This week marks 29 years since the CFS was involved in an exciting foot chase at college, the circumstances of which should elicit sympathetic nods from this blog’s vast readership. Because who among you hasn’t spent a long evening drinking beer before attempting to pilfer a painted bed sheet (“Welcome Dorsey Dolls!”) hanging from a freshman dorm to use as a slipcover?
The subject of my last post called for some investigation into how films using the f-bomb are classified by the MPAA, which led to a deeper dive into the history of movie ratings. It’s actually quite fascinating.
We tend to forget that films released in the early days of the motion picture industry were pretty racy, a pushback against Victoria prudery of earlier
It seems the Conflicted Film Snob is among the smartest people on the planet. How do I know? Because a recent study found that those with “a big vocabulary of curse words [have] higher rhetorical skill, and those that can name the most swear words in one minute tend to have a greater overall vocabulary.” Thus, I’m really fucking smart.
If the advanced reviews and word-of-mouth are any indication, Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver looks poised to be a summer sleeper. For those unfamiliar with the film, the story revolves around a getaway driver with tinnitus (caused by a childhood accident), who, in order to drown out the constant ringing, listens to steady and eclectic stream of music via earbuds. Mayhem ensues. Of course, this being an Edgar Wright movie (he also
I don’t know about you, but the 1992 Kevin Costner/Whitney Houston vehicle, The Bodyguard, remains a guilty pleasure 25 years (!) on. Ably directed by Mick Jackson, the film features a reliably sturdy performance by Costner, a bunch of hit songs sung by Houston that more than compensate for her wobbly acting, a surprise appearance by Ralph Waite (Mr. Walton from The Waltons) during his late career renaissance (he also appeared in
News is spreading quickly that movie director Jonathan Demme has died to esphogeal cancer at the relatively young age of 73. Bummer. He was truly an original talent. That said, Demme’s career took a very interesting turn with the 1991 release of The Silence of the Lambs. Unfortunately, it was not necessarily a turn for the better. While this may sound a bit harsh, especially considering the poor man’s body isn’t yet cold, hear me out.
Today’s release and rhapsodic reviews of The Lost City of Z (“…a miraculous movie, at once moving, intimidating, and gorgeous to behold.” — The Atlantic) have conjured memories of Mountains of the Moon, a little-known 1990 film examining the arduous and, ultimately, contentious, search by explorers Richard Burton and John Hanning Speke for another great mystery of the Victorian age—this on the other side of the world—the source of the Nile River.
I know, I know—it’s been forever since I last posted. Seven months, actually, an absence no doubt weighing heavily on my vast¹ and vocal² readership. (¹ Thirty-eight; ² Zero comments)
But for those of you keeping vigil in my front yard, it’s time to pack up the tents, scrape the candle wax off my sidewalk, head home to your parents’ basement to once again fire up those computers. Because I just watched a favorite scene from Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation for about the 20th time and feel the need to talk about it.
Word on the street is that Mr. Polito succumbed to cancer today at age 65. You may not be familiar with the name, but Polito, with his compact build and unique voice, was a very talented and recognizable character actor. In terms of exposure, he’ll probably best be remembered for playing Det. Steve Crosetti in the first two seasons of Homicide: Life on the Street.
NOTE: A slightly different version of this post first was published at FILMINQUIRY.COM, an independent film magazine.
As a person who came of age in the 1980s, I was lucky enough to witness some incredible cultural, societal and artistic developments. The fall of the Berlin Wall, for example. Chernobyl. The wedding of Charles and Diana. Feathered mullets. David Byrne‘s big suit. The “Velvet” Revolution. Cher‘s renaissance. Perestroika. “New” Coke. Pegged jeans. MTV before it sucked. The Soviet War in Afghanistan. Pac Man. The Sony Walkman. “Just Say No.” Madonna before she got old. The Cure before Robert Smith got fat.