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James White

December 18, 2015

directed by Josh Mond, 2015

James White

A stain of blood remains on a shower window after a night of debauchery, a son miles away from home tells his mother, “I love you” on the phone in a subtle register that suggests a history of tenderness and an immediate obligation of proximity between the two. The blood and the phone call can be read as mostly unrelated moments but they exist as remnants of lived-in experience rather than broad strokes, each aiding in our understanding of the protagonist’s stunted growth. Both moments also stand out as details that linger on in writer-director Josh Mond’s Sundance gem James White, a film which follows an aimless and fiery twentysomething (Christopher Abbot) working on getting his shit together as his mother deals with a serious illness. It’s a premise that veers dangerously close to eye-rolling at first glance, but Mond’s confident debut feature lends credence to the notion that proper observation and pathos can do much to transcend the face of familiarity.

Read full review at In Review Online

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Almost Arthouse #32: Goosebumps (with Sydney Taylor)

October 20, 2015

Gosling

On this episode of Almost Arthouse, host Ty Landis welcomes friend Sydney Taylor to the show to discuss the recent Goosebumps movie and some Colin Farrell dream scenarios. Please subscribe to the show on iTunes and leave us a rating as well.

Download the episode

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Blu-ray Review: My Own Private Idaho

October 12, 2015

directed by Gus Van Sant, 1991

My Own Private Idaho

To watch My Own Private Idaho (1991) is to bask in the freedom and horror of the open road and its unpredictable rhythms and patterns. Molded by an imperfect, rough conceit, writer-director Gus Van Sant’s third directorial effort stands as an obvious precursor to what the director would later tackle thematically during the late 1990s and well into the aughts. Though films such as Gerry (2002), Elephant (2003) and Last Days (2005) signify an unofficial trilogy of death, My Own Private Idaho captures Van Sant working within the revisionist road movie genre and without the clinical control seen in his aforementioned efforts; instead, Van Sant’s treatise on youth and queer culture remains delicate and empathetic, clear substitutes and early placeholders for what would come to define Van Sant’s work as it continued to evolve.

Read full review at Movie Mezzanine

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King of New York 25th Anniversary

September 23, 2015

directed by Abel Ferrara, 1990

King of New York

Released in the same year as Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas and Joel and Ethan Coen’s Miller’s Crossing, Abel Ferrara’s King of New York has shamefully slipped through the cracks when it comes to charting and discussing great early-1990s crime films. While comparing certain films in a given genre is often fun and interesting, Ferrara’s film resists such easy categorization because of its mean streak of violence, vibrant New York energy, and general disinterest in “cool” ’90s iconography. That the film has largely remained unnoticed by many among its genre contemporaries signals the unfair populist dismissal of Ferrara, a filmmaker who remains one of our most fearless American talents.

Read full essay at Movie Mezzanine

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That Sugar Film

July 31, 2015

directed by Damon Gameau, 2014

That Sugar Film

The Australian doc That Sugar Film comes ten years after Morgan Spurlock’s novel Sundance hit Super Size Me, the sobering and darkly comedic expose on the fast food industry that took audiences by storm and spurred change in regards to how high profile companies like McDonald’s portioned some of their meal options; it also charted the effect of said company’s product on the body, an experiment that now feels cheap and dated in the hands of writer-director and test subject Damon Gameau, who not only copies Spurlock’s approach to test and trial, but finds little reason to keep us intrigued.

Read full review at Sound on Sight

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Manglehorn

June 18, 2015

directed by David Gordon Green, 2014

Manglehorn

Manglehorn dabbles in the strange and peculiar, but at its core, it may be director David Gordon Green’s safest and least rewarding drama yet. The film contains weird scribbles in its margins, but the narrative is thin and contains little to chew on. A.J. Manglehorn (Al Pacino) is a grizzled locksmith and wounded soul living in small-town Texas, still aching for a woman named Clara who got away many years ago. He sends regretful letters to her like clockwork but they always find a way back to his mailbox unread. Manglehorn now spends his days cutting locks, looking after his ill cat and making kind, flirty conversation with Dawn (Holly Hunter), the friendly bank teller he visits each week.

Read full review at Sound on Sight

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Blu-ray Review: The River

April 21, 2015

directed by Jean Renoir, 1951

The River

The iconography most commonly associated with Jean Renoir’s The River (1951) can be linked, in most cases, not only to the film’s startling use of color, location, and exotic capability, but also to the immense difficulty of its production in the late forties. There also exists a proper devotion to memory, a sense of vivid recollection that concerns itself less with the politics of India, but one primarily centered on reflections of youth and how we interpret and misinterpret love. In this manner, The River, Renoir’s first color feature – shot entirely in India – is a delicate balance of simplicity and beauty, a wise coming-of-age tale that captures life’s transient nature in full effect.

Read full review at Movie Mezzanine

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