All my favorite movies seem to have average ratings of 3.8.
At LAFCA in 2019, Michael Barker took me by the hand and led me through a crowded hotel auditorium, past J Lo and Bong Joon-ho, shouting “Pedro! Pedro!” so I could meet his longtime collaborator, Pedro Almodovar. I felt like a kid exiting a stadium with his father, except we’d somehow gotten onto the field and were passing hall of famers. Noah Bambauch looked especially upset by this. Anyway, Michael (understandably) assumed I was a big fan of Pedro’s, who…
Watching Tom Neal accidentally kill two people in a way that seems written to relieve him of any real wrongdoing feels silly at first. Like noirish bad luck approaching parody. That's until you learn that, in real life, Neal would go on to kill his actual wife, and provide an equally harebrained defense that denied him any real culpability.
A part of that defense included painting his deceased wife as a cruel, Ann Savage-like woman, who he had to kill…
Strange that the two most beautiful scores of all time (this and Last of the Mohicans) were written for flawed bodice rippers, where a bronzed white man in loin cloth adopts an indigenous identity. Made in back to back years, no less.
I was first exposed to each soundtrack before I can remember, and long before I saw either film. Both were in constant rotation in my (soundtrack loving) house growing up — my dad blasting them as he cooked…
You could write a book on this movie. Short of that, these reviews capture its devastating sorcery better than I can:
And this is why I love Letterboxd. To fall in love with a movie as you watch it –– silently tracking all the layers that are stirring up feelings in you (in my case, shouting ecstatically at the screen) –– and then come on here to find that someone has put beautiful words to those feelings you hadn't yet articulated...is just so fucking nice.
It's the closest thing to community I can imagine in a year without theaters.