The power of the film is the endurance of an Elvis Presley song (or two), the staying power of a children’s movie, and the sight and sound of a match being struck.
They’re also unassailable in their perfection, and could easily fall at the top of any all-time best list arrived at by consensus.
From a child murderer to a furry monster to two more Stone creations, they comprise a choice selection of scoundrels.
Dominik mines an altogether different vein, worlds apart from the mournful, meditative, Malickian The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.
Can film as a medium communicate the unthinkable and unknowable consequences of mass tragedy?
What is normal, really?
David Lynch is a filmmaker who has haunted my mind since the first moment I saw one of his films.
Some may complain that his work is too esoteric, but it’s unsettling, because it it’s more familiar than we’d like to admit.