Well, once again it’s the bleakest time of the year — mid-November, and Oscar season. Cold, dreary capitalism settles in as marketers and distributors ride a seemingly endless wave of red carpets and critics’ awards ceremonies that will carry them to the
In one of the most memorable scenes from “Apocalypse Now,” Marlon Brando, shrouded in shadow, hisses out (amidst other drug-fueled demagogic babblings) that “Horror has a face . . . and you must make a friend of Horror.” Brando’s Colonel Kurtz (and
There is a raging maniac urgency underneath the cucumber-cool surface of the limited-release Indie film — you know the type. We presuppose these “quiet” and “thought-provoking” and often “foreign” films to have a stable niche audience of art school students and masochistic
I am consistently mystified by the American box office — and not just those absurd moments when soul-dismemberingly bad movies retain the number-one slot for a second weekend (2008’s “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” or Nick Cage’s 2007 “Ghost Rider” — ugh). No, more
In the manner of all those pedantic jerks you’ve already been reading and despising for three weeks, I will begin by telling you what I’m not talking about. This column is not about the lovely Kate Winslet, three-time champion of Glamour Magazine’s
