I was six, going on seven for most of 2000. The millennium is a mystery to me. My best recollection consists of a redheaded pizza delivery boy sulking into a suicide booth only to reappear amid floating cars and chrome sheen. That year implies, however, something else—Dude, Where’s My Car? (2000)—a stoner comedy featuring Ashton Kutcher and Seann William Scott. I could barely play computer games at the time. But the title stuck in mind, and, like its main characters,... Read more
Confession: the only Sofia Coppola movie I’d seen until last week was The Bling Ring (2013). Confession: I didn’t care for The Bling Ring. Confession: of the three Coppola joints set before me in the last week—her best-known films from The Virgin Suicides (1998) through the subject of this essay—only one resonated. One spoke to me, cried out and found a listening ear. The phrase? Let them eat cake! I remember when Marie Antoinette (2006) came out, and I was... Read more
For those not in the know, If Footmen Tire you, What Will Horses Do? (1971) is a miraculous historical survival. Directed by an exploitation filmmaker turned evangelical Christian, Ron Ormond, the movie nearly disappeared forever. Only in 2018 did experts clean up an old copy. Ormond worked with aptly named fundamentalist Baptist preacher Estes W. Pirkle to produce one of the minister’s sermons. Their collaboration produced a singular work of art. Dead children, communists telling kids to pray to Fidel... Read more
The way I see it, there are four ways to explain my reaction to Celine Song’s sophomore effort, Materialists (2025): It is trying to “do something” and fails miserably. It is not trying to “do something” and fails miserably. I am a tasteless fraud so singularly out of step with the very concept of art that I should bury myself alive. It’s not for me. 3) is out for personal reasons. 4) seems possible, though, if it is “for someone,”... Read more
With thanks to J.G. Michel, host of the Parallax Views podcast, I have been taking in the films of Adam Rifkin. Rifkin strikes me as the rare journeyman-auteur hybrid. His filmography looks like a Jackson Pollack, covering everything from Charlie Sheen-narrated sororial dramas to sex-laden slashers and comedies starring wrestlers. Almost all “trash” by typical, middlebrow standards but always rich in canted angles and pitch perfect cuts. He does it all, it seems, for studios. Maybe for the money. But... Read more
If Final Destination Bloodlines (2025) can bear an explication de texte, I am not the man for it. At least not right now, not at this point in my life. I have no doubt that an interested party could speak to its brilliant uses of CGI and its subversion of tropes implied by its formal and generic shapes. In the distance, I think I even see the explication breaking through, its shell giving way to reveal more socially attuned analysis.... Read more
Late to the game as usual, I caught Ryan Coogler’s Sinners (2025) yesterday. It’s already had a monthlong run in theaters. While internet cinephiles have tussled over the film’s effectiveness, audiences are enamored. Sinners has pulled in over three times its budget and seems poised to be among the most successful genre experiments of the last decade. Coogler may be a superhero director, but here he helps the limping film industry find its way out of a failing formula. And... Read more
Based on a popular novel of the same name, director Eli Craig’s Clown in a Cornfield (2025) promises fun. To riff on the immortal Dr. Steve Brule: you’ve got corn. You’ve got clowns. What more could a person want? Craig’s picture does indeed supply both cornfields and an army of killer clowns wielding everything from shovels and chainsaws to crossbows and hangman’s nooses. This combination should make for a rip-roaring good time. In fits and starts, it does. But I... Read more
Becoming a young cinephile in the aughts and early 2010s meant seeking out Larry Clark’s Kids (1995). Its writer, Harmony Korine, had gone on to disgust and inspire a generation raised on LiveLeak and the Pain Olympics. Rumored to be the uncut product of his young genius, Kids offered access to reality, an authenticity edited away even on scandal-obsessed daytime TV. Even then, it reeked of indie, of a world bygone, if only because I never would’ve been cool enough... Read more
Or maybe you should? It’s hard to say. At only 1.5k logs on Letterboxd, Tamra Davis’ Skipped Parts (2000) languishes in the great DVD Library of Alexandria, preserved but seldom and ill seen. Few movies have ever had the same effect on me. It’s a mummy, a statue of the Buddha from Edo Period Japan, an invitation to CBGBs printed on crumbled, thin paper. Skipped Parts is a relic of a society bygone. That’s why I must recommend it—for professional... Read more
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