JILL SCOTT: LOVE AND HATE

This week is quickly flowing under the bridge. Another class finishing up, too much work to do, no time to do it, and surely no damn time to write. My wife sent me an e-mail a half hour ago, told me to take a break and find the video for Jill Scott’s new song, “Hate on Me.” I did. Thanks, honey. And all that hate reminds me of her towering moment from one of last year’s best movies, Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, during which she and the Roots tear up her lovely ballad “You Love Me.” Hate and love. Yin and yang. Groucho and Harpo. No contradictions here. Now pardon me while I go fall in love with Jill Scott. I know my wife understands.


You Love Me


Hate On Me

Hey, between Shelley Duvall and Jill Scott, this is like "Faces I Love," only with audio! All right, all right, getting back to work...

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MATT ZOLLER SEITZ ON OWEN WILSON

The only piece about Owen Wilson so far that is worth your time was posted Tuesday by Matt Zoller Seitz. It’s called ”A Sunbeam in the Abyss”:

“Wilson's a good-time shaman; when he appears, you smile, because know you're about to have fun. He makes good films better and bad films tolerable. Onscreen, he's a human sunbeam. Offscreen, who knows? I don't -- and frankly… it's not my position to speculate on what demons he might have been wrestling with when this horrible incident occurred. But I will say that when I read news stories expressing incredulity that a well-liked comedic actor might be depressed enough to try to end it all, I wonder what planet these writers are from, and if they've ever spent time among the humans that populate this one.”

To paraphrase a comment I left on Matt’s site, I've talked to or rebuffed several people over the last few days who've not only asked me what I thought about the recent awful circumstances surrounding Owen Wilson (as if there's a chance I might be in favor of a suicide attempt), but also who have insisted that the whole thing is some kind of ridiculous mystery-- "Why would a guy with that much money wanna kill himself?" When it comes to depression that is profound enough to inspire such self-destructive impulses, there often is no "why," or certainly no single "why," and just because Wilson is a public figure doesn't mean that it's anyone's goddamn business even if there was. As tasteless as is the tabloid reportage of Britney and Lindsay and Paris and Nicole and Brad and Angelina and whoever else you see on the rack while in the grocery line, the scavenger reporters and paparazzi seem poised to reduce Wilson’s anguish down to the same kind of processed celebrity scandal fodder. Suicide, even the attempt thereof, ought to sell as well as sex, drugs and shaving your head, right? It would be a nice surprise if, for once, the vultures lost their taste for this meal and granted Wilson the privacy his family and friends have requested for him while he recovers. And I hope someone forwards him a copy of Matt’s piece. I can’t help but think it might help that climb out of the abyss just a little bit easier.

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THE SHELLEY DUVALL VARIETY HOUR

Next week, when I’m not so overwhelmed by the real world, I promise to submit some actual original material around here. But tonight, in the aftermath of a long study session, I found myself plugging the name of one of my favorite actresses, “Shelley Duvall,” into YouTube just to see what would come up. The first embedded clip is a somewhat corny but delightful slideshow of Duvall images set to Joni Mitchell’s “Raised on Robbery.”




Which got me wondering if her lovely number from Popeye, "He Needs Me," so effectively quoted by Paul Thomas Anderson in Punch-Drunk Love, was available anywhere. Guess what-- I found it. (Unfortunately, the embedding option was not available, so just follow the link.)

Finally, I reacquainted myself with a fine written and visual appreciation of Shelley Duvall by Eric at When Canses Were Classeled that was published in the days just before Altman received his honorary Oscar.

If you love Shelley like I do, enjoy.

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CRITIC'S PRESCRIPTION FOR AILING HOLLYWOOD

Think about this for a second. Off the top of your head, what was the last great sex scene in a major American film that you recall seeing? I heard someone in the back of the room say The Dreamers. But remember, I said American movie. Hmm… thinking… thinking… Could it have been—No, Swimming Pool was French. Uhhh… No. It can’t be Team America: World Police, can it? Can the last great sex scene from an American movie really be a raunchy parody featuring puppets banging away at each other in ever-increasing geometrically challenging positions? I hope not.

Well, Jim Emerson, he of the essential hub of Internet film criticism known as Scanners, has composed an open letter to “Hollywood” detailing a litany of excellent suggestions to combat what has been ailing “the studio risk-management -- er, movie – business” these days. At the top of the list? Skin, and the artful application thereof. Here’s Jim:

“What's wrong with some graphic nudity? Those gory physical effects are really convincing (most of the comic-book CGI stuff noticeably less so), but why do adults in Hollywood movies still behave as if they're on The Dick Van Dyke Show?... Do you know people who pop out of bed after sex sporting underwear? Who's in such a blasted hurry to get dressed?”

And just so you know that Jim isn’t just all about the unleashed libido, he has some thoughts on other avenues of blockbuster business as well:

“Despite whatever the latter Alien, Matrix and Pirates of the Caribbean sequels may have grossed, they cost you a lot in consumer confidence and goodwill. It's nice to have trilogies or tetralogies for DVD box sets, because you get to charge for an extra disc or two that nobody's going to watch -- like Jaws 3-D, Alien vs. Predator or Matrix Revolutions. But you know a lot of people feel ripped off by the final installment or two of a series. I know it's an alien concept, but whatever happened to the showbiz tradition of leaving 'em wanting more?”

Read the whole missive, entitled “Letter to Hollywood—Fixing Your Flops,” and see if you don’t agree with good Dr. Emerson’s prescription. And, Hollywood, though this is a complete examination, there really is no need to bend over. In fact, if I’m interpreting Dr. Emerson correctly, these measures should help your posture straighten up immensely.

And after you’ve finished Jim’s piece, can anyone answer the question this all started off with? What was the last great sex scene to come from an American film?

(Thanks to Kim for pointing me to Jim’s letter first!)

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"WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE SUPERBAD?"

A Superbad junket interview featuring Jonah Hill and Michael Cera melts down when a snotty British interviewer brings out the shiv. Pretty hilarious stuff, and I would imagine not too far removed from reality. Turn it down at work, though—it’s rated “R.”

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THE SLIFR FORUM: SUMMER 2007 FEEDBACK

If things have seemed a little quiet here on the SLIFR ranch this past week, it's not because they were anywhere near quiet in other worlds, both real and virtual. Perturbing events raised their head in the blogosphere last week, and they've inspired tough questions for those directly involved in those events, as well as those of us who are trying to bring a modicum of seriousness to what we do here with film writing in this still-new format. I was more than just a little depressed as I turned all this over in my noggin over the weekend. And then I clicked on Jim Emerson's post "The Stepford Critics", which I didn't see until tonight. Jim posted it on Friday night, right about the time a friend and I were draining an unsuspecting diner of their Diet Coke supply and hashing over this issue and many others during a lovely three and a half-hour sit-down, the likes of which I hardly ever get to enjoy these days. The sit-down cheered me up immensely, and Jim's post, and the excellent comments that follow, hit me like a cold drink of water at the end of a dry, dusty day. I urge everyone to please head on over there, read it and chime in. I promise I will too, Jim.

Speaking of cheering up, I got another shout-out this week on The Hucklebug, a very funny podcast hosted by SLIFR reader and blogger Stennie and her jovial compadre Bet. I'm relatively new to the joys of podcasting, but I love listening to these two chat their way through their very loosely formatted show every week. As I wrote to them on the Hucklebug Web site, "I’ve always gotten a kick out of listening to conversations like the ones you guys have, where I feel like I’m an outsider, yet I understand enough to keep me engaged. (There aren’t so many in-refernces that I feel shut out, or that I couldn’t become familiar with after an episode or two more of listening in.) It’s like eavesdropping in a place where you’re welcome. (I love movies like this too, where you know there’s important stuff on the sidelines or outside the margins, but you have to work to find it or draw conclusions without it-- this is why I like Altman.) And I really enjoy the pleasure you two take in each other’s company. That’s something that can’t be faked." If you find yourself with an idle hour, do check out the chat on The Hucklebug. You may find yourself hooked... like me. (And when you do, tell me if Stennie doesn't sound like a certain Oscar-winning actress with a new movie about to come out in the next couple of weeks...)

Finally, as the last week of August comes shuffling in, I was thinking about the summer movie season and how relatively few big blockbusters I saw this year. I just could not muster up the energy to see many of the big three-quels-- Spider-Man 3 and Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End and I remain unacquainted. (I did see Shrek the Third-- twice-- but I'm a father of two who likes to take his kids to the drive-in, so I would like to claim mitigating circumstances, right alongside claims of bad judgment.) I also skipped Transformers (though if it showed on a tasty double bill at a drive-in, I could easily be convinced to give it a look) and the new Harry Potter picture, only because I haven't yet seen number 4. The Bourne Ultimatum has to be the summer's biggest disappointment, based on the anticipation-to-rewards ratio. I did see Ocean's Thirteen and thought it was pretty keen, though less engaging than Eleven (I find Ellen Barkin in full sex kitten mode hard to resist, though.) Live Free and Die Hard and The Simpsons Movie were delightful, the former in a very unexpected way-- it was really funny!-- and the latter in a very expected way-- it was really funny! Knocked Up was just about as wonderful as I had presumed it would be-- but I was unprepared for how painful it was as well. On the short list of minor surprises would be Vacancy, 1408 and Hostel Part II. I would term Hot Fuzz a mild disappointment, but I have to admit that I was VERY tired the night I saw it, so its recent appearance on DVD should be one I gravitate to pretty quickly.

But as August wound down this weekend, the movies that topped my summer list were an eclectic bunch, emblematic of the things summer movies can and should do best, but so often do not-- thrill us with the sheer audacity of their command of craft, of character, of their desire to entertain us by keepng us company with vibrant, surprising characters and rich, subtle, sometimes shaggy craft. And one of them was a freakism, a reminder that oddities do float around the perimeters of the so-called popcorn season, as they used to in the less demographically dominated dog days, and sometimes people will go to see them (even if they have to get duped into doing it).

My best movies of summer list, in ascending order:

4) BUG William Friedkin's startlingly effective psychodrama dares to cross the line from relative sanity to unabated madness right along with the lead characters, played by Ashley Judd and Michael Shannon. It's Friedkin's most unhinged, balls-out movie in decades, and Judd never shies away from the possibility that she'll be misunderstood or look foolish-- hers is a brave, brilliant portrait of the thin veneer that separates the appearance of normalcy from paranoid tragedy.

3) HAIRSPRAY For sheer joy, happiness and unerring ability to strip away every one of my preconceptions, Hairspray has every other movie I've seen this year beat in a walk, or a twist.

2) RATATOUILLE Pixar rebounds from the relative disappointment of Cars with another thrilling technical achievement wed to the ever more prodigious and full-bodied storytelling mastery of writer-director Brad Bird, who, with The Iron Giant, The Incredibles and now this family-friendly consideration of what it is to be an artist, is fast approaching national treasure status.

1) SUPERBAD Hairspray defeated my resistance. Superbad not only fulfilled my expectations, but easily surpassed them. This mind-bogglingly profane paean to the penis, and the unexpectedly tender ties between two high school guys who happen to sport 'em and obsess over 'em, reaches the rarefied air where Freaks and Geeks once reigned. Director Greg Mottola transcends the teen movie comedy with ease and a subtle, surprisingly tender hand, as one night in search of booze and babes spirals off into giddy comic highs and emotional grace. And the funk soundtrack! As a friend of mine simply stated in a one-word e-mail to me about this movie, brilliant.

What are your thoughts on the summer movie season? Any big surprises? Any disappointments? And is there anything on the horizon that looks to shake up your expectations and pull you away from that ever-growing stack of DVDs that you haven't gotten a chance to see yet? I have every reason to believe that, as schoolwork comes to a head this week that things on the SLIFR ranch may be as quiet again this week as they were last, so I invite you to pop in a check in with your thoughts. What about the state of internet film criticism? Are the Stepford Critics taking over? What about the Hucklebug? And feel free to log in on the Summer of 2007 in the SLIFR Forum too. What did the movies do for you besides provide reliable air conditioning and overpriced M&Ms from June through August?

FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE: Getting to a List of the Best Non-English Language Films

Here we go again. It seems there is a group of about 51 bloggers, writers, critics who have decided to give the whole list thing another shot. This time organized by Edward Copeland, the group was asked to compile a non-ranked list of 25 favorite foreign-language films (not best, not all-time anything) in an attempt to come up with a large list, filled with a nice mix of, as Campaspe put it, “warhorses, interesting recent choices and a smattering of wild cards,” from which a final list would be composed. Confesses Edward:

“I see now why lists can sometimes cause such headaches. We had to decide things such as whether Sergio Leone's spaghetti Westerns were eligible (We decided no, since most people are only familiar with the English dubbed version and the American actors didn't speak in Italian.)… I also originally planned to have the eligible list consist of films that made at least 5% of all ballots, but soon realized that that would make pretty much every film that got at least one vote eligible, so I opted instead for films that appeared on at least three ballots.”

The only real criteria that the voting committee were held to, other than the requirement that the dialogue be in a foreign language, was the length of the film (features only, no shorts, and no documentaries—there went my vote for Tokyo Olympiad) and that it be released no more recently than 2002 (there went my vote for Goodbye, Dragon Inn). Otherwise, each voter came to her/his final 25 by any means necessary. Some voted for the foreign language films they had seen more than any others. Some declined to vote for films in a series (Kieslowski’s Three Colors trilogy, for example). Some held themselves to one film per director. And most voted for personal favorites over the recognized canonical films, unless, of course, those canonized works were their personal favorites.


When Edward had finally finished doing the heavy lifting last night, 122 films shook out of all those lists of nominees, 122 films that garnered at least three qualifying votes. I was somewhat surprised that, of the 25 I submitted on my original list, 16 actually showed up on that list of 122. However, for me the single most agonizing thing about looking at the lists of nominees I’ve seen, as well as the final list, is the sound of “D’oh!” that rattles in my skull when I’m reminded of a title that I wish I’d remembered but somehow didn’t. How could I have forgotten Roman Polanski’s Repulsion? Or Chris Marker’s Sans Soleil? (It was determined not to be enough of a documentary, I guess, to qualify.) Or George Sluzier’s The Vanishing? And I held back a vote for Suspiria based on the fact that I’d only seen the version that featured English language dubbing.

Other than those titles, though, the thing that is both exciting and embarrassing about participating in this enterprise is facing up to the block of Swiss cheese that is my experience with the history of films that originated in countries that aren’t primarily English-speaking. But rather than run from that, I decided that an essential element of taking part in this exercise, which has so far being enlightening as well as a ton of fun, would be to discover just how lacking I am when it comes to movies that are revered by others that I have not yet, for whatever reason, allowed myself to experience. (And yes, it is “allowed” these days, because most, if not all of the titles in contention are available on DVD.) But it’s not all about the gaps in knowledge—contributing to the list and sorting through also served, as it did for Jim Emerson and Jonathan Lapper and probably everyone, to one degree or other, to jog titles loose, some of which have languished in the memory for 25 or 30 years, and whet the desire to give them a fresh look (at the top of this list: Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, the Wrath of God and Wim Wenders’ Kings of the Road). And the fun has only begun—I was moved enough by Jim’s passion for Le Boucher that I ordered it sight unseen off of a Best Buy card I just got for my birthday. My mind is spinning at the seemingly endless list of films I have yet to see.

What follows then is a series of lists, all connected to Edward’s Foreign Language Film project. First, my own list, submitted for inclusion as part of the compilation of what became the List of 121:


* Amarcord (1974; Federico Fellini; Italy)
* Au Hasard, Balthasar (1966; Robert Bresson; France, Sweden)
* Beauty and the Beast (1946; Jean Cocteau; France)
* Belle de Jour (1966; Luis Bunuel; France, Italy)
Death in Venice (1971; Luchino Visconti; Italy)
* The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972; Luis Bunuel; France)
Fellini Roma (1972; Federico Fellini; Italy)
Going Places (1974; Bertrand Blier; France)
* Ikiru (1952; Akira Kurosawa; Japan)
* In the Mood for Love (1999; Wong Kar-wai; Hong Kong, France)
In the Realm of the Senses (1976; Nagisa Oshima; Japan, France)
Kiki's Delivery Service (1989; Hayao Miyazaki; Japan)
La Cage aux Folles II (1980; Edouard Molinaro; France)
* M (1931; Fritz Lang; Germany)
Matador (1986; Pedro Almodovar; Spain)
* Nights of Cabiria (1957; Federico Fellini; Italy)
* Open City (1946; Roberto Rossellini; Italy)
* Pierrot le Fou (1965; Jean-Luc Godard; France, Italy)
Project A Part 2 (1987; Jackie Chan; Hong Kong)
* The Rules of the Game (1939; Jean Renoir; France)
* Seven Samurai (1954; Akira Kurosawa; Japan)
* Sonatine (1994; Takeshi Kitano; Japan)
* Tampopo (1986; Juzo Itami; Japan)
* Tokyo Story (1953; Yasujiro Ozu; Japan)
* Woman in the Dunes (1964; Hiroshi Teshigahara; Japan)

• denotes the titles that made it onto the List of 121

I think I was initially a bit surprised at how heavily the Japanese weighed in on my list, but that surprised waned when I looked at the titles, which are all essential movies for me. Even more surprising was the fact that I found room for three Fellini films, including one (Roma) that has stuck in my craw with far more insistence than I ever expected it would. Had I remembered Repulsion and Sans Soleil, however, it would have meant ciao to Fellini’s remembrance of the big city, as well as to Almodovar’s perversely delightful Matador. And before I get too many comments on the order of “What the fuck is La Cage aux Folles II doing in there?” let me explain that I think the late Michel Serrault’s brilliance in this picture has yet to be truly measured, due to the fact that it’s contained in what can only be described as a routine, programmatic sequel. But even within that starched plot, when Albin and Renato (Ugo Tognazzi) head for the Italian hills to escape from a bunch of hoods (doesn’t matter why), and Albin, living in luxury dressed as a female in France, is faced with the reality of an Italian peasant woman’s existence, and how Renato is exalted merely because his gender, it occasions a bolt of seriocomic empathy for him, and for the audience, that lifts Serrault’s already heavenly portrayal into even headier territory.

No, I was not surprised that La Cage aux Folles II did not make the cut. But in the spirit of creating as idiosyncratic a list as possible, and thereby creating a list that would inspire those of us who worked on it as well as those who might read it, I felt like it was a vote worth casting. Otherwise, my own list, while by no means even close to comprehensive (I forced myself to leave off The Seventh Seal, The Leopard, Breathless and a dozen other film-school friendly titles out of sheer familiarity and, and I said before, it’d just been too long since I’d seen some of them), strikes me as one of many reasonable places to start down the road toward appreciating the non-English language cinema.

And now, Monty, the I Confess portion of our program. Here are the titles that made the list of 122 that I have not seen. (Draw whatever conclusions about me based on this information that you will.)

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul
Amores Perros
Andrei Rublev
Army of Shadows
Ashes and Diamonds
Band of Outsiders
The Battle of Algiers
The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant
Black Orpheus
Celine and Julie Go Boating
City of God
Cleo From 5 to 7
Come and See
The Conformist
The Cranes Are Flying
Cries and Whispers
Day of Wrath
The Decalogue
The Earrings of Madame De...
Exterminating Angel
Eyes Without a Face
Forbidden Games
The 400 Blows
The Gospel According to St. Matthew
The Great Silence
Jules and Jim
La Dolce Vita
L'Atalante
Late Spring
Le Samourai
Lola Montes
The Marriage of Maria Braun
Masculin-Feminin
My Night at Maud's
Ordet
Orpheus
Pickpocket
Playtime
Raise the Red Lantern
Rififi
Rocco and His Brothers
Sansho the Bailiff
Satantango
Stolen Kisses
Story of the Late Chrysanthemums
The Tin Drum
To Live
Umberto D
The Wages of Fear
Wild Strawberries
Yi Yi: A One and a Two

That’s 51 movies! Jesus, it’s clear enough to me that I need to take about six months off and do some serious studying. Just at first glance, it seems that my experience with Truffaut’s films is the one most lacking, but really, it’s painful to look at any of those titles and think of the wonders I’ve so far denied myself. And in the case of Army of Shadows, The Conformist, The Decalogue and Pickpocket, these are movies that are sitting on my own DVD shelf—I have yet to make time for any of them.

And then there’s the list of movies I would, if I could, cherry-pick right off the list and flick to the wayside:

All About My Mother (not top drawer Almodovar, in my book)
Amelie (I’m not a hater, but really…)
Chungking Express (the movie that kept me at arm’s length from Wong Kar-wai for 10 years, and nearly ruined California Dreamin’ for me too)
Cinema Paradiso (I’m this movie’s prime demographic, and even I thought it was too much)
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (A movie I love, but I had no problem leaving it off my list)
Das Boot (another one I like, but consider wildly overrated)
Dersu Uzala (This appealed to me as a college student more than some of Kurosawa’s other titles—20 years later, it seemed soggy and obvious)
8 ½ (I need to see this again, but I’ve remained unconvinced for a long time)
Farewell My Concubine (I honestly barely even remember this movie, outside of Gong Li)
Last Year at Marienbad (This movie was absolutely forbidding to me when I saw it in college; I need to see it again)
Nosferatu the Vampyre (I liked this movie, but I would have rather voted for Murnau)
The Red Desert (Antonioni begins to run awfully dry for me here)
Run Lola Run (I said this when it landed on the OFC Top 100—Whaaaat?!!)
Seven Beauties (I loved this in college, but I suspect I would think it was a piece of shit now—a good candidate for re-viewing!)
Y Tu Mama Tambien (I just don’t get it…)

And just in case the taste for masochism is getting as good for you as it is for me, here’s 20 other foreign-language films that I haven’t seen, that didn’t make the list, that I would love to see right now, in the order they came floating off the top of my head:

Shoeshine (Vittorio De Sica)
The Truck (Marguerite Duras)
Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quoi du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (Chantal Akerman)
Strozsek (Werner Herzog)
Floating Weeds (Yasujiro Ozu)
Lola Montes (Max Ophuls)
The River (Jean Renoir)
French Cancan (Jean Renoir)
Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
Berlin Alexanderplatz (Rainer Werner Fassbinder)
Confidentially Yours (Francois Truffaut)
Murmur of the Heart (Louis Malle)
Vivre sa vie (Jean-Luc Godard)
La Terra Trema (Luchino Visconti)
Police (Maurice Pialat)
Shame (Ingmar Bergman)
La Femme infidele (Claude Chabrol)
Femmes fatales (Bertrand Blier)
The Night of the Shooting Stars (Paolo and Vittorio Taviani)
Pepe le Moko (Julien Duvivier)

Okay, quite enough masochism from me. Here’s list of 122 nominees that you and I will be choosing from. If you want to cast your vote, choose 25 of the titles from the List of 122 and send them to copesurvey@yahoo.com before midnight CST, Sunday, September 16.

Be sure to check out the names that made up the nominating committee. And if you have a list of your own 25 and are looking for a place to post it, Jim Emerson is taking submissions, and please feel free to deposit them below for further discussion and fun!

Remember, the deadline is Sunday, September 16, midnight CST!

CINEBEATS on PINKY VIOLENCE (and Jeff?)

O Lord, the hour is late and my eyeballs need proppin' open like those of Alex de Large. But I have to stay up just long enough to advise to you click (not run, neither walk) on over to Cinebeats where Professor Lindbergs has got a fascinating class in session right now on the rich significance of porn-derived Japanese genre films called Pinky Violence. Kimberly's wide-ranging appreciation for the subject thrusts and parries into not only a compulsively readable history of an ignored genre, but into a consideration of the nature of film criticism, particularly that branch concerned with the accepted canon of Japanese filmakers. If you're like me, this may be a whole new wrinkle in Japanese cinema to explore. And the wonderful thing is, Kimberly is the best guide to have along on a journey like this-- she combines encyclopedic knowledge with a fan's boundless enthusiasm and a seriousness of intent that is positively inspiring. My go-go boot clad colleague has distinguished herself in a big way with this blog and carved out some very fresh, charged-up territory in the process. She stopped posting for an extended period a while back, and my sidebar honestly seemed a footcandle or two dimmer for the duration. But she's back, baby, and stronger than ever. If you haven't yet acquainted yourself with Cinebeats, there can be no excuse for further deprivation. Bring yourself and your opinions too-- as it is on the best sites, assent and dissent are always welcomed as long as they are accompanied by civilty, a way with words and, of course, a true passion for film of all genres and classifications. I am seriously going to try to spend the weekend doing nothing that cannot be classified as leisure-time activity, and Cinebeats' latest brilliant post (and the equally detailed and informative comments, into which I intend to jump cannonball-style) are destined to be the centerpiece of my golden hours. Treat yourself right and do the same.

Rica kicks it old school-- and class is in session at Cinebeats!

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THE SLIFR FORUM: CRITICS ON CRITICS

CRITICS ON CRITICS:
David Hudson and Green Cine Daily have provided a link to the latest salvo launched in the aftermath of Jonathan Rosenbaum’s controversial New York Times op-ed piece regarding the relevance of Ingmar Bergman to modern film audiences. It’s Entertainment Weekly’s Owen Gleiberman on “The Moment I ̵