US one sheet for INHERENT VICE (Paul Thomas Anderson, USA, 2014)
Poster source: mubiblog
ICYMI: The first trailer for Michael Mann’s Blackhat.
Antony & The Johnsons covering Dylan in a trailer for Michael Mann? Oh, yea, I’m into that. Also, please, dear God of action thrillers, let this be mainstream packaging as far as the “story” goes… Though, as we know by now with Mann, he’s always at odds with story, and it doesn’t matter to him as much as texture, speed, and dying light; ie, story is an excuse to design set pieces, which let’s him play with his toys to make moving images.
"I finally got tired of other people directing and me writing, so I went to see a movie every night for six months. And if I thought the movie was worth studying I saw it twice that same night until I felt that I knew enough to direct. I learned right in the beginning from Jack Ford, and I learned what not to do by watching Cecil B. De MIlle."
- Howard Hawks on becoming a director
pleased to finally announce that my film Hit 2 Pass will premiere in international competition at the 12th edition of doclisboa.
"The best MacGuffin film since Hitchcock!" — RWK
Seriously one of the most subterranean of all Rivette’s work, despite looking like an everyday film, because everything hides something or somebody else. A fountain of inspiration as far as writing and directing goes. Probably even moreso than Celine & Julie, if I’m honest with myself, because I love mysteries and theatre maybe more than magic and theatre, but then, making this into a false binary is as dumb as it comes.
Leo is lost, searching for north. He’s hungry for answers, and he’s on fire.
Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go and leave you all alone
I got a bad desire
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things I don’t do
I can take you higher
Oh-oh-oh, I’m On Fire I’m on fire
Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife baby
Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
Through the middle of my soul
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the
Middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
Oh-oh-oh, I’m on fire
Belly, Hype Williams, 1998
Aesthetics aren’t everything, sure, but this movie is a great test for its audience to get beyond the make-believe, beyond the far too common (and commonplace) expectations of realism, to really think about what’s at stake for the artists making it. Whether or not something is “good” or “bad” matters less and less to me, especially performances, because every film is a documentary of some kind, and in this film in particular it’s fascinating to watch the levels of artifice overlay towards pure plasticity, pure metaphysics, where asking it to do anything “real” is useless. Or, what’s “real” is a useless question—for all movies, in fact, as, no matter how much documentary goes into them they remain constructions (of thought). The things that are real in Belly are its ideas of transcendence, which is as American as it gets, and Africa as an ideal, always off screen and constantly talked about, as a uniquely specific elsewhere of promise for African Americans like the ones herein. After all, the movie starts in blacklight violence (the underbelly) and ends with Times Square confetti drifting nowhere but out, up, away from here, away from now.
[Some of my friends got to see the film on 35mm at BAM last night, and it prompted my own, private rewatch/reevaluation.]