Letterboxd — Your life in film

First Almodóvar… looking forward to more.

I liked it more than Elvis. I hate to say it, but Felonious Gru has more nuance than “The King.”

There used to be a roller coaster at Cedar Point called the Mean Streak—all wooden, antiquated, rickety from the get-go, headache-inducing with no build-up or pay-off. One long annoying ride that somehow still attracted visitors, despite its all-too-literal name. That said, Elvis at next year’s Oscars: Best Sound Mixing, Best Sound Editing, Best Film Editing, Best Costume Design, Best Production Design, Best Makeup and Hair Styling, Best Actor in a Leading Role, and Best Director.

No DP announced yet for Ferrari… my fingers are crossed so hard they’re turning purple…  Lubezki… come home…

[Girl sitting next to me who is seeing Heat for the first time, obviously dragged out by her boyfriend who appears to love Heat]

*Val Kilmer’s elbow appears on screen*

“What’s up with Val Kilmer’s elbow?”

Oscillates between a stasis and dynamism both equally grounded by Lowden… what a performance. Seriously. Reeling. And built around him is a very modern framework which tells you everything at once, slowly pushing into the details and space surrounding Sassoon. Just like Davies’s camera.

I have a gallon of baby oil, who wants to play dogfight football?

Overhearing a fellow audience member gush on the phone about this movie in the park afterward (subsequent to calling a restaurant to see if they recovered his lost iPad)… “The costumes, the performances, and the way the camera moved back then—“ you said it better than me buddy!

The detective: Viggo hobbling around in Rick Owens for two hours while coughing and clearing his throat through another entry in the “fleshy noir” genre. And the culprit? Micro-plastics. Reminds me in pacing, tone, lighting, etc. of Monte Hellman’s Road to Nowhere, but with much more well-calibrated performances. By all means it shouldn’t work… but it does!

Among many other revelations catalyzed by seeing this in a theater on 35mm, the one which sticks out the most is that José Yero may be Mann’s funniest character.

Evocative of Somewhere down to the arm cast. But centered on a more precocious daughter and a more troubled father. And while Coppola’s film is stationary, Wells’s moves at a leisurely pace, shifting between formats and temporalities so as to afford the audience and character(s) a more wholistic glimpse at the past, rather than a snapshot of the present. Paul Mescal has so much hiding behind that gaze of his… which lends the whole film an air of impending unpleasantness—one which is never fully capitalized on, I think for the better. Because meditation isn’t supposed to be cathartic.

I love how Max gloms Vincent’s anecdotes throughout the course of the movie. I like to think he (romantically) re-works the line about the galaxy while on a date after the events of the film (a date that he bought flowers for).