Velvet Buzzsaw is the sort of movie first-year art students might really, really love, because they believe Gilroy. They might quote bad lines from it as though they were now in on the secrets too. When they grow up, though, they’ll realize how stupid they sounded, and how little knowledge they had.
What was it that guy who used to host America’s Top 40 used to say? “Keep reaching for the stars.” People forget, though, that he also urged caution. I believe the entire message was, “Keep reaching for the stars, but don’t be a fucking moron about it.”
I don’t understand why anyone would make movies like a bad parent feeding babies sawdust mixed with sugar: A shrug, another spoonful and reasoning, “They keep eating it.”
Tread is about the perception of heroism. It’s a uniquely Colorado story maybe only playing in theaters around here. It’s a documentary about Marv Heemeyer, the guy who built an armored bulldozer in secret and then plowed through the mountain town of Granby because he thought they town elders were treating him unfairly.
There is almost a narrative in Toy Story 4 that no matter how humble your roots are, love can elevate you. Besides the good jokes about a trashy, self-loathing spork, though, love-redeems is sort of obvious.
It ends the Star Wars saga with a dull thud, a sad and easy wrap-up, as though the whole thing had been a sitcom on the CW starring Tony Danza, and this was its last season. I’m glad it’s finally over and people can get the divorce from it they’ve needed for over three decades.
I get the sense the folks who made Ready or Not are with me. Why overcomplicate something when you don’t have to?
As it plods along, it hands out the jolts with the thriftiness of an extreme couponer giving her children allowance. Loud trucks honking horns or cats scowling are supposed to scare us. Creaking floorboards and open doors rattling in the wind are supposed to set the mood.
Peanut Butter Falcon is not like those creepy videos we used to rent. First of all, it wasn’t filmed in someone’s basement. In fact, it looks fucking fantastic, shot along North Carolina’s Outer Banks, all rusted metal, rotted wood and lapping waves.
Ho has made a pretty fucking great reminder of class divisions and of how we let the rich dehumanize us. We marvel when the wealthy rub elbows with us filthy turds. We admire the ones who stick up for our rights. We capitulate to them to make our decisions, and then are thrilled when they actually choose ones that benefit us.
