Spitball Army

Ugh. A non-narrative visually-indecipherable “portrait” of life on a deep-sea fishing vessel. Skip this; watch Sweetgrass.

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Dreamed I walked into a coffee bar and Mary Chapin Carpenter was at the counter. She turned around, gave me a hug. She let go first.

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The bitter-old-man saga of Fame Studios founder Rick Hall threatens to dominate Muscle Shoals‘ portrait of an Alabama musical legacy.

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The Good Earth, or How Paul Muni and Luise Rainer Conceived Three Chinese Children. The other special effects were pretty cool, too.

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In the opening credits to Shane, Jack Palance is billed as Walter Jack Palance. When Shane changes from his light blue long-sleeved shirt to his buckskin frontiersman duds, you know he means business. Shane subplots: homesteaders vs. cattle baron gangs; young boy’s hero worship; gunfighter struggling to suppress his past; love triangle. I tell Mother […]

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I don’t know why I watch movies like World War Z. It was good and all, but now I need a hug.

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Spanish silent feels like a stylistic rip-off of The Artist, even though the former’d been in the works for a decade. I hated The Artist.

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Memories of a deceased mother generate reminiscences from family members with differing takes of a long-held secret.

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Tough to NOT view this pessimistic character study as an allegory for something. Or maybe it’s just an acting showcase.

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Colin Firth sleepwalks through this false-identity road movie. Something Wild told the story better, and with humor.

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