Spitball Army

The Maysles doc about Christo’s U.S./Japan installation portrays the artists’ volatility and ego as the true spectacles.

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Card is titled: “Sun Rays Through the Redwoods.”

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Corey is standing just outside the entrance to the Winn-Dixie, fanning the smoke from the multiple rib racks cooking on the grill: it’s billowing right at his face in a steady smoke-stream, but none of us, myself included, bother to mention to him that he’d have an easier time breathing if he’d only step one […]

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Errol Morris gleefully puts Donald Rumsfeld’s relentless contrarian parsing of language on infuriating display.

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And you thought fiction could be terrifying? The horror. The DC snipers’ Caprice glides roads like some angel of death.

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This might be one of the worst films I have ever endured. I can’t be bothered to tell you why.

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Card is titled: “Prometheus Fountain.”

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“Jodorowsky’s Dune” at The Edge 12, 4 May 2014

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Trying to appreciate the films of Nuri Bilge Ceylan: like seeking value in 30 MPH in the fast lane. But I’m trying.

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