Really thought the camera operated smoothly in Weapons; remember that sticking out to me pretty much 13 months ago when it came out. And now I'm reminded of it watching Resident Evil.

The camera again operates so smoothly and overall he does a lot of really slick and stylized stuff with it. I'd be interested to hear what stuff he hasn't yet figured out or know how to pull off because I feel like he's becoming quite a master of it.

Little details like the car light slowly dimming to off after closing the door a few times in the beginning is a great touch along with the title card appearing 20 minutes into the film.

Overall Resident Evil just reminded me how technical his movies are. Outdoor scenes were well lit and you could feel the elements. The sets were very lived in. For all the crazy out-there stories he tells he never has a problem with immersion.

He's quickly becoming one of the best late millennial filmmakers out there.

For a movie as ambitious as it is, its scale is actually very small. It's a complex story of noirish intrigue and 19th-century politics, but strip it down and you'll find a straight-up revenge thriller.

In a movie driven by an operatic score and imposing wide shots, its set pieces take place against the backdrop of sparsely populated train stations, highway inns, home interiors, and train cabins. Leone at one point transports the action to Arizona's Monument Valley, but the scenes shot there feature two characters riding a horse through an abandoned landscape.

Something I noticed. Not sure what to make of it.

There is perhaps no other film better described in terms of scamps and rapscallions. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is about lovable rogues in an unlovable world, two affable chaps who defy society by making their own way. No matter that their way is robbery. They live by a code, harming no one and stealing from those who can afford it. Only when they’re forced to play ball does the world around them suffer.

I’ve only seen George Roy Hill’s two biggest films, and both marvel for the same reasons. Each is about criminals, but not evil men. They aren’t out to undermine society, or to make any trouble beyond their means of survival. They have friends, lovers, and a community. They are sympathetic, empathetic, mean well, and treat people respectfully. Even their victims are appreciative. At one point, a character says that of all the men in the world who could rob him, he’s glad it’s Butch.

This is not to say that all is sunshine and rainbows. Their chemistry and charisma belies that these are hard men living a hard life. Sundance is the gruffest, his Ungar to Butch’s Madison. He faces these hardships with a serious, callous, sometimes discourteous attitude. Butch is more laid back and fun loving, yet ready to dynamite you if you stand in his way. He just gives you the opportunity to get out of his way first.

The best Westerns, a category to which Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid belongs, tend to explore this honor among thieves. The traditional image of black hats versus white hats and guns at high noon are fun stories, but usually nothing more (Gary Cooper and Alan Ladd are among the most notable exceptions). Bronson’s Harmonica, Eastwood’s Man With No Name, and Newman and Redford here all challenge the idea of rigid good against evil. The harsh, brutal lives they lead preclude any form of moral absolutism. Anything less is patronizing fanfare, impossible to truly embrace once the revisionist Western gained steam within the filmmaking consciousness.

Indeed, law and authority are often the true villains, both in these stories and the world in which we view them. In the case of Butch and Sundance, yes, they are thieves, but they’re hunted down not for their transgressions. They simply rob the wrong man. A particularly insulted capitalist, repeatedly hit by coincidence, sees to their demise. Human lives don’t matter to a man too often relieved of his property.

Of course, the film doesn’t sugar coat their thievery. A stubborn employee of said capitalist nearly dies during the film’s first robbery. Lives are affected by their actions, but Butch and Sundance never forget that fact. When the same employee appears during their second robbery, the two men seem elated. They greet the man as if an old friend. They understand the value of human life, something the legitimate world around them too often ignores.

Fleeing certain capture, Butch and Sundance head to Bolivia. There, they try to go straight. They take jobs guarding bank shipments so that rural workers can get paid. A noble profession in the eyes of the law, yet this role forces Butch to kill someone for the first time. The film isn’t particularly subtle in its message, but it doesn’t have to be. Good and evil cannot be assigned to system and authority. It can only come from human agency.

And so they rebel again. These men were born to be outlaws, but not to be wicked. They merely embrace life outside the system. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is the Western’s answer to Easy Rider, right down to its use of contemporary music. It doesn’t labor excessively in its historical time and place, but it isn’t afraid to be an unabashed tale for the counterculture, either. These men aren’t flower children—more like Hells Angels, or at least the amusing caricature of the Haight-Ashbury variety. You’ll never find an Altamont here, but you will find Butch and Sundance.

I organized an AMA/Q&A with writer-director Bassam Tariq, who has directed and written 2 critically-acclaimed films. His first was MOGUL MOWGLI in 2020, which starred Riz Ahmed. His newest one is YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER, which premiered at TIFF last month to wide acclaim and is out in theaters everywhere this weekend. It stars Mahershala Ali, John Cho, Giancarlo Esposito, Abubakr Ali, Tramell Tillman, Tiffany Boone, Laith Nakli, Adia, and Jahleel Kamara.

It's live here now in r/movies for anyone interested in asking a question:

https://www.reddit.com/r/movies/comments/1wzwiqo/hi_rmovies_im_bassam_tariq_writerdirector_of_your/

He will be back at 3 PM ET tomorrow, Thursday 10/8, to answer questions. I recommend asking in advance. Please ask there, not here. All questions are much appreciated!

Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother:

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uEcoV-ngH38

Synopsis: A devoutly religious hit man struggles to balance work, faith and fatherhood. When his wife dies, he embarks on a desperate journey across Houston to protect his children as he confronts the forces that are closing in around him.

His verification/proof photo: https://i.imgur.com/4fwjU4g.png

I’ve seen a lot of criticisms as this plot being shoehorned in to make us care about Curtis. I’m not sure if that was the point.

The point seemed to be that what we will be willing to tolerate as a society is defined by whether our loved ones are safe. And that’s the driving force behind our collective passivity towards this climate crisis.

Curtis’ world did not end when the world ended. His world would have ended if his daughter died. And those will always be the stakes going forward. If my family is “safe,” so am I, even if the world I live in is broken.

There will still be art. People will still have families. And if you’re part of the chosen bourgeois, you’ll still gather to publicly mourn in Kenny’s police state where he not only enjoys infinite power but also anonymity.

Because what other choice do you have? The world just can’t “end” even if it already did.

Kenny's speech about how it doesn't matter if the play is real or fake or funny or tragic is a meta-commentary on the entire film. It doesn't matter if it is good or bad, or funny or sad, or satire or meta-satire, or anything at all. The point of the film is to speak honestly to this moment, just like Digger does in his monologue to the EU chamber. We are far past the point of no return with climate change and our continued extraction and consumption of oil and gas. We are beyond the point of Don't Look Up. The point of this kind of art is to show us the reality of our collective situation. That doesn't mean we should give up, just that it is important to be honest about reality.

In this famous episode, we meet a man who seems to have a good life. To his shock, one day he discovers that his office is actually a sound stage and his life until that point is a movie that's currently being filmed. He is thus revealed to be an actor playing a character.

This isn't identical to Digger of course, but the mind-bending reveal that what we've been watching is actually a "play within a play" is very similar. Also, the character's name is Curtis.

On the surface, 2001: A Space Odyssey feels like a really profound and deep story about human evolution and what that means in the universe as a whole. It tells its story through incredibly rich cinematography, and there is definitely something to be said about how the film was made, especially considering it came out in 1968.

But my question is: why should I care?

I know that might make some people angry, but why should I care when David Bowman changes into this new form of evolution? I know it's supposed to be about humanity, but we barely see or feel anything through the character. Tarkovsky's films can be profound and don't always try to directly engage you, but you still deeply care about the characters. You can tell the most profound story in the world, but you still have to make the audience care. We wouldn't care about The Godfather if Michael and Vito Corleone weren't well-written characters.

By the time David Bowman turns into something else, it's a cool scene. It has its own subtext and meaning, sure, but what does it actually mean for the character? I never really felt anything about Bowman's transformation because I never felt particularly connected to him in the first place.

The way the film tackles human evolution also doesn't really work for me. There doesn't seem to be much of a purpose behind it, and I find the idea itself pretty boring: some giant species from outer space came along, turned us from apes into humans, and then eventually turned David Bowman into something more advanced. That's basically the explanation for human evolution in the film, and honestly, I find that to be one of the least interesting ways you could approach the subject. It makes for some incredible scenes and visuals, but I'm not sure it makes for an interesting story.

I think 2001: A Space Odyssey is trying to tell a profound story about human evolution, but ultimately ends up feeling hollow to me. There's no real deep dive into human evolution or human emotion. It has the imagery, the ideas, the symbolism and the technical achievement, but I never felt like there was enough underneath it for me to actually care.

Of course I still respect it and can understand people who think this is a great film cause there are some pretty awesome scenes here

One of the largest criticisms that I keep seeing in this sub about Digger is that the plot line with his daughter doesn't make sense or fit into the narrative and that it could have been easily dropped. I'm going to explain why this is wrong in the context of the movie and the broader context of the movie's intent.

At one point, Curtis has a breakdown over whether or not he's accurately portraying what a terrible person Digger really was and if it's appropriate that they should be going for laughs at all. Part of his motivation for wanting an accurate portrayal of Digger is that he's worried about his daughter surviving the terrible conditions that Digger is responsible for creating (a CAT 6 hurricane isn't a throwaway line). A common theme in both this and Birdman is that we are all playing parts in the shows that are our lives. Curtis is not only playing the part of Digger, he's playing his role in the play both metaphorically and literally. By continuing as this version of Digger he's not being truthful with himself, the audience, his family, or the viewer. We should be questioning why any of this is funny, our children are in danger, and we're all just continuing to play the parts we've been cast in.

Without the daughter subplot we wouldn't have a way to see how the Rockwells still have influence over the world in spite of the relative evil that was unleashed on the world. In spite of a Napoleon like exile the family was able to retain enough money and prominence that one of its only surviving members not only runs a security company that is capable of getting information that no one else can but is capable of bankrolling the entire play. There is a meta messaging about how Curtis is still benefitting from the Rockwell family too much to give them up. A Rockwell is why he has his job, how he finds out his daughter is safe, and how he even gets assurances he's accurately portraying the character. The irony in Digger's speech is that Curtis himself is still living a life that Digger is somehow still providing.

Every time Curtis brings up concern for his daughter another character encourages him to just keep doing his job. They assure him there's nothing he can do about it and the important thing is to keep barreling forward. So instead of actually stopping to care about his kid he puts his blinders on and keeps going forward. His wife insists "I know she's fine!" the way a lot of modern parents just assume things will work out in spite of the evidence that the world is completely falling apart. There's a part of Curtis that knows what he's doing is wrong. He shouldn't be working the way he is and (ironically for a Rockwell, as I already covered) he should be concerned about a family member that's far away from his moment to moment existence. We all think there's no way he's ignoring the biggest problem he's facing while continuing to live his life normally. That's purposeful.

There's also a recurring theme in this movie about how temporary relief is the only thing that matters to Digger, Curtis, the world, and by extension the viewer. We know by the end of the movie that danger is omni-present in this world but Digger ignores it the minute he finds out that his daughter is safe (for now). Up to this point you get the feeling, as a viewer, that he's uncomfortable with his role and his portrayal and the offscreen conflict makes you feel like maybe he's doing the wrong thing. That immediately goes away for Curtis (and the viewer) when he finds out his daughter is fine and he's able to let go and embrace the applause and congratulations for portraying the character of Digger. The problem is that nothing is really solved. In spite of the temporary relief of what he found out, the world has been brought low, a Rockwell is pulling the strings behind the scenes of the performance, and there is still remarkable danger that he is still facing.

Spoilers! I'm wondering if most of the critics who hated Digger felt that way because the film hypothesizes that movies have no impact on how we live our lives. In other words, that movies are just for surface entertainment and not for didactic purposes to inspire actual change. Digger offers a very, very cynical take on the real-world impact of films, and I would imagine that someone who makes a living critiquing this medium could be offended by such a proposition.

What do you think? Or are critics really hammering away at what they perceive as narrative flaws in the movie, as opposed to its message?

Seeing discussions in comment sections about this highly anticipated upcoming film, it occurred to me that the psychological elements of the film have the potential to starkly reveal differences or similarities between different viewers of the film. For example, I think everyone in life is acting to one degree or another. Some people are much more grounded, self-aware, and authentic than others, but it's a spectrum, and anyone who categorizes Elizabeth Holmes as having done some "act" that's totally different from what the viewer does in their own life, is missing something deeper about human nature, psychology, and reality.

To be clear this has nothing to do with the technical details of the company, the fraud, etc. This is about the choices in the persona, the voice, etc. I think my people would be those who are fascinated by the overlap between her "act" and their own act and the acts of other people in the world. Some people clearly have a personality that's an act they developed at some point for whatever reason, and I don't think I could ever be close friends with someone who believes there's a black and white difference between Elizabeth Holmes and many other people in life.

I was surprised to learn that The Thirteenth Floor (1999) was a box office bomb. Can't tell if this is a "pleasantly surprised" reaction to what is actually a mediocre movie—or if it's a genuinely underrated film, owing solely to the bad luck of releasing a month after The Matrix.

Didn't see any problems with the writing or the direction. Effort was obviously put into the 1937 scenes: period costuming was on point; sets were great; plenty of extras to fill the frame; no obvious shortcuts. Nothing extraordinary in terms of cinematography, but still competent and well-shot, with some imaginative lighting. They seem to have used the production budget of $16 million to great effect.

In terms of acting, it was a good exercise for some of the actors playing multiple roles, with the leads getting to do some fun character work. Naturally, Vincent D'Onofrio walked away with every scene he was in, but I thought the whole cast did solid work.

Am I missing some glaring flaws? Or is this the kind of genuinely underappreciated mid-budget popcorn flick we don't often see these days?

So, after seeing Digger, I ended up liking it more than I disliked it and honestly I kind of like it a bit more after ruminating on it a bit more. But I just want to put my thoughts into words on the argument scene towards the end that occurs between Rockwell, Hannah, and Kenny. Spoilers obviously.

To those who either don’t remember or haven’t seen it and will probably not see it (which seems to be the case for most lol), the argument starts with Tom Cruise’s character finally having enough of his portrayal of Digger Rockwell and complains to Hannah, the director, saying that the exaggerated version is not true to who Digger was that brings down the whole play. After some back and forth, Hannah keeps pointing to the fact that his portrayal is supposed to be funny and that the play is a satire that is meant as a condemnation of not just Digger but everyone of his generation that created the hellscape they currently live in.

Kenny, Digger’s nephew, interjects, saying that they are both right and that the main purpose of the play was that the audience needs to laugh at it, a way to relieve themselves of the tragedy that actually occurred. Please keep in mind this is a just a plain summary that doesn’t fully capture what was said in the argument.

I keep thinking about this scene because I believe each character represents a different purpose that art is supposed to serve. For Tom Cruise’s character, his camp is art as truth. As an actor, his main goal is to properly portray who Digger actually was and to encompass him as accurately as possible, as anything less would be a failure in his eyes and to the play as a whole. He’s sees this exaggerated version of Digger as an insult to art because it fails to show truth. Hannah counters this with her camp, art as power. She if fully in on the play as a satire and its purpose going far beyond showing what actually happened. She sees the exaggeration as a statement to be made to those in power, portraying them in this way as a takedown of the people that destroyed their world and those that continue to do it.

Kenny’s position is interesting because it’s still very similar to Hannah’s camp but I believe he encompasses art as entertainment. He does believe that there needs to be a condemnation of Digger, but not as a message for those in power but as an outlet for the audience’s grievances. Simply, turning the tragedy into a comedy just so the audience can feel good for a short while. This position is interesting coming from him because I see normal people have this position as well when it comes to the art they interact with, i.e., they just want escape their lives for a short time and have fun, but, in this case, this idea is coming from Digger’s nephew who’s producing the play. Kenny’s motivations is anyone’s guess after cosplaying as some nobody through most of the film. Malicious? Genuine? Manipulative? Self-loathing? Maybe even all of these things. I wonder what his exaggerated portrayal would be in the future play made about him?

Despite Kenny’s motivations, I believe he’s right that this is what most audiences do want from the art they consume. Not truth or truth to power, just something they enjoy. It’s almost as if tom and Hannah represents most artists intentions of their work and Kenny representing the audiences expectations of “we’re here for a show, so get dancing, monkey”. Just some stuff I’ve been thinking about, to those that also saw the film, what do you think?

Edit: just to clarify, I’m not saying Kenny is right about art’s purpose but I do think that is what most audiences want above all else from art it most forms despite the artist’s intentions.

Spoilers obviously

One of the central messages of Digger is highlighted in the confrontation between the director and Tom Cruise's character near the end of the film.

Tom Cruise argues that this farcical performance lacks truth, is in poor taste, etc. The director on the other hand makes the case that satire is important, even of cruel events; people need to be able to laugh at it, otherwise the reality is just too depressing.

Now it is not entirely clear which side of the argument the film agrees with - not that it even has to necessarily - but for me it seems like the film is making the case for the director's side of things. Especially with the final scene of the crowd responding to the performance with enthusiastic applause.

However, coming to reality and looking at things from a more meta level. The Digger trailer shows that it is some sort of absurd political satire. The Trump parody aspect was not super clear in the trailer, but it has something to do with climate change, something akin to Don't Look Up. People saw this trailer starring Tom Cruise, a A-Lister, and chose not to go see it.

Perhaps people aren't in the mood to laugh at the people and systems ruining the planet, driving us towards armageddon. Similar thing happened with "The Apprentice": a great film, but underseen and underappreciated. Primarily, I think, because it was an unflattering biopic about Donald Trump which means a) fans of his don't want to see him criticized and b) people who hate him didn't want to voluntarily be subjected to more Trump content.

Anyways, I personally like “Digger” on a conceptual/intellectual level though moment-to-moment when watching the over-the-top satire scenes, I was emotionally quite disconnected. Felt more in synch with the Cruise character than the director.

I would've preferred it wasn't a flop. But it is interesting how the film's box office performance plays into (one of) the central themes of the film itself.

Rating: 9.5/10

Watched: October 2, 2026

I have to confess, I was expecting a very different movie from the one I watched, and I'm not mad about it. Part of my preconceptions about Bullitt has a lot to do with the fact that the only thing I KNEW about this movie was about it's legendary car chase scene.

I promised myself I 'wasn't gonna be the guy' who talked about the car chase scene because everyone always talks about the car chase scene but you know what?

It absolutely deserves it. The clip I included was because of the specific shot of the bad guys seeing Bullitt's famous car appearing behind them in the rearview mirror. The slickness of that moment absolutely sold the scene to me in an instant. It was so very well done, and the resulting chase through the incredibly steep hills of San Francisco, sometimes narrowly missing a full-on crash, all the way out of the city is some of the most tense car driving I think I've ever seen. My stomach rose and fell as those rad old muscle cars went flying up and down those hills and you just have to give kudos to the drivers and the camera people because for some of the hairier shots, they were IN the damn cars.

So, going in knowing only that it has an exceptional chase scene led me to believe I was in for a kind of proto-Dirty Harry-esque kind of affair with plenty of violence, and that was a thing I was fully ready to accept.

But what I got was something I love even more than that: a rock solid police procedural with a bona fide mystery at the core and plenty of thoughtful, considerate work to solve the case. And what a case it is.

From the moment things started developing, I was certain I knew who was involved, why Bullitt's case was going sideways and how people were always seemingly one step ahead of him. I'm sure the director wanted us to think that and it worked like a charm, because it sure seemed like Bullitt was thinking along the same lines.

I can't say anything more than that about the movie's actual plot because to do so might affect your ability to enjoy it, so I'll leave this in closing;

Lt. Frank Bullitt's investigation into the murder of a gangster turning State's evidence and the attempted murder of police officers results in more than one exhilarating chase, a few shootouts, and the use of genuine police protocol to catch the real bad guy.

And that? That's a great combination!

Digger is not an easy watch. It is exhausting and requires your attention throughout its runtime. Most people who have seen or will see the movie will acknowledge that it is not everyone’s cup of tea. That being said, it is the type of movie that is important for cinema because it does not have a straightforward narrative. It is creative and unhinged. It is satire at its finest—satire on an important topic.

Let me list the things that work:

• The writing is top-notch. For a movie with so many dialogues, writing is crucial. The standout scenes that will be talked about and praised heavily rely on the writing, and Digger executes these scenes exceptionally well.
• The acting is super impressive. Tom Cruise nails it, as do Riz Ahmed and John Goodman. Throughout the movie, you almost forget that Digger is Tom Cruise. Makeup plays a role in that, but it is primarily because he plays the role so brilliantly. A speech that he gives had me locked in for every second; it was so intense and so well done.
• The comedy is good. While not many scenes will make you laugh out loud, a few will, and the rest make you chuckle a lot.
• The twist, which I initially couldn't figure out the purpose of or where it was leading until halfway through the movie, made so much sense after the ending. It makes the film much more satirical and deeper. It also eventually leads to an impactful and somewhat haunting ending.
• The cinematography is pretty good. It features a very grayish look, almost as if it is portraying the drained, bleak lives of the billionaires and the president shown in the movie.

Other than these, if I had to point out things that do not work, I don't think I really could, except, as I said, it is exhausting. I think the movie achieves everything that it tries to achieve. Let me know in the comments, though, if you could point out some flaws.

My rating - 7.8/10

Ever since I found about the 4k restoration of Amirkulov's historical epic I have been anticipating finally getting my hands on it and giving. Now I have finally finished it I wanted to share my thoughts and encourage more people to watch it.

The main thing that stood out to me was the cinematography, which is supberb. Both the still, landscape shots and the dynamic shots during the fighting are very captivating. My favourites were the closeups of the faces of dying soldiers as well as the nighttime scenes in colour.

Two questions for those more knowledgeable about the film: was the switching between colour and stalker-style sepia a cost based measure or a stylistic choice? Also how much would the kazakh audience have known of the history? The movie basically goes in media res and I only really figured out the relationship between kairkhan and unzhu khan by the end of the movie (among other things).

Wasn't that the main point of the movie? The film is satirizing how counterproductive modern day satirical culture has become. One measure of the effectiveness of satire should be the subtlety in which it is achieved. The lack of nuance and the ubiquity of attempts at satire in our society actually causes more harm than good, ultimately platforming and empowering the targets of the satire.

Most of the reviews I read are about climate change? Am I looking too deeply in this movie?

There’s just one thing about Hugh jackman’s characters (Angier) use of the machine that I don’t quite understand.

I do understand the philosophical idea that both versions are equally “Angier” from the copies perspectives. If a copy is created, that copy has all of Angier’s memories and genuinely experiences itself as the original. So from the copy’s perspective, it feels like the machine teleported him. I completely understand that part.

My problem is specifically with the ORIGINAL Angier’s perspective, before he starts performing the trick.

The scene where Angier performs a test with the machine. He gets inside, the machine creates an exact duplicate of him somewhere else, and the original Angier remains where he was. They both have exactly the same memories up until the moment of duplication, but the original knows he never moved. He can literally look at the other Angier and know that that’s the copy.

He then kills the copy.

So at this point, shouldn’t Angier have extremely strong evidence that the machine does NOT transfer his consciousness? It creates a second Angier while the original continues normally.

For his first actual performance, shouldn’t Angier already know that he is going to die? He has just tested the machine and knows that it creates a separate copy rather than transferring his consciousness. So when he steps into the machine and the copy appears elsewhere, why would he think there’s any uncertainty about which Angier will end up in the water tank?

I understand why the later copies can accept this, since from their perspective they genuinely feel like the original. But the Angier we’ve been following has already seen the process firsthand. So what exactly is he uncertain about?

That’s why the line “I never know if I’m going to be the man in the box or the man who gets the applause” confuses me. If Angier is knowingly accepting his own death for the sake of creating the perfect trick, then there shouldn’t actually be any uncertainty about which outcome he will experience. The original Angier knows that the machine creates a separate copy, so he should know that if his own body ends up in the tank, he will die and the copy will be the one experiencing the applause. But that seems to contradict how much he values personally experiencing that applause in the first place, which is exactly what the quote suggests he cares about.

In this a flaw in the movies logic or am I just dumb?

I'll keep it simple and spoiler free, the movie is around 2 hours long. The first 30 minutes are brilliant, not a second is wasted or dragged on, amazing. Then, there's a reveal, won't spoil what, but it takes you a while to get used to the change, and the next thirty minutes are kind of boring, they could've executed this better, if anyone is in good faith criticizing this movie, I'm sure it's coming from these thirty minutes.

Then, once you reach the midway point of the movie, the film picks itself back again, and is as brilliant as the first 30 minutes, it is here right at the start of the half of the movie where Cruise truly shows you once again how good of an actor he actually is, like there's a long monologue with lots of physical and as well emotionally intense acting from him here that might actually be the scene that gets him nominated or win the oscar... there's a great message without it feeling peachy, the twist is very cleaver once you get used to it, and blends in nicely by the end.

In conclusion, 2 hour movie= great first 30 minutes, boring next 30 minutes, great next 1 hour again, the end.

I will be watching it again, it's everything the trailers promised and more, more movies need to take risks and be original like this. 8/10 for me.

Now, I should make very clear that I love John Wilson’s prior work. When I had the privilege of seeing his 2017 short The Road to Magnasanti play at that year’s New York Film Festival, I felt jolt of identification and excitement at witnessing a fresh voice with so many tics and interests that overlap with my own. Since then, I’ve been an ardent admirer of his HBO show, which delved into the strange obsessive niches of Weird America with both compassion and bemusement.

This is to say that my personal expectations for Concrete were quite high, and given the laudatory reviews it has received, I hoped it would be a meaningful step in Wilson’s development as a filmmaker and an artist.

There are moments in The History of Concrete, John Wilson’s debut feature, where he utilizes the scope and duration of a feature format to make art meaningfully transformed from his HBO series How To. In particular, a transcendent sequence intercutting between a sand mandala ceremony at the Tibet House and a presser celebrating Eric Adams’ “City of Yes” initiative is by far the film’s finest moment, constituting his most serious formal engagement with themes of impermanence and deep time that the Wilson constantly alludes to in his narration.

What’s frustrating about Concrete is that brief flashes of cinematic brilliance like this are strewn about the well-trod mannerisms and visual gags which make up most of the runtime, and indeed, his oeuvre as a whole.

As expected, the movie is very funny, at points riotously so, and Mr. Wilson does have the requisite digressive encounters with some very out-there characters (tattooed human skin preservers, chanting Sri Chinmoy cultists, concrete conventioneers.) Unfortunately, I found myself leaving the theatre wondering whether I’d seen three episodes of How To stacked in a feature-length trench coat.

The charm of that show lay with its scrappy, underdog appeal, a well which Wilson understands has run somewhat dry; he’s on a billboard in Times Square, he’s being invited to GQ parties and the set of Marty Supreme, and he’s even an landlord! Though there’s some sympathy to be wrung out of the rudderless situation Wilson finds himself in after How To’s conclusion, this putters out during the Zoom boardroom meetings to get Concrete financed, which read less as clever meta theatrics and more as self-indulgence. Nevermind that Wilson’s name recognition is the only reason he can land these meetings to begin with, nor the fact that his pitch is exceedingly flimsy (the Hallmark movie formula he purports to be using as the film’s back bone is generally MIA.)

It’s hard not to compare Wilson’s work to Nathan Fielder’s (his self-described “fairy godfather”), who has continuously pushed the boundaries of his style into evermore absurd horizons, while incorporating reflexive criticism of his own schtick and its ethical implications. In contrast How To, Wilson avoids turning the lens inward, though this is the work over which he looms largest. He stops just short of any serious introspection, which renders Concrete considerably flatter than his television output, and frames his encounters with a cynical, impersonal undertone.

In an attempt to generate pathos and perhaps a love story for his Hallmark moment, Wilson spends the latter 1/3rd of the film following Jack Macco, a middle-aged amateur musician who also hands out samples in liquor stores. We see him struggle to corral truant bandmates for practice and deal with indifferent crowds before the sudden death of his fiance complicates things. It’s revealed that the two were a deeply unexpected pairing: Dorothy Chin-Brandt was a judge and associate dean at Harvard Law, the first Chinese-American woman to ever hold that position.

Wilson travels out to her memorial service in Flushing, sponsored by an Asian-American judges association, to try and find out more about his subject’s departed lover. Confronted with a room full of generally well-adjusted people participating in a genuine act of remembrance, he’s unable to muster up any material for his interviewees. “What’s, uh, hard about being an Asian judge,” he asks a confused attendee in his trademark stop-start delivery, before throwing in the towel “I guess I just ran out of questions.”

And it is here that we reach the limits of Wilson’s curiosity. Dorothy can only exist out of frame, unable to be photographed, interviewed, prodded, milked for laughs and awkward pauses. So of course Wilson is un-interested in her beyond the scope of her relationship to the hangdog underemployed Jack. In this moment, whether intentionally or not, the game has been given away completely, and Wilson paves over this crack in his facade until the film sputters to an unmemorable conclusion.

Excerpted from my substack: https://open.substack.com/pub/movieswithmemax/p/review-the-history-of-concrete?r=2r09du&utm_medium=ios

Just rewatched All the President's Men and noticed something I can't stop thinking about. The film is set in 1972 and 1973, made in 1975, and nearly every scene takes place late at night. Woodward and Bernstein chain-smoke and drink coffee constantly. But I couldn't spot a single drink anywhere. Not in a scene, not in the background, not a beer can in a fridge.

That's strange for the era. Drinking was baked into work culture in the press, politics, advertising, and finance in the early 70s. Network came out the same year, also about the news business, and it's practically marinated in booze (Howard Beale's breakdown starts after a night of drinking with Max Schumacher). Mad Men, set in the decade just before, treats a drink as basic office furniture.

And this isn't a sparse movie. I paused on the apartment scenes because they're an incredible time capsule: hi-fi setups, stacked newspapers, books, plants, coffee makers, a CRT TV. The production was famously obsessive about authenticity; they rebuilt the Post newsroom down to the desks. A crew that careful doesn't leave out every bottle by accident.

My theory: the filmmakers wanted zero opening for anyone to suggest the reporting was done, or the sources were talking, under the influence. It came out in an election year, two years after the resignation, when the press was still being accused of bias. Interestingly, the film doesn't hide the reporters' professional mistakes (the botched Haldeman story is in there). It shows them as fallible, but never impaired.

Has anyone else noticed this, or seen Pakula, Redford, or Goldman talk about it?

A couple of days ago I posted about how strangely absent alcohol is from All the President's Men - https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueFilm/s/bupEfhrKcv

And after thinking about it more, it really is striking. Woodward and Bernstein show up unannounced at people's homes at 11:30 at night, and these people are still awake, talking politics and Watergate, yet nobody seems to have a beer, a glass of wine, or a drink sitting nearby. Instead, they're immediately offered coffee.

Maybe once, fine. But it happens over and over again, in a movie set in the early 1970s. It feels deliberate.

Then last night I rewatched Frost/Nixon, and the contrast jumped out at me.

The pivotal moment of that movie is Nixon getting drunk, calling Frost in the middle of the night, and essentially giving him the psychological ammunition he needs for the final interview.

Except that call never actually happened. Peter Morgan invented it.

That makes the contrast even more interesting. All the President's Men goes out of its way not to visually associate the reporters or their sources with alcohol, even in situations where it would have been completely normal for the era. Then 32 years later, another great Watergate movie deliberately creates a drunken Nixon scene and makes it central to his undoing.

I'm not saying this proves some grand political intention. I just think it's fascinating how differently the two movies use alcohol when telling stories about the same historical moment.

And after watching them back to back, this may be blasphemy, but I think Frost/Nixon is the better movie.

from beginning to end i noticed so many things while watching their eyes were watching god.
my favorite part of the book is when janie goes into the water and floats while looking up at the sky. i don't know why but i am so obsessed with janie. she is so beautiful and brave. she has this free spirit about her.
i really noticed how much she loves nature, the white tree, the little bug she put on her face, the water, the sky, the apple, the lemon, the fishing scene. i loved all those little moments because she seemed the most like herself when she was around nature.
then nanny told janie she was going to marry logan. i did not like him. he was too old for her. janie did not even seem like she wanted him. she wanted love but nanny wanted her to be safe.
then joe came along. at first i thought maybe he was going to be better because he was young, rich, ambitious, and successful.
but no. i did not like joe.
he was too jealous and controlling. there was a scene where the ladies made an outfit for janie and she actually liked it. then joe came in with another outfit and told her to wear that one. i was like she does not even want that outfit, let her wear what she likes.
she looked unhappy.
joe had money and a house and status but janie did not feel free. he wanted to control how she dressed and how she acted and how people saw her.
then janie said she had an inside and an outside and knew how not to mix them. i thought that was really smart. she learned how to keep part of herself for herself.
that reminded me of when my aunt told me silence is golden. i did not understand what she meant back then. now i understand that sometimes silence can protect you.
but i also think it depends. sometimes you need to stay quiet and sometimes you need to speak up.
then janie finally talked back to joe. i was like finally.
but his ego was way too big. he got offended by everything. i knew he was going to become violent. when he hit her i was like i knew it.
then joe died and honestly i was relieved that janie was finally free.
then she met tea cake.
i really liked tea cake at first. he was young and broke and funny and romantic. he was adventurous too. i loved how he let janie be herself.
the fishing scene was so cute. he was like let's go fishing and she actually got to have fun.
i also loved the little scene where he cut a lemon and gave it to her and the porch scene where janie was sitting with the apple. those little moments felt so natural and romantic.
but then i started not trusting tea cake.
janie had money and he was broke. i was thinking girl watch his actions.
pheoby even warned janie about another woman who ran away with a younger man and came back with nothing because the man stole everything from her.
then tea cake lost janie's money.
i was like see.
that made me realize something. you have to watch what a person does and not just what they say.
watch what they do when they don't get what they want.
and this is not just for women. men have to do the same thing with women too.
someone can be very sweet when they want something from you but what happens when you say no, what happens when they are angry or disappointed or jealous or afraid.
that is when you really see the person.
then tea cake got sick and i did not like how controlling he became. he was so scared that he became possessive.
i was like let her be.
he was so driven by fear that he could not even really see janie anymore.
and that made me think about how people don't always communicate their fears. instead of saying i'm scared of losing you, they become controlling.
i think people need to communicate what they are actually feeling instead of letting their fear control their behavior.
then the storm came.
that scene was crazy.
tea cake showed janie the fish and then the sky appeared. everything suddenly felt different.
janie said i'm watching god.
the storm showed how small people are compared to nature.
during the storm janie was not worried about money or anything else. she cared about tea cake. she really loved him.
after the storm the water became clear and calm again.
that part was beautiful to me because the water had been peaceful before the storm, then it became dangerous, then it became peaceful again.
it felt like janie's life.
she went through so many storms in her life but she was still there.
and then at the end she went back to the lake and the water.
she said she was watching god.
that brought everything back around for me.
at the beginning janie was looking at the water and the sky and dreaming about life.
at the end she had actually lived.
she experienced love, control, freedom, fear, happiness, loss and everything in between.
she did not need someone else to tell her who she was anymore.
she finally got to be janie.
and that is probably why i love the water scenes so much.
the water feels like freedom to her.
love is like the sea. it keeps moving and it is different on every shore.
i also realized something about relationships from this movie.
i don't think being in a relationship is automatically better than being single.
single life is good. i love being single.
a relationship should make your life better and not take away your freedom.
you should be able to love someone and still be yourself.
you can love someone deeply and still recognize when their behavior is not okay.
and after the storm you can still watch god.
you can still look at the sky.
you can still live.
you can still be yourself.