You won’t find The Birdcage among our ranks, but you will find Paul Morrissey’s Trash.
What Woody Allen is to New York, Gus Van Sant is to Portland.
The festival provides no real leitmotif or focus, leaving plenty of room for personal interpretation, and sometimes wonder.
The film is an elegy for Chris, and so it became an elegy for the youthfulness and beauty of River Phoenix himself.
To call Van Sant’s seminal film trashy or backward—or simply a “time capsule”—is to ignore the insights into gay life it still holds today.
Gus Van Sant finally crawls out from under his Béla Tarr-inspired long-take detachment and dares to explore an interior landscape in ways not seen since My Own Private Idaho.