wiggly. so welcome to Wilmington—everyone’s favorite forgotten movie city.

• Blue Velvet
• The Crow
• The Hunger Games
• The Conjuring
• Forrest Gump
• Firestarter
• Manhunter
• Maximum Overdrive
• Trick or Treat
• Weekend at Bernie's

...plus 15 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

these films own me

• Boogie Nights
• The Grand Budapest Hotel
• Grey Gardens
• The Big Lebowski
• There Will Be Blood
• The Departed
• Gangs of New York
• Blue Velvet
• The New World
• 28 Days Later

...plus 171 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

everything i watched or rewatched in April

• Night of the Dark Full Moon
• Heat
• Superstarlet A.D.
• Cocaine Cougar
• The Hunt
• Save the Last Dance For Me
• The Wild Robot
• Paprika
• The Royal Tenenbaums
• Point Break

...plus 51 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

these are all films that either directly or indirectly depict Christ watched between Good Friday and Easter 2025.

• Mary, Mother of Jesus
• The Heart of the World
• The ion of the Christ
• The Holy Mountain
• Angel's Egg
• Life of Brian
• The Last Temptation of Christ

everything i watched or rewatched in March.

• Nightmare Beach
• Badlands
• Re-Animator
• Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person
• Strawberry Mansion
• Showgirls
• His Three Daughters
• Attack of the Meth Gator
• Secretary
• Heretic

...plus 29 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

everything i watched or rewatched in February.

• Little Women
• Magnolia
• Final Destination
• My Bloody Valentine
• Crash
• Persona
• Gummo
• A Woman Under the Influence
• Infinity Pool
• Prince of Darkness

...plus 11 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

everything i watched or rewatched in January.

• Oblivion
• Body Double
• Dead Man
• Snack Shack
• The To Do List
• Kiki's Delivery Service
• Déjà Vu
• The Thin Red Line
• Interstellar
• Porco Rosso

...plus 27 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

some classics, some new stuff, but mostly mediocre straight to Netflix crap

• Europa Report
• Voyagers
• Atlas
• JUNG_E
• Skylines
• Rebel Moon – Part One: A Child of Fire
• Rebel Moon – Part Two: The Scargiver
• Code 8
• Outside the Wire
• Oxygen

...plus 62 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

everything from zombies to slashers to distressing fever dreams. 

compiled just in time to continue my spooky season marathon. 🎃 🧟 🧛 👻

• The Texas Chain Saw Massacre
• The Slumber Party Massacre
• Frankenhooker
• The Untold Story
• In a Violent Nature
• Chopping Mall
• The Prowler
• The Evil Dead
• Day of the Dead
• Evil Dead II

...plus 171 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

watched and want to watch 🎹 🎶

• A Trip to the Moon
• The Consequences of Feminism
• The Cabbage-Patch Fairy
• The Race for the Sausage
• The Cameraman's Revenge
• Battleship Potemkin
• Lot in Sodom
• Mabel's Blunder
• Metropolis
• The Birth of a Nation

...plus 22 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

my list of things i’ve watched and want to watch built
over the last month or so, but it keeps growing and i’m too lazy to keep removing the films i’ve already watched. 🐛 🦋

• Baraka
• Mommy
• Laurence Anyways
• Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call – New Orleans
• Panic Room
• Happy Together
• The Holy Mountain
• Alligator
• Smiley Face
• Renfield

...plus 656 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

taking revenge at summer camp is a Voorhees family tradition 🔪 🩸

watched between October 6th-10th, 2024 except for the Marcus Nispel reboot watched on October 13th.

1. Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter
2. Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives
3. Friday the 13th Part 2
4. Friday the 13th
5. Jason X
6. Freddy vs. Jason
7. Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood
8. Friday the 13th
9. Friday the 13th: A New Beginning
10. Friday the 13th Part III

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

the LCCCU is way deeper than you could possibly imagine… has any one actor every been in more Christmas movies?? flip on the Hallmark Channel this holiday season to binge watch these instant classics. there’s always a Christmas festival and there’s always a village and i’ve seen way more of these than i care to it.

• Christmas at Castle Hart
• A Wish for Christmas
• Mean Girls
• Haul Out the Holly
• A Royal Christmas
• Christmas in Rome
• Pride, Prejudice and Mistletoe
• The Sweetest Christmas
• A Christmas Melody
• A Merry Scottish Christmas

...plus 15 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

…crime doesn’t take a holiday 🏝️

watching with mahaloblade

• Dangerous Crossing
• Leave Her to Heaven
• Purple Noon
• The Last of Sheila
• The Swimming Pool
• Niagara
• Inferno
• Kansas City Confidential
• His Kind of Woman
• Female on the Beach

...plus 3 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

he is risen.

who was the best Jesus? Willem Defoe? Christian Bale? Jim Caviezel? or the dark horse Kenneth Colley?

• The Last Temptation of Christ
• Mary, Mother of Jesus
• The ion of the Christ
• Life of Brian

bang bang, shoot shoot

• Heat
• The Matrix
• L.A. Confidential
• Hot Fuzz
• Django Unchained
• Léon: The Professional
• Civil War
• Wind River
• Desperado
• Scarface

...plus 3 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.