At The House Next Door, Keith Uhlich has a lengthy wrap-up of the Sarasota Film Festival, which he begins by contemplating the idea of falling asleep in movies. I, unfortunately, have been known to suffer from mid-festival narcolepsy––in fact, I dozed off whilst sitting next to Keith in two separate Sarasota screenings. Keith doesn’t have this problem, and he explains why: “For me, movies approximate a dream state. The basic act of watching them is invigorating, my attention focused to a finely honed point.“
What’s this? The Sex and the City movie is no longer screening at Cannes? But why? Jeff Wells has a few ideas, natch: “My guess is that the Warner Bros. handlers simply decided against the Cannes option because they didn’t want to endure a DaVinci Code-like pummeling by festival correspondents and figured London would offer more of a slurpy kiss-ass reception.”
Finally, a tossed-off bit of film criticism from Ryan Adams, embedded deep in a lengthy blog post about his sobriety: “[M]en should just wish they were shoes, but that is another story and and if you have noticed, Q.Taratino has been trying to tell it over a lot of stray bullets for quite some time…” Sic, of course.
Some movies are violent, some are disturbing, and others are just plain wrong. Paul W. S. Anderson’s Death Race is a fun ride with some gnarly crashes, but it can’t hold a candle to its demented predecessor, Roger Corman’s Death Race 2000 (1975).
Cinema’s favorite weirdo, Cripsin Glover, is taking his film across the country, personally [...]