If the cinephiles of planet earth banded together and rose up, like some kind of bolshevik revolution, filled not with Trotsky’s but Tarkovsky’s, I would surely survive the initial purges. Soon though, the enforcement divisions would notice my absence from theater screenings and my reluctance to bash the MCU on social media. Under oath and intense interrogation lights I would admit: when it comes to going to the movie theater I don’t feel strongly either way… when given the chance to recline in a dedicated media room or my bed I’d much rather prop my laptop up on a pillow. My interrogator tightens my restraints and asks me to name my favorite Cronenberg. “The Fly?” I say. He asks me if I’ve seen the Godfather trilogy. “No, and I’m in no hurry” I answer. Soon I’m shuffled away and dispatched, just another statistic waiting to be memorialized the next time an MCU film cracks a billion dollars. And yet, last year I watched 310 films, yes films, many of which I saw reclined in bed in a position that might be described as hospice-esque. I am a proponent of engaging with your hobbies and with art on your own terms, the more popular film becomes and the more influencers enter this space, the faster we accelerate towards a monoculture reminiscent of other hobbies gone mainstream. Suddenly things become right or wrong, cool or lame, and the margins in which film began and blossomed within soon begin to close. General wisdom prevails, choose what you like to do, and do it how you like.
Just this once I’m going to pretend May begins slightly before the end of April, only so I can mention the great screening of Takeshi Miike’s Audition (1999) at the Texas Theater. Eihi Shiina was in attendance, answered some questions, hit us with a classic “Kiri, kiri, kiri…” and proceeded to bask in the universal shock administered to a theater surprisingly split between have seen and have not.
Next up Cancun, where May began for me this year. I am a nervous flyer and no matter how well I time John Williams Superman main theme with takeoff I simply can’t shake the anxiety. My family comes from Sweden, we are boat people. Nevertheless, I’ve concocted a truly diabolical plane distraction setup: Rayneo AR glasses and Sony xm-4’s, basically my own home theater on the go. While looking utterly ridiculous I managed to watch the excellent My Fathers Shadow (2025) which perfectly captures that moment when your parent becomes something richer at the expense of their perceived invincibility. After an uneven sunburn and many mango frozen margaritas I finally caught It was Just an Accident (2025) using the same plane setup.
Arco (2025) also blew me away. I watched the French audio version because the VPN I was using did not offer English and despite the all-star English dub cast I can’t imagine watching it any other way. The naturalistic voice performances elevated the film for me in a way I didn’t expect, which further keys me into my general dislike for overly dramatic deliveries in animated movies and games.
This month I continued my chronological Kurosawa goal, finally arriving at Ikiru (1952). So far this is my favorite, second only to Rashomon (1950). Hopefully I can rope a friend or two into watching good ole Seven Samurai (1954). If all goes to plan I’ll have seen everything by August.
Wham! Bam! I’m going to see Pam (Grier)! But first Coffy (1973) and a less than gentle reminder to be on my best behavior at ComicPalooza Houston, lest I get shot gunned, run over by a 70’s Chevy, drowned, blown up, or otherwise dispatched for crossing the incomparable Pam Grier. I am happy to report that Ms. Grier is everything you’d expect and more. She talked about her time with Richard Pryor and his search for advice while writing Blazing Saddles (1974) and the time she met with John Carpenter with a cucumber down her pants for her role in Escape From New York (1981). Even her interactions with Paul Newman while auditioning for Fort Apache, The Bronx (1981) and her one condition for playing a drug addict, that Newman call her mother and let her know she’d be doing it.
When I asked Ms. Grier to sign my Jackie Brown (1997) poster I told her I was nervous, that I felt like I was asking her to sign my yearbook. She replied: “That’s exactly what this is, baby”.
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