In order to comprehend Godard’s cinema, Witt claims, it’s first necessary to understand precisely how Godard defines the cinema.
While many academic monographs take a single director, time period, or genre as their field for analysis, Andrews is juggling at least half a dozen at once.
Fisher’s smart questions elicit both useful and humorous responses from Petzold throughout.
Several major university presses such as Duke, Texas, California, and Indiana continue to set the benchmark for scholarly film studies.
Brode structures the book into two parts, one dealing with politics, the other religion, with each section addressing smaller issues within brief, five-to-six-page chapters.
As story elements, the cauldron and the magical potion are almost overinvested with the history of Western literature and folklore. They stand out as props. Handling them clumsily will dissolve a horror story with staleness.
Perhaps the weakest points of the biography are McGilligan’s basic treatment of the films proper.
Throughout, Del Toro’s book obliterates repugnant notions of "high art" and "low art."
Seitz coaxes perception-altering sentiments out of Anderson by pointedly playing right into his persona of the wounded naïf intellectual.
Meeuf calls on much example-based evidence to support his claims, though the strongest arguably come from his compelling and enjoyable discussion of the difference between one-sheet posters in various nations.
The implication for Furuhata, and it seems the correct one, is that cinema “has the capacity to absorb and subsume other media forms.”
Manhattan, spring of 2001. The dotcom bubble has burst, but the Beanie Babies bubble has not.
Given that there are seven essays plus an introduction, there are seven relatively distinct, internationally significant discussions, and a high quality remains consistent throughout.
The Flamethrowers delivers on the promise of its title; it’s full of destruction, misanthropy, and wanton nihilism. Guns are constantly going off, so the pyrotechnics aren’t merely linguistic.
Whereas Elizabeth Gilbert’s bestselling memoir is a breezy, yuppie fairy tale told in the service of the ego of its author, Today Is the Last Day is bohemian and brutal and frequently reads like a traveler’s nightmare.
Longworth opens with Godfather trilogy and closes with Jack and Jill, mixing a variety of expected classics with more eccentric choices along the way.
Goldman scarcely offers any kind of negative or problematizing element, beyond the attempted suppression of Jewish-specific content from studio heads.
San Filippo’s book is rigorously theoretical and intellectual, though the work must be partially faulted for being almost completely irrespective of cinema as a medium-specific mode of expression.
The book offers numerous alternative suggestions about the trends of critical reception in film/media culture.
What was once a nasty secret became an open secret and is now common knowledge: The middle class is being squeezed, mostly downward, out of existence.