A Brief Stab at Friday the 13th
Friday the 13th is as gelatinous as baby poop and marginally less endearing.
Friday the 13th is as gelatinous as baby poop and marginally less endearing.
A new indie coming of age film you would be unwise to dismiss as merely about sex and teenagers and monsters.
An entertaining new documentary on the king of the debunkers.
When nature takes revenge against we pesky humans, it ain’t pretty. It is rather froggy, though.
In the film ’71, as in reality, the intricacies of politics, the recognition of our neighbors’ equality in fear and fury — things such as these play soft second fiddle to keeping the blood flowing to our brains.
Did the HBO documentary catch a killer?
The director’s cut of Little Shop of Horrors is horrific indeed. In a good way. Everybody dies! Yay!
The classic doc about the plight of the American door-to-door salesman.
At least god didn’t tell me to go on a killing spree, like he tells everyone in this movie. Mass murder, hippie-Jesus, alien abduction–God Told Me To has got it all.
In which David Cronenberg’s Maps to the Stars and Sion Sono’s Why Don’t You Play in Hell? compete to see which can get cinema drunk on its own death faster.
Keep the fan boys happy, get Chris Pratt a fourth franchise to carry and provide some retroactive enjoyment to Raiders instead of taking a Phantom Menace like dump on it.
I suppose you’d have to be crazy to like Catch-22, but then if you’re crazy, who cares what you think? I guess that’s the catch.
Thoughts on two winners you’ll have forgotten won by the time you’re done reading this.
In Leviathan, we are either killed by innocence or corruption. The choice is yours.