Will the families and kiddos enjoy it? Probably. But at what cost?
Lyle is a semi mute crocodile. I say semi mute because he can sing, but that’s it. If words come out of his crocodile mouth, it’s a show tune. Whether this is canon to the extensive lore of Lyle Lyle Crocodile or simply Shawn Mendes was so bad at voice acting the studio decided to have him only sing, I am not sure. But it does beg the…
Babe: Pig in the City walked so Fury Road could run.
(Honestly, this is incredible. I can’t believe I’m barely discovering it.)
It’s hideous…and eloquent.
Not sure if there’s a quote that better captures the essence of Corman— a man with no fear and truly believed in the power of the motion picture. A Bucket of Blood feels like the treatise of Corman, what happens when art is reduced to commodification, to clout?
RIP to the Goat, Roger Corman.
Charles fucking Melton. I don’t want to reduce a movie that’s clearly crafted with so much skill to create scenes brimming with unease to a single performance, but Melton is so absurdly good that without him, I’m not sure how this movie reaches those insane harrowing levels. His body language, his mannerisms, his delivery— he is the personification of stolen innocence and your heart breaks for him.
Portman, Moore, the campy piano melody that plays after a reveal, the dressing room shot, the Portman letter monologue— all pieces of a sick and tragic puzzle that is May December.
There is no sport more intimate or erotic than tennis. It is one of the few major sports where two players agree to partake, for hours, in a duel of body, mind, and soul. Naturally, to engage with anyone that intensely, an inescapable relationship is forged— one that intensifies with every stroke, every bead of sweat, every grunt. It may not be as fleshy as boxing, but arguably the lack of contact is what makes tennis more arousing— is not…
