Home

  • Criterion Revists Oscar’s Past with New Releases of PAPER MOON and THE GRIFTERS

    Criterion Revists Oscar’s Past with New Releases of PAPER MOON and THE GRIFTERS

    “Maybe I like where I am.”

    Any time of year would be perfect for checking out both Paper Moon and The Grifters. However, since this is the time of year when folks love going back over the past films of Oscar’s history, not to mention that both have been given stunning re-issues from Criterion recently, there is no better time than the present for a rewatch. Few directors could indeed claim a better trifecta than Peter Bogdanovich’s early 70s run of The Last Picture Show, What’s Up, Doc?, and Paper Moon, with each one being rightfully labeled a true masterpiece. Meanwhile, the ever-mysterious crime drama The Grifters brought the mystery and seduction of film noir into the 90s, ushering in a resurgence for the genre that would last throughout the decade and becoming one of the ultimate examples of neo-noir.

    Paper Moon 

    In Bogdanovich’s Paper Moon, a scheming bible salesman named Moses (Ryan O’Neal) is involuntarily tasked with delivering the newly-orphaned 9-year-old Addie (Tatum O’Neal) to her surviving relatives, picking up a fortune hunter named Trixie (Madeline Kahn) along the way, and becoming an unlikely duo in the process.

    Bogdanovich’s film does right by the era it takes place in with the depression-era Dust Bowl setting coming through in every shot of Paper Moon, especially in the various characters that Addie and Moses encounter. Although a wonderfully dialogue-driven experience, Paper Moon is rich with memorable action-driven sequences. The elaborate prank that Addie and her young accomplice Imogene (P.J. Johnson) play on Moses and Trixie is perfectly pitched, as is the escape from the police that Addie and Moses attempt after the latter gets them arrested for bootlegging. Less memorable, but still so telling, is the moment in the photo booth at a state fair where, with no family of her own, Addie poses by herself. It’s a scene made especially moving by the fact that the young girl never lets go of the idea that Moses may be her father and gives the movie’s poster, which depicts both of them on the paper moon, even more poignancy.

    The unstoppable engine at the heart of Paper Moon can be found in the fantastic chemistry between the two O’Neals. Both actors have such a winning shorthand on the screen, which is a surprise given how, by all accounts, the pair were not as close in real life as most fathers and daughters. There’s an added emotional layer in watching Paper Moon with its tale of a little girl secretly believing that this man she finds herself drawn to could be the father she’s never known. For the older O’Neal this had to be art imitating life on a variety of levels while for director Bogdanovich, the movie could well be read as his way of understanding fatherhood, given how he had two young daughters at the time. Nowhere is the emotion of Paper Moon more present, however, than in the instance where Moses tells Addie (frustrated by constantly being referred to as a boy) that she’s beautiful.

    Paper Moon scored enough Oscar nominations to prevent anyone from saying the film was ignored. Apart from its nomination for sound, screenwriter Alvin Sargeant enjoyed a well-deserved nod for the movie’s screenplay. Ultimately, The Exorcist took the wins in both categories. But the bulk of the attention when it came to Paper Moon was in the supporting actress category where both O’Neal and Kahn found themselves nominated. Although O’Neal is in nearly every frame of the film, and despite other awards bodies declaring her the film’s star, the Academy didn’t think a lead Oscar should be awarded to someone whose career was very clearly just beginning, eventually awarding her the prize in a category she didn’t belong in. Bogdanovich agreed that his young actress was miscategorized, as did Kahn, who, quite honestly, deserved to win thanks to the bravado, desperation, and sadness she gave to Trixie, illustrating all of the above in one breathtaking monologue. To this day, O’Neal holds the record for the youngest person to win a competitive Oscar, while her performance is the longest to ever win in that category.

    The Grifters

    In this adaptation of the Jim Thompson novel from director Frears, a trio of con artists, including mob employee Lilly (Angelica Huston), her estranged small-time scammer son Roy (John Cusack), and his mysterious girlfriend Myra (Annette Bening) find the darkness of the world they inhabit closing in on them in ways none of them see coming.

    Any chance of Frears being pigeonholed as the result of the success he received with Dangerous Liaisons was certainly put to rest in the opening moments of The Grifters. The initial introduction to each character via split screen is mysterious and electrifying, giving us a slight, carefully measured glimpse into the people at the center of this deceptively engrossing tale. Watching Lilly, Roy, and Myra perform their cons with ease and believability is totally hypnotic, making this the quintessential L.A. 90s neo-noir. The way Frears captures the city calls to mind the classic noir landscape of the 40s, making the landscape feel utterly timeless even though it’s very clearly 1990. Even though the two films couldn’t be more different, it’s easy to see how the character/actor dynamics mirror those of Dangerous Liaisons, with another triangle at the center of a dark, passion-filled tale.

    Even though it’s not as plot-driven as one would expect, it’s the characters themselves that give The Grifters its true mystery. The way Lilly becomes not just protective of Roy, but fiercely protective, is touching, and does show that there is a human side to this woman who had no choice but to be tough for so long. She’s a stark contrast to Myra, who acts like the world is her playground and is ripe for the picking. As for Roy, there’s no question that he operates as if he’s in a 40s movie. He doesn’t know any other world and, most importantly, he doesn’t seem to want to know any other world. Beyond just carrying the mystique of noir, The Grifters is never afraid to pull any punches. A pivotal scene between Lilly and her gangster boss (Pat Hingle) featuring a bag of oranges is appropriately tense, as is the Greek tragedy of the final scene between her and Roy. When the film does get plot-focused in the end, it only becomes a more tantalizing experience thanks to these characters and the world around them that they’ve helped to shape.  

    By all accounts, the Academy loved The Grifters, bestowing nominations for Donald E. Westlake’s screenplay, Frears’ direction, and the performances of Huston and Bening. It only takes one viewing of the film to see that each of these nominations makes sense. The script is full of noir gems like: “He’s so crooked, he eats soup with a corkscrew,” while Frears directs with the kind of steady hand and admiration for the genre needed to make it all work. Huston breathes fresh life into the femme fatale by injecting careful amounts of humanity into her as Bening manages her own incarnation, culminating in a monologue that changes everything we thought we knew about her character. It’s unfortunate that Elmer Bernstein’s mesmerizing score and Oliver Stapleton’s stunning cinematography couldn’t have added to the movie’s Oscar nods, especially given how much they added to The Grifters as a dizzying cinematic experience. Released just in time for consideration, a strategy that (mostly) worked to the movie’s advantage, both Frears and Westlake ended up losing to Kevin Costner and Michael Blake for Dances with Wolves. Meanwhile, Kathy Bates and Whoopi Goldberg won over the film’s nominated ladies for their turns in Misery and Ghost, respectively in a year where the competition was just too strong. 

    It’s worth noting that both The Grifters and Paper Moon were films about con artists. Such individuals have been the subject of countless films throughout cinema history, but so rarely have the Oscars embraced them in the way they have these two specific examples. Some could make the case that maybe the reason they didn’t take home more than they did in terms of Oscar gold was due to certain members wrestling with the moral aspects of both titles. Ultimately, however, the Oscar outcomes of Paper Moon and The Grifters can be more or less chalked up to the films and artists they were nominated against. The Exorcist, Misery, Ghost, and Dances with Wolves are all classics that deserved the awards love they received at the time. But if Criterion’s tribute to both releases shows anything, it’s that the films last, regardless of how much hardware they take home.

    Paper Moon and The Grifters are both available on Blu-ray and DVD from The Criterion Collection.

  • THE SCIENCE OF VIOLENCE: Interview with Combat Expert Eric Jacobus About New Book IF THESE FISTS COULD TALK

    THE SCIENCE OF VIOLENCE: Interview with Combat Expert Eric Jacobus About New Book IF THESE FISTS COULD TALK

    If you’re anything like me, nothing gets the blood pumping like a good fight scene. We can all remember one that sticks out in our minds; maybe something we were wowed by at a sleepover as a kid, or something that made our jaws drop in cinemas. Be it 1v1, or 1v100, a quality fight scene can make or break an entire film, and with the proper choreography, lighting, and editing, two men moving in tandem in a warehouse can become a battle to the death before our eyes.

    But, what is combat? Why do we not only enjoy watching a good fight, but seem to be hardwired to understand violence on an instinctual level? And why is that, thousands of years after having to fend for ourselves in the jungle, we still seemed to be itching for it more than ever?

    I had the opportunity to interview fight choreography master Eric Jacobus for his new book If These Fists Could Talk: A Stuntman’s Unflinching Take On Violence. Eric is a veteran stuntman, action designer, and owner and operator of SuperAlloy studios, which has designed the action for such hit games as God of War: Ragnarok, Sifu, Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare II, Destiny 2, Midnight Fight Express, Mortal Kombat 1, as well as films such as Zach Snyder’s Army of The Dead.

    In his book If These Fists Could Talk, Eric discusses his early career; building a fight team in high, school, his hectic time in film school, his work within the film industry, and the chance he took opening SuperAlloy. He also breaks down his hypothesis of violence, which is a system that he designed that took the minimal mechanisms of human violence, which he called “reciprocal, object-based aggression” (ROBA).

    Here is what Eric had to say about his career, about ROBA, and about which Hong Kong superstar he prefers.

    Eric Jacobus

    Spencer: Hey Eric; just get some quick information off the top, could you give a quick breakdown of exactly what ROBA is.

    Eric: ROBA is an acronym for “reciprocal, object-based aggression,” which is the unique means humans engage in combat. In short, it summarizes the fact that in human combat, no antagonist can know for certain what the opponents’ weapons will be. Therefore, it’s in everyone’s interest to escalate to ensure victory, but since the antagonists also anticipate this escalation, the escalation goes to the extremes, which ventures into the apocalypse. Because animals do not have this issue and fight only with natural weapons (or don’t anticipate objects nor escalate with them), combat is not a crisis to them.

    S: I think you give a great breakdown in your book, but was wondering if you could further breakdown the process of, in the creation of ROBA, the experience of having to break down the 170+ powerpoint presentation you had initially built and turn it into something leaner and presentable. Was it a process of just keeping what was most important and discarding the rest, or did you have to rethink the overall build?

    E: The original theory was loaded with information about psychology and neuroscience all kinds of competing theories. All of it is useful, but it wasn’t the core of the ROBA Hypothesis. At its core, ROBA simply states that human violence has an exchange property like language, religion, economics, and all cultural forms.

    S: From what you’ve described in your book, you have had quite the successful run in filmmaking, creating dozens upon dozens of short films. For people who are interested in learning more about action on screen, as well as the evolution of a fight choreographer, is there a way to view these films online anywhere still?

    E: The best way to view my films is at my YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/ericjacobusofficial

    S: Connected to the above question; With more and more people looking to start their own production companies or start making their own films, have you ever considered writing a book on your experiences in creating a production team and having such a high rate of film production?

    E: A book on zero-budget action filmmaking is high on my to-do list, but it wouldn’t be just my story: I’d want to include the stories of other successful indie action filmmakers.

    S: Do you think, in the modern era, with cameras on phones just as powerful as cinema grade cameras, and so many venues to promote and showcase your work, that it is now easier to create the type of success that you had, or harder, due to the way media is ingested nowadays?

    E: I don’t attribute my success to the technology itself. My uncle did something similar in the 70s, except he used an old beta camcorder to make surf and skate videos. If you have a story to tell, just grab the tech that allows you to do it. A lot of us get hung up on the details about what “should be.” People used to say, “You can’t make an ‘action movie’ in your backyard, you should have a studio to do that.” They used to say, “You can’t just print a book. You need a publisher for that.” It seems people are saying that about social media now: “You can’t just put that on social media; you need to cater to the algorithm.” So maybe this generation will find a way around the big social media companies, or around the big apps, or big devices. Who knows? The attitude is all that matters: if you have a story to tell, then find the best way to tell it and don’t let any gatekeepers get in your way.

    S: Moving back to your system, ROBA, do you think it was your naturally analytical way of thinking that led you to the creation of ROBA, or was it the years of working in the stage fighting industry that you naturally started to find yourself attuned to man’s capacity for violence?

    E: My job involves designing action, typically for laughs. This means I have to transform what’s normally horrific – human violence – into something fun for the audience, so I suppose I always tended to humanize violence. But the more the sciences called violence “animalistic” the more it seemed they didn’t know what they were talking about, and the fact that they couldn’t even pinpoint what violence is made that even clearer.

    S: I am fascinated with ROBA, and the evolution of violence all together, so I actually had a few questions that are specific to the theory, to see how you think they fit into it. What do you think is the turning point, the “missing link of violence” you could say, between animal and human violence, where we shifted into a more conscious way of fighting? Were we still living in caves, or had shifted into larger societies?

    E: If there was a transition point between animal and human aggression, consciousness is a red herring. Humans can still use ROBA while unconscious. A blacked-out drunk can still grab a pistol and shoot a guy. This is beyond the capabilities of the smartest primate. I don’t even know if the capacity to use weapons is a good bridge point. Hermit crabs are arguably more advanced since they use armor, while chimps never bother. The only thing that might be considered a bridge point is the fact that chimps “point” to ROBA by waving sticks and throwing rocks in intimidation, but we can assume this is exactly how it’s always been for them. To imagine some kind of transition from them to us seems impossible. I could just as easily hypothesize that they are failed versions of people that still “point” to ROBA. All that is conjecture and it really doesn’t bear on what I’m studying, which is the human condition. Whether we acquired ROBA from primates or crabs or it just exploded in a big bang-like scenario (I like to call that the “ROBAng”) is way out of my expertise.

    S: Would the wars that we know occurred between Homo Sapiens and Neanderthals be considered part of this theory, due to Neanderthals intelligence, or would you consider that something closer to man hunting other species?

    E: Do we know that these wars occurred any more than intra-tribal warfare occurred? The fact that we still retain some amount of Neanderthal DNA would indicate that, if we were different species, we were close enough to intermarry. The fact that Neanderthals had burials indicates that they used symbols, and since no such symbolic capacity exists in the animal kingdom, why should we assume they were any less human than sapiens? Of all people, Darwin was the one who argued that we should be cautious when ascribing new species to different breeds of animals and plants, so might be the case with us and Neanderthals and every other supposed “species” of protohuman. All of it points to them all being human.

    S: As weapons improved over every age of man, from Bronze to Nuclear, do you feel that the ROBA system has evolved? Or that it still follows the same basic tenets, no matter if you are threatened with a stick or a bomb?

    E: The same principle always applies: when you transfer ROBA to the symbolic realm, you defer violence, and in the symbolic realm, it can escalate to extremes safely for a period of time. New technology seems to always be symbolic first. Copper was for mirrors, bronze for ritual coverings… I’m not sure about iron, but gunpowder was first for scaring ghosts in China and for alchemy in Europe, and Einstein never anticipated his equation would be used to build a nuke. This is always the “unoptimized strategy” of human civilization: exchange ROBA for symbols, escalate to extremes, but there’s always a shock when ROBA wrests control of that technology. I think we’re really trying to get a handle on AI for that reason. It could dwarf the nuclear bomb in its destructive potential.

    I’m inclined to propose that handaxes were no different – originally being means of exchange, since they offer no obvious affordance for usage as tools. This throws shade on the idea of “man the utilitarian,” which archaeologists seem to hate, but why would it be any different with stones than with gunpowder or uranium?

    S: Where does your theory of violence fall when it comes to specific randomized violence, such as serial killers or school shooters? Would you consider people like this as apocalyptic, as they look to extend their violence as broadly as they can?

    E: There’s nothing random about violence. Ask any murderer or psychopath why they do what they do. Madmen’s Manifestoes is a collection of these, and they’re eye-opening if you can stomach it. Their reasons are loftier than most new age religions. Again, this is something that an action designer and fight choreographer can (and must) understand intuitively: even the most heinous crimes have a human at the core. If we reject that then we run the same risk we always do: ignoring the obvious signs.

    So, yes, I believe these killers and mass-murderers are apocalyptic because all violence anticipates the apocalypse. It’s a window into the infinite, a unique perspective we have that animals don’t (though they might have their own window that we’ll never understand). Just as language and religion and mass media seeks to be as distributed as possible, ROBA is no different. It’s simply a different exchange format.

    S: Moving towards media and violence, do you think, in our modern landscape, we are actually hungrier for violence? Or are we just angrier, with violence being the end result of such anger?

    E: I’m not sure how we could even measure something like this. But we can measure the sheer number of hours people spend consuming mass media, and how much of that mass media covers ROBA (be it violence, wars, police brutality, riots, etc.), or even just potential ROBA. The amount of time people spend anticipating alien attacks is probably higher than ever, and yet the actual coverage is inversely proportional to that. More cameras, less footage, more rumors.

    It does beg the question, Are we angrier? Are political discussions more or less civil today? Are we more or less fragmented? It seems the parties are trending toward marrying only into their own, and their children are trending toward crossing the aisle. This is an American kinship network on a vast scale, and it might be soaking up hostility by building up massive political machines on both sides. They’re technically deferential, until someone uses one for ROBA I suppose.

    The only thing that is certain is the expansion of mass media, which both defers ROBA and can be coopted by ROBA at any time. There’s no point in trying to pull it back, or trying to put a brake on technology. Each person simply needs to have a healthy relationship with it, and I think that’s what I’m most passionate about as someone who participates as a media producer.

    S: Do you think America, in particular, is more prone to, or at least hungrier for, violence than other countries?

    E: I talk about this in the “Violinguistics” section of the book: a highly deferential culture or caste might just be so removed from real violence that they dehumanize those at the bottom who have to deal with it on a daily basis. Meanwhile, a pugnatious culture might be more truthful in many ways. We have these and a huge spectrum of groups in between, but I’m not sure that’s unique to America.

    What is different about America is its geography, and the flows of immigrants can attest to this, there being basically three: North and South Native Americans, the Eskimo, and then Europeans (and everyone else either with or after them). Before colonialism there were many displacements, but neolithic weaponry could only do so much, and there were really only three empires, none of which communicated much with the others. The Aztecs were still using fire-sharpened spears. The arrival of firearms was the equivalent of the nuclear bomb (arguably even more disruptive), and without even brass metallurgy, the natives had no hope of beating Europeans in war. It’s the same issue natives in Africa faced, even though they had iron metallurgy; the Zulu couldn’t make ammo, so what good were rifles? And since America is protected by oceans on both sides, it was easily defensible, and it became a natural hub of power in just 100 years, colonizing the entire hemisphere by the beginning of the 20th century. The geography lends itself to being one massive fortress. The New England-style corporation absolutely devastated the patrilineal plantation with its fast capital, so naturally it won the Civil War (and established the standard mode of kinship). It plowed its way west, etching into America a system of transportation, financial, and information networks that could corporatize warfare far more easily than anything anyone else had ever done (these basically being descended from the same groups who built the same networks in Europe from the 14th to the 18th century, which produced incessant warfare). So, the Northerners started to see war as a kind of joke: it became routine to turn our candle and canning factories into armor and weapon factories, and then back into candle and canning factories. The monolith of American mass media emerged because of all those networks, which brought the horrors of war home to everyday people during Vietnam, which was arguably when people started taking violence seriously on both sides. Only when 9/11 happened did we get a real wakeup call; it hit home, and I think the Bourne style of action spoke to that. Before 9/11, the top-selling games were Pokemon and Gran Turismo. After, it was Grand Theft Auto and a string of war games. Gun clubs suddenly became a thing.

    I don’t know if this means Americans are “hungrier” for violence. GTA was just as popular in Germany. British soccer is far more violent than American football. It’s hard to gauge these things. Sometimes, it seems when you push one valve down, another one pops up over there. Anyway, this history lesson is pathetically incomplete, but I only want to show that there is a structure of violence that permeates everywhere. It really is universal to people, and we can’t blame this or that country or political platform for it taking different whatever course it does. Politics and entertainment point fingers when it comes to violence, but the sciences should study the structure, and I hope I’ve contributed to that study.

    S: How do you see ROBA breaking down when it comes to outside influences on violence, specifically emotions, inebriates, like alcohol or drugs, or global elements, such as the lead-crime hypothesis? Do people ignore the reciprocal nature of violence when their minds are clouded or imbalanced?

    E: Like anything it needs to be taken on a case-by-case basis. I used to be better socially with alcohol, which would make me reciprocate more. This made me less stressed and, therefore, less aggressive. Then things changed, various crises hit, and alcohol became a problem, so I stopped, and I’ve been sober for over a year now. How can we really track these things? There are people who say the MAOA gene is responsible for violence. People will blame cast iron pans, chemtrails, and cell phone towers for violence. All this is beyond my expertise, but before we start poking around in the brain or modifying the genome or designing drugs to reduce aggression, we need to take a step back and rethink what it even means to be human. My little contribution is simply differentiating our combat from animals combat and playing out the implications of that.

    S: Speaking about the reciprocal nature of violence, the fact that our violence can have apocalyptic ends, would you say the creation of the atomic bomb, and the specific threat they represent, has either helped usher world peace, as we now have the world’s largest wild card hanging over our heads, or will eventually lead to our destruction, as someone will one day play the wildcard?

    E: How can anyone know? The Cold War had 0 casualties, but Hannah Arendt said it best in On Violence when describing the student protests as basically, “Why not riot, when there’s a nuke waiting to go off?” We should always be skeptical of the word “peace.” Peace is everyone’s goal, Hitler and Stalin wanted peace. Antinatalists want peace for the earth and its plants and animals via some self-extermination policy. Even death arguably ends in “peace,” so to me this isn’t a viable goal. The goal is to understand who we are and what to do about this crisis that is unique to us, to acknowledge the shared humanity in everyone, and stop thinking about ourselves (and other people) as animals.

    S: One last question, to keep it light. As a Hong Kong superfan, a few hard decisions at the end here: Jackie or Sammo? The Killer or Hard Boiled? And who is your favorite stunt coordinator from the golden age of Hong Kong cinema?

    E: I think Jackie’s the most Zen of the Hong Kong stars, but I don’t think anyone can do what he does. Sammo is the best technician, and anyone can take Sammo’s model and produce it anywhere, as they did. The Killer sticks out because of the story. I don’t even remember why; I just remember it hitting a nerve. And for my favorite stunt coordinator, I’ll throw a wrench into the machine and nominate Billy Chan Wu Ngai, who is awfully underrated. We see Sammo’s style change significantly when he started working with Billy Chan; suddenly he started exploiting the medium more and more, and Billy seemed to have done it first in Phantom Killer.

    If These Fists Could Talk is available now!

  • Two Cents Explores the Nightmares and Dream Factories of MULHOLLAND DR.

    Two Cents Explores the Nightmares and Dream Factories of MULHOLLAND DR.

    In this week’s final Lynch/Love selection, Naomi Watts and Laura Elena Harring lose themselves in the riveting, rotten underbelly of Tinseltown

    Two Cents is a Cinapse original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team curates the series and contribute their “two cents” using a maximum of 200-400 words. Guest contributors and comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future picks. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion. Would you like to be a guest contributor or programmer for an upcoming Two Cents entry? Simply watch along with us and/or send your pitches or 200-400 word reviews to cinapse.twocents@gmail.com.

    The Pick: Mulholland Dr.

    Befitting the oneiric epic to come, David Lynch followed up Lost Highway with a crushed dream. Re-partnering with ABC in a much-feted return to the small screen, few knew what to expect of Lynch’s Mulholland Dr. as a TV pilot. ABC’s answer was outright rejection, and David Lynch’s latest was left to wither on the vine of the Hollywood development system. A windfall of French financing gave the director a new opportunity to definitively end his dreamlike experiment. In completion, Mulholland Dr.’s puzzling narrative tangents, haunting imagery, profound love for moviemaking, and hatred for the crippling system that makes such art possible became a resoundingly definitive encapsulation of all of David Lynch’s lifelong thematic obsessions.

    Featured Guest

    Madelaine Jane Auble

    David Lynch’s 2001 film Mulholland Dr. feels like the mystery-drenched opacity of The Big Sleep and a Photoplay picture spread of Hollywood’s heyday. When it came out, it was mistaken by some as an oversexed trick of the male gaze as opposed to a Hollywoodland love story. The intimacy is potent between the two or rather four women, Betty and Diane, played by Naomi Watts, and Rita and Camilla, played by Laura Harring. It’s a romantic love story, but sometimes lesbian love in modern film is the only time we get to see the depth of sweetness between women. In part, because women have been placed at odds with each other by and on behalf of men—we have lost the mannerisms, nomenclature, and sacred intimacy that was once commonplace.

    Lynch often uses a bluntly applied approach to archetypes and tropes. This bravado, edged with lacelike detailing, creates magic. He revels in the roles assigned and examines the heart behind them. The female characters he animates carry the legends of the women before and after them. It isn’t cliche, it is down-to-earth, midwestern in tenor, and quintessentially America in tone—with a hard-leaning Cowboy bent born of the director’s Montana roots.

    These archetypes and muses are the stuff dreams are made of. People often describe Lynch’s imagery as “dream-like.” I don’t think that is a good enough description. There is a collective unconscious level to Lynch’s storytelling. It’s not simply dream-like—it’s made up of the primordial ooze of imagination. The original material. The mythological. The ineffable.

    The idea that we are all iterations of the ghosts that came before us is flashed before our eyes early and often in this film. The grounding, in reality, is the unreal darkness of the twisted yet glamorous top-of-the-world road Mulholland Dr., which, much like Route 66, is the way west if your destination is the studio systems galaxy of stars. Love, like fame, does the rounds on repeat for all to witness the soaring heights and heart-wrenching lows. Like Diane with a gun in her mouth or Betty with a dream in her heart, we will all come back around to a different iteration of the same starry sky. Let’s hope it’s in Hollywood.

    Check Out Madelaine’s podcast below:

    Alejandra Martinez

    Every time I come back to Mulholland Dr., there is some new texture or feeling waiting for me. When I first saw the film in a theater years ago, I was overwhelmed by the emotional force of Rebekah Del Rio’s Roy Orbison cover. As the blues of Club Silencio beamed out into the auditorium, and Del Rio’s voice filled the air, I found myself in the same position as the song: tears broke free and flowed down my cheeks. David Lynch’s unique gift for transmitting pure emotions, be it sadness, fear, or love, through his work is perhaps most potent here. During recent rewatches, what has stayed with me the most has been how our desires for what should have been coexist with the reality of our everyday lives. The duality of Betty and Diane’s lives in Los Angeles – the starry-eyed newcomer and the jaded, broken-down actor – feels like it can be two sides of the same coin. The bright, beautiful promise of a new start, a fresh career, a chance at really achieving one’s desires, balanced by the reality that not every venture we take is destined to go well. We can’t always get what we want, and sometimes we can’t even get what we need. It’s sobering, to say the least, but it feels honest, too.

    We’ve all been Betty and Diane at some point, which makes their parallel stories so powerful. In Club Silencio, the artifice of the world, even the artifice of what we tell ourselves to get through the day, is laid bare. “No hay banda. There is no band. No hay orquesta,” says the MC. Yet, we hold onto every word Rebekah Del Rio sings, until we’re snapped back into reality when she collapses on stage. This duality is one of the many textures that make Mulholland Dr. a favorite Lynch film for me. There is an ocean of meaning to dive into in every rewatch: the dream logic of every other plot point that flies in the face of conventional storytelling and the master class of horror filmmaking in the Winkie’s sequence, to name a few. I am forever grateful that Lynch left us with films that could make us feel seen in the complicated shades of gray that make up the world. Mulholland Dr. is a puzzle box, a comfort object, an emotional experience that demands to be experienced as such.

    @mtzxale on BlueSky


    Our Team

    Julian Singleton

    Mulholland Dr. was my first David Lynch film. 

    Like lots of other first-time viewers, I spent the first half wondering what the hell this was, and the second half about what it all meant. I was unbelievably terrified by the Winkie’s scene. But the scene that unlocked the film for me–and much of Lynch to come–was Betty’s audition.

    After about an hour and change of bizarre heightened soap opera acting, Naomi Watts blindsided me with a go-for-broke, emotionally raw performance that stood completely at odds with the rest of the film. But that was the key–in Betty’s world, the real performance was the life off set; in turn, the offer to be someone else doubles as the opportunity to perform who you wanted to be.

    Mulholland Dr. is a film about so many illusions–through film, a cultural one, and through Betty/Diane, a deeply rotten yet seductive personal one. On some level, we all hold a drive to make our lives seem more interesting and meaningful rather than face a glimpse of truth that they’re anything but. 

    Dreams are destined to be fulfilled, and only dark forces are responsible for when they’re not. Someone’s behind everything. Because they have to be.

    The rift in the film’s final third systematically chips away at the Twin Peaks-ean fantasy we’ve grown irresistibly compelled by–but does so to reveal the achingly human tragedy that created such a need for escape in the first place. Through Lynch’s enigmatic yet visceral filmmaking and Naomi Watts’ riveting performance, Mulholland Dr. captures a bitter experiential gulf like never before: between what we feel, and what we experience, the lives we dream of and the ones we inevitably wake up to. You can’t blame Diane for wanting to be Betty. And many of us still believe we are her.

    The lucid dream of Mulholland Dr. reaches its peak with the Club Silencio sequence, ranking among the most emotional scenes of Lynch’s career. Rebekah Del Rio’s translated rendition of Crying is jaw-dropping on its own even before Lynch’s cinematic rug pull. But what I’m always mesmerized by is how Betty and Rita react to her. It’s clear that Rita understands the music and lyrics; Betty’s searching gaze, as we later learn, hints how the exact meaning linguistically escapes her. Regardless, both women are equally moved by how the emotional core of the moment defies translation–and both equally fall under Del Rio’s spell. Whether it’s comprehendible or real, there’s no denying its deeper emotional power. 

    No hay Banda. No hay Orquesta. It’s all an illusion. It’s all a tape. But every single emotion this cracked dream evokes is so damn visceral and real.

    And we’ll likely never get as deep a dreamer as David Lynch again. 

    @juliansingleton on BlueSky

    Jon Partridge

    Mulholland Dr. captivated upon release in 2001 and has only grown in esteem since. Time allowing for a greater appreciation for the depth and sheer artistry on display. Mulholland Dr. is a film that stays true to the soul, and cryptic nature of David Lynch. A beguiling mystery that isn’t exactly focused on answers. A neo-noir mystery, unfolding as a young woman looks for her break as an actress in LA and gradually sinks into a haunting fever dream.

    The film has one foot in classic Hollywood, the other firmly planted Lynch’s surreal subconscious. A reverence for film, but also an expose of the cost of dealing with Hollywood, and the toll it takes on a psyche. It’s in this fracturing that Mulholland Dr. secures its legacy, by blurring the lines between two realities. One propelled by the hope of Betty (a radiant and mesmerizing turn from Naomi Watts), and her burgeoning relationship with Rita (Laura Harring, oozing glamor and mystique), which weaves in more nightmarish elements. The parts combine to craft an evocative psychological thriller. A lurid and enigmatic affair that is undeniably Lynchian in construct and its themes around identity and obsession. A score from longtime Lynch collaborator Angelo Badalamenti only enhances the brooding allure. Evocative fare that demands multiple viewings to start to piece things together and grasp the achievement.

    @jonpartridge on Bluesky

    Ed Travis

    I have been fully Lynch-pilled. 

    Over the years I had seen several of Lynch’s works, but I wouldn’t have said he particularly spoke directly to me as a filmmaker outside of Elephant Man. But upon his passing, I knew it was the right thing for the Cinapse team to spend the month highlighting his work, and I knew I had an opportunity to dive in deeper with him. It’s been pretty glorious. I even spent decades thinking I had seen Mulholland Dr. and hated it. Memory is a hell of a thing, though. As I watched it, I felt quite certain I’d never seen it before. I think what I saw and hated all those years back was Mulholland Falls?!

    At any rate, it seems like Twin Peaks (I’m watching The Return for the first time as we’ve been writing up some of his other work and I’m in awe of it) is like Lynch’s Dark Tower in the sense that all his other work could in some way be a part of that Lynch-iverse. Mulholland Dr. apparently was exactly that at one point, a kind of L.A.-set spin off of Twin Peaks. I loved this Lynchian take down of the dream of Hollywood, both pure and wholesome, and rotten to the core. Mulholland seems to be intentionally doing something special with the medium of cinema as it repeatedly shows you something more than once, different riffs and versions of scenes and stories that play wildly differently when context is shifted just a little. Somehow Lynch was simply a master at dancing between heart and hurt, purity and putrescence. I laughed, I wondered, I was horrified. 

    David Lynch can reach through the screen and cause me to feel all of these things, and I thank him for that.

    @EdTravis on Bluesky

    Spencer Brickey

    Mulholland Dr. was the film that made me realize that I had been going about Lynch all wrong for years. I had admittedly seen my fair share beforehand; Blue Velvet, Lost Highway, the pilot episode of Twin Peaks, and Eraserhead in a bewildering experience at the age of 10. What I had come out of, in most of those previous experiences, was “what the fuck did I just watch?”. I was intrigued, to be sure, but I always felt like I was being kept at arm’s length, like a confused purveyor of a roped off modern art exhibit, trying to piece together the facts while those around me kept nodding. What are you nodding at? I want to nod!

    This isn’t to say that I ever felt his films were pretentious or “too arty;” I just felt like I was misaligned with Lynch’s views, like a radio tuner between stations. This was the mindset I went into with Mulholland Dr. sometime in the mid 2010s, and, honestly, I continued to feel that way for a good chunk of the runtime. Was this a horror film? A comedy? A romance? Scene by scene, the film seemed to fundamentally change, and I kept trying to stamp my foot down on it, and discover what it really was, to put some sort of label on it.

    Then: “Llorando”. The song. Somehow, some way, as both Naomi Watts and Laura Harring watch a stage show that is a dream, a nightmare, and a revelation, it hit me, it all clicked together. As White is a collection of all colors and black the absence of all, while also being their own things, as is Lynch. There is no box to put Lynch’s cinema into. They are comedies, they are horror films, they are romances. He crafts stories that are able to be everything and nothing, journey’s that take unmarked paths and never turn out how you’d expect. 

    As the song ended, and the film shifted into its version of reality, I felt like I finally had found the correct wavelength, the ability to connect to the “vibe” of Lynch. Did I understand the rest of the film? Nope! But, I no longer cared; I just went on the journey of love, betrayal, life, and death in the Hollywood Hills.

    @Brick_Headed on Letterboxd


    For March, Cinapse takes on an action-packed lineup of Swashbuckling Cinema:

  • Slamdance 2025: TWIN FENCES

    Slamdance 2025: TWIN FENCES

    Filmmaker Yana Osman explores fences, both actual and metaphorical, in her documentary

    Yana Osman in Twin Fences.

    Filmmaker Yana Osman addresses her creative documentary Twin Fences to Russian architect Boris Lakhman, whose PO-2 fences, concrete and decorated with rhombuses, can be found throughout Russia and former USSR countries. Using imaginative composition and fast-paced storytelling, Osman spouts facts and history about public art and architecture in Russia – most of the time, standing directly in front of the fence, building or statue she’s discussing. A strong sense of humor is woven through her work. For instance, she makes separate “films” starring each of the experts she talks to.

    Twin Fences does interesting things with form while talking about 20th Century Russian art, cultural identity and notable figures. This first section of the documentary moves so quickly, it seems like it plays at 1.5x speed, making it a challenge for much to fully sink in. Osman’s film slows to a more pensive pace as she delves into her family history and the racism she faced as a Ukrainian-Afghani girl. There’s a palpable tension onscreen as her mom talks about Osman’s father from Afghanistan and his sudden death.

    Yana Osman embraces her grandfather in Twin Fences.

    The last section shows the filmmaker walking around Shostka, Ukraine, with her grandfather before the 2022 Russian invasion. There’s a sense of impending doom as one watches, knowing what is to come. But the clips we see of Osman and her grandfather together have an emotional immediacy and honesty, as if the two are aware their time together may be limited.

    Osman’s film is silly as well as contemplative, yet doesn’t feel tonally uneven. Twin Fences may be informative about specific works of Russian public art, propaganda, and their historical impact; more importantly, the documentary showcases the filmmaker’s wit and unique voice. Osman has created a distinct and memorable film, layered with meaning.


    Twin Fences screened over the weekend at Slamdance Film Festival.

  • Slamdance 2025: MEMORIES OF LOVE RETURNED

    Slamdance 2025: MEMORIES OF LOVE RETURNED

    This video essay is both a personal journey and an introduction to a rural Ugandan artist

    Still from Memories of Love Returned.

    When Ugandan-American artist Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine’s car died in the town of Mbirizi during a 2002 visit, he happened upon a small portrait studio run by a man named Kibaate Aloysios Ssalongo. That stopover and chat with Ssalongo would impact the next decades of his life, which Mwine spent archiving the work by the rural photographer. Memories of Love Returned is Mwine’s memorial of the artist and a tender exploration of art and memory.

    Still from Memories of Love Returned.

    Through the video essay, Ssalongo’s photography is celebrated. Mwine compiled decades of video from his trips back to Mbirizi and incorporates it in a conversational manner. The composition and editing of this documentary is well-considered and takes the viewer through pieces of Mwine’s personal life journey and his attempts in 2017 to reenact certain Ssalongo shots with the original subjects. The film culminates in a later outdoor art exhibit of the photographer’s work at a Mbirizi petrol station, where we see the impact of the show on the community.

    There’s a strong sense of joy within Mwine’s film; the soundtrack full of African pop music adds to this overall feeling. But Memories of Love Returned also tenderly touches on issues of modern-day Uganda (AIDS, queer love in a country with harsh laws against LGBTQ folks) that are evident in the subjects Ssalongo photographed decades ago. The storytelling style here is utterly engaging. At one point, I was on the edge of my seat.

    In conversations with the artist’s family and friends, Mwine aims to convey the complicated man behind the camera and his legacy that may be lost. Memories of Love Returned, executive produced by Steven Soderbergh, is an energetic, gently compelling meditation on the importance of art in community, especially as a method of history-keeping.

    Still from Memories of Love Returned.

    Memories of Love Returned screened over the weekend at Slamdance Film Festival.

  • Slamdance 2025: BANR

    Slamdance 2025: BANR

    A heartbreaking family drama of love and memory has its world premiere at Slamdance

    Baoqing Li and Sui Li in Banr, courtesy of ShangJia Picture Film Culture.


    Part psychological thriller and part meditation on memory, filmmaker Erica Xia-Hou’s debut Banr truly defies category. The Chinese film incorporates a non-linear storytelling style, reflecting the mind suffering Alzheimer’s at its center. Elderly Mei (Baoqing Li) lives with her husband of 40 years, JianJun (Sui Li) in a walk-up flat. Their household roles have switched; Mei, who was the family caretaker, is now under the care of her husband as her Alzheimer’s starts to progress.

    Sui Li and Baoqing Li in Banr, courtesy of ShangJia Picture Film Culture.


    Xia-Hou, who besides directing the film also wrote, edited and plays the couple’s daughter Yun Yun, creates a claustrophobic feeling through the lighting of the apartment and the snug quarters. As Mei feels closed off from the outside and becomes overwhelmed with daily tasks, the visuals and audio allow the viewer to share her fear. Repetitive visuals and ping pong noises are blended in through smart editing. Meanwhile, JianJun’s exhaustion and aggravation are palpable, as well. Due to the immersive nature of the work, the first half of Banr is nigh anxiety-inducing for any empathetic viewer.

    Filmmaker Erica Xia-Hou behind the scenes of Banr, courtesy of ShangJia Picture Film Culture.

    The second half, after Mei has been moved to a care facility, is less frenetic, but the raw emotion continues. The casting of non-professional actors makes it seem as if we’re glimpsing into this family’s real life. Sui Li is a particular standout as the frazzled husband attempting to hold on to a semblance of control and grasping at hope that Mei won’t forget him.

    The editing and storytelling style in this slice-of-life film is visually engaging throughout. One of my favorite edits contrasts clips of JianJun and family dog Lele dozing off. The cinematography also switches at times to different character points of view, adding an additional layer to the film.

    If the timeline remains a bit of a puzzle, this remains true to the cluttered memories Mei is left with as she lives on. Touching on themes of grief, surviving and memory, Erica Xia-Hou has crafted a deeply compelling and emotionally-charged work in Banr.


    Banr premiered over the weekend at Slamdance Film Festival.

    Correction: This review has been updated to correct that Baoqing Li plays Mei and Sui Li plays JianJun, not the other way round.

  • The Twelfth Annual Cinapse Awards

    The Twelfth Annual Cinapse Awards

    Celebrating our Favorite Films of 2024!

    On our first anniversary, Cinapse’s one-year celebration of cinema coincided with another little-known ceremony called “The Oscars.” We’re here 12 years later to continue the tradition with the Twelfth Annual Cinapse Awards!

    A major part of our purpose here at Cinapse has always been to celebrate and advocate for films, so doing our very own awards has always felt apt. We hope you enjoy reading and please feel free to debate and discuss our choices with us in the comments section, or on Twitter and Facebook! What did we miss? Where are we dead wrong? Where do you agree with us wholeheartedly? We’d love to hear from you!

    BEST BOY ON THE RED CARPET FOR A FILM

    WINNER: Brisket – Glen Powell TWISTERS

    BEST GIRL ON THE RED CARPET FOR A FILM

    WINNER: Pilaf the Little Mouse – Demi Moore THE SUBSTANCE

    BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM:

    WINNER: Kneecap

    BEST ANIMATED FILM

    WINNER: Wild Robot

    BEST DOCUMENTARY

    WINNER: Will & Harper

    BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY

    WINNER: The Brutalist

    BEST SCREENPLAY Adapted or Original

    WINNER: The Substance

    MALE IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

    WINNER: Clarence Maclin – Sing Sing

    FEMALE IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

    WINNER: Margaret Qualley – The Substance

    MALE IN A LEADING ROLE

    WINNER: Colman Domingo – Sing Sing

    FEMALE IN A LEADING ROLE

    WINNER: Demi Moore – The Substance

    BEST ENSEMBLE

    WINNER: Conclave

    BEST DIRECTION

    WINNER: Coralie Fargeat – The Substance

    BEST PICTURE

    WINNER: Tie! Love Lies Bleeding and The Brutalist

  • Slamdance 2025: PORTAL TO HELL

    Slamdance 2025: PORTAL TO HELL

    A man must find 3 souls to send to hell in this horror comedy premiere at Slamdance

    Trey Holland and Romina D’Ugo in Portal to Hell. Courtesy of Portal to Hell LLC.


    “There’s a portal to hell in your laundromat,” the lead character in Woody Bess’ Portal to Hell tells the manager of a laundromat. Dunn (Trey Holland) is a freelancer who works from home, calling people about their past due medical debt. His days are fairly routine except for his attempts to befriend his grumpy elder next door neighbor Mr. Bobshank (Keith David, Nope, American Fiction). When a demon escapes from the portal to hell – conveniently located in a dryer in the neighborhood laundromat – Dunn finds out he can save Mr. Bobshank’s life if he finds three other souls to replace him. Well, three other souls or a member of 2010’s pop band Hot Chelle Rae. Dunn then ropes the sarcastic manager of the laundromat, Ed (Romina D’Ugo), into his search for souls.

    The filmmakers use lighting in intriguing ways, literally highlighting the storytelling. The fixtures in Dunn’s apartment glow an eerie orange whenever he speaks to the demon (named Chip, voiced by everyone’s favorite character actor Richard Kind) and switch to a cool tone otherwise. The lighting in Ed’s laundromat appears to be extremely dim fluorescents along with neon lights that emphasize the hellish hue that appears through the portal.

    Portal to Hell offers Richard Kind and Keith David, veteran actors at this point in their careers, a chance to take on roles we haven’t seen them try before. Especially Kind playing a snarky demon; who would expect that? Bess’ screenplay contains unexpected depth. For a silly comedy with horror tendencies, the film spends a good amount of time contemplating the theme of forgiveness (of oneself as much as others). Despite a few spots where the pacing tends to drag, the film is a fun romp with a message that doesn’t clunk you over the head. I also appreciate that Portal to Hell isn’t too gruesome. The horror here is more existential than anything. Is hell a literal place or an existence of our own making?


    Portal to Hell premiered this weekend at Slamdance Film Festival.

  • Slamdance 2025: CORONER TO THE STARS

    Slamdance 2025: CORONER TO THE STARS

    Dr. Thomas Noguchi speaks frankly about his time as chief medical examiner-coroner in Los Angeles in this Slamdance premiere doc

    Dr. Thomas Noguchi in an archive photo from Coroner to the Stars.


    During a decades-long career in Los Angeles County, Dr. Thomas Noguchi conducted autopsies on celebrities from Marilyn Monroe to John Belushi, along with hundreds of other folks. The new film about Dr. Noguchi isn’t clear on who first referred to him as “Coroner to the Stars,” whether it was himself or someone else, but there’s little doubt that he assisted after several notable deaths. After an attention-grabbing open, the fascinating and macabre Coroner to the Stars tells Dr. Noguchi’s story via interviews with the subject and his family, friends, co-workers and others (including George Takei).

    While the construction of this documentary from directors Ben Hethcoat and Keita Ideno is fairly straightforward and chronological, interspersed among the chapters of Dr. Noguchi’s biography are the famous autopsies he completed. Soon after he starts work in Los Angeles, he’s assigned to Marilyn Monroe’s forensic case. Besides the medical evaluation completed, Dr. Noguchi talks about the psychological autopsy (a new-ish science at the time) done on Monroe. “We are in the business of dealing in fact,” he asserts.

    Dr. Thomas Noguchi in Coroner to the Stars.

    Coroner to the Stars depicts film industry pressures and misinformation as forces working against Dr. Noguchi, along with the systemic racism he faced as the first Japanese-American coroner in the country. The storytelling style is such that even the civil service hearings held against him (in 1969 and 1982) make for gripping real-life drama. There are lighter moments, as well; we learn that the ‘70s mystery series “Quincy, ME” was loosely based on Dr. Noguchi and the show interrupted work at the LA coroner’s office to film there.

    This documentary on Dr. Noguchi shows the impact he’s made on his county department, as well as the field of forensic science in general. Although the film has true crime elements, Coroner to the Stars never feels exploitative. The documentary keeps its focus on the man at its center.


    Coroner to the Stars premiered Sunday at Slamdance Film Festival, and screens again Tue, Feb 25th, 6:45 PM @ Landmark Theater 4.

  • Lost Director’s Cut of SHE’S FUNNY THAT WAY – SQUIRRELS TO THE NUTS hits Streaming

    Lost Director’s Cut of SHE’S FUNNY THAT WAY – SQUIRRELS TO THE NUTS hits Streaming

    For those that saw it, Peter Bogdanovich’s final film – 2014’s She’s Funny that Way, was a bit of a disappointment. The first wholly original property since he was relegated to a gun for hire for suing Universal for changing the music in Mask – was supposed to be the triumphant return for one of the great American auteurs. But instead of a continuation of the likes of Targets, The Last Picture Show and Paper Moon, it felt flat and devoid of the director’s once great voice. Had the director lost touch and relevancy? This was answered a few years ago when a digital tape of the lost director’s cut of She’s Funny that Way was found in an abandoned storage locker, ending up on of all places ebay. 

    James Kenney, a Bogdanovich super fan found the tape online, labeled with the film’s original title Squirrels to the Nuts, purchased it, and had it transferred, quickly realizing it was the lost director’s cut of the film that was completely different and ran almost 30 minutes longer. Since the film was the director’s first new original project in some time, when the studio decided to revamp his vision according to test screenings, Bogdanovich remained silent rather than rocking the boat. It happens all the time, and the director who was happy he was finally back in the game, thought his first film back was simply a necessary casualty to get him in Hollywood’s good graces, showing he could play the game again. 

    Kenny contacted the director who was thankfully still alive at the time and the two worked together to get the film out there, first screening in the rep circuit only to land on VOD this week, sadly with little to no fanfare whatsoever. The film is now a proper screwball comedy in the truest sense of the word that has these new actors Owen Wilson, Jennifer Aniston, Kathryn Hahn and Imogen Poots in a film that while dealing with some daring subject matter – feels channeled from a simpler time. It’s nothing short of a delight and if you’re one of those folks with their TV locked into TCM, you’re definitely going to love this. I know it’s streaming now on Youtube, Xfinity and a few others for a mere $5.99, here’s hoping for a physical media release. I am looking at you Criterion!