The End exemplifies the audacious spirit necessary for original movie musicals to be recognized as serious art, while also offering depth and intentionality in its relationship to the musical form, beyond mere spectacle. While Joshua Oppenheimer’s somewhat abstract vision of apocalyptic complicity often feels more like a piece of fine art than a traditional narrative film, his underground salt mine bunker of delusion brims with thought-provoking philosophical ideas, which ultimately distill into a poignant exploration of repressed guilt disguised as the survival of art, history, and family.

What truly distinguishes The End is its rare approach to the "song world." In this film, songs are not merely an organic, heightened expression of the characters' emotions; instead, they function as an external force imposed upon them—inescapable yet oddly desirable, as they help maintain the characters' carefully curated facade of bliss afforded by their wealth and power. There is no need for additional manufactured artifice—a key ingredient to make a musical "sing"—because the concept is already built on that very artifice. While the songs are performed with sincerity, many carry a subtle undercurrent of irony or an unspoken awareness of their absurdity. Some lean into the fantastical idealism often associated with the genre (as in "A Wonderful Gift" and "Our Future is Bright"), while others intentionally undermine it, leaving song sequences in which a character appears emotionally trapped within the illusion (as in Girl's "Forever"). This tension is especially pronounced in the film's second half, as cracks in a character's moral armor lead to confessions that can only emerge through the vulnerability of entering the "song world" (such as Mother’s "The Mirror" and Father’s "The Big Blue Sky"). At times, these unplanned expressions of truth escalate into the physical catharsis of dance, even blurring the line between the chamber musical set in a salt mine and the movie musicals soundstage.

On a technical level, The End is a sonic marvel that stands out among this year’s movie musicals for its auditory clarity. Its lush, symphonic orchestrations pair beautifully with idiosyncratic lyrics and simple yet evocative melodies that develop into recurring musical motifs—a technique in musicals composition that is too often forgotten. The result is a unique blend of musical, visual, and thematic elements that mostly sustains engagement, despite the film’s deliberately eccentric tone, ambiguous world-building, and the challenge it may pose for viewers to remain invested across its two-and-a-half-hour runtime. While The End occasionally dips into moments of tedium, its ideas and melodies linger long after the credits roll, embedding its—albeit cryptic—hooks into our subconscious in a way that only a musical dares to attempt and is ever capable of achieving.

The “bring the significant other home for the holidays” premise is always an effective Trojan horse for a family drama disguised as a holiday movie. The Family Stone thrives on its dysfunction but often feels constrained by the need to ultimately deliver a feel-good Christmas movie experience. The moral ambiguity of story might have been better suited to a less emotionally charged holiday (such as Thanksgiving) to allow its naturalistic tone to persevere without the pressure to tie up its many subplots in a nice, festive bow. Even so, the film is elevated by a well-cast ensemble, with each actor given a moment to truly shine. When the narrative pauses for textless, expressive emotion, it offers a rare tenderness that briefly captures the best version of this story.

I’m sure I’ll lose some “likes” for this, but I’m thrilled to finally have a movie that portrays dogs as the dopey freeloaders they truly are, while the resourceful, self-reliant cat—whose independence often rubs non-cat people the wrong way—does all the heavy lifting.

Flow is the obvious 2024 winner of the “animation is a medium, not a genre” award. It takes a deceptively simple yet irresistibly endearing feline character design and places it in a hyperrealistic, often overstimulating survival narrative that doubles as an abstract allegory for self-actualization and environmental collapse. The survival narrative isn’t just about finding food or shelter; it’s a relentless test of endurance and ingenuity, as the cat battles harsh currents, hostile creatures, and moments of existential isolation. The film’s flooded landscapes are both literal and symbolic, reflecting a world on the brink of destruction and forcing the characters to adapt—or perish—in the face of unrelenting change. Despite the film’s abstractions and deeper themes, the stakes of the story are crystal clear, ensuring the storytelling remains accessible and deeply engaging for all viewers. 

Still, Flow respects its audience’s intelligence, avoiding spoon-fed exposition and instead immersing us in the organic rhythm of the story as it unfolds through the behaviors of the animals and their interactions with the harsh environment. Unlike many animated films that rely on smooth, polished visuals, Flow embraces raw, kinetic energy. The “camera” shakes as if it, too, is struggling to tread water, while occasional sun flares feel like deliberate imperfections, creating an immediacy that feels closer to live-action filmmaking than traditional animation. The sound design furthers this immersion, and the musical score—alternating between haunting, playful, and relentlessly propulsive—feels inseparable from the narrative itself.

What I especially admire about Flow is that it rejects the overdone trope of “put our differences aside to be stronger together.” Instead, it leans into a more nuanced, individualistic narrative: the cat survives by prioritizing their own well-being and pushing past their previous limitations. This perspective feels deeply personal, fitting for a filmmaker who not only wrote and directed the movie but also produced, edited, and composed the music for it. While Flow often feels like an intensely solitary journey, it also acknowledges that survival sometimes means accepting help from unexpected sources. (Except the dogs. They contributed nothing.)

Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point presents an intriguing mix of styles and tones that straddles the line between indie naturalism and a more heightened, editorialized vision of a small-town Christmas Eve. At its best, the film creates a meditative atmosphere that feels like piecing together a long-forgotten memory—one that ebbs and flows with the rhythms of conversation, silence, and understated visual poetry. The production design deserves particular praise, offering a richly textured sense of real space that feels lived-in and deeply nostalgic.

At times, though, the film struggles to maintain a cohesive tone. Its anti-plot structure—favoring loose, interpersonal moments over a driving narrative—allows for some poignant exchanges, but it also occasionally drops viewers into conflicts without providing much context. There’s an expectation for the audience to simply ride the emotional waves without necessarily understanding the undercurrents, which works better in some moments than others. The comedy, too, feels at odds with the naturalism. While it’s never too broad or outlandish, the film sometimes leans too far into situational humor, undercutting the mumblecore sensibility that its best scenes embody. It’s a shame, because when the film does lean into its dialogue-free, more expressionistic side—particularly in sequences driven by soundtrack and visual storytelling—it almost feels transcendent.

Richard Curtis takes another swing at the multi-plot holiday story he popularized with Love, Actually, this time infusing it with the kind of naturalistic character work that few mainstream animated studios dare to attempt anymore. While the structure occasionally muddles the film's overarching themes, the screenplay stands out among many recent family films for its emotional maturity. Much of it feels like a live-action drama, focused on interpersonal and family struggles instead of pandering to the over-stimulation and unnecessary action set pieces commonly found in the animated medium. It's wryly funny, heartfelt yet surprisingly dark, and unmistakably British in its tone and writing—classic Richard Curtis. Even when it teeters on the edge of saccharine or when the third-act conflict seems to come out of nowhere, the story stays grounded in genuine emotional weight and stakes. I do wonder how it resonates with kids, but for parents looking to spark conversations with their children about the bittersweet melancholy of the holidays—the “emotional magnifying glass” this time of year can bring—That Christmas is a great place to start.

Also, I’m still thinking about that transition from Kelly Clarkson’s "Underneath the Tree" as a montage soundtrack to the girls playing it on their new Christmas present instruments. It’s pure Christmas movie magic!

Dances With Films

For its brief runtime, A/Way ambitiously attempts to weave together multiple plot threads in a non-linear format, each designed to prompt a pivotal moment of examination and recalibration for the protagonist, portrayed with captivating presence by Rosie McDonald. The sequences in Martinique, which adopt a travel documentary style and often feature stunning cinematography, are the most insightful, offering philosophical musings from "non-actors" with vibrant, creative perspectives. Ultimately, it feels as though there are two films here, and the editorial choices in combining them results in a fragmented structure that never fully resonates as intended.

I often return to this adaptation of “A Christmas Carol” because George C. Scott captures the humanity of Scrooge in a way that feels intrinsic and effortless, unlike any other screen portrayal. His Scrooge isn’t overtly cruel or consumed by rage; rather, he’s pragmatic, cunning, and smug. His transformation unfolds gradually and tangibly, with an emotional climax so honest that it feels as though we’re witnessing the child within him reborn in the aging man.  

The film as a whole has a painterly, impressionistic quality as a period piece, enhanced by a theatrical flair in the more fantastical moments of ghosts and memories. What’s striking is its willingness to remain understated, even if this stems in part from budgetary and resource constraints. It may not be the most extravagant adaptation, but its simplicity gives it a quiet power, resulting in a deeply moving rendition of the classic story.

McQueen's formal filmmaking style struggles to capture the heightened, larger-than-life quality necessary to make this coming-of-age adventure feel significant or clearly defined in its stakes. Additionally, the historical war drama might have been more effective if the conflict had a clearer sense of progression or purpose. Saoirse brings emotional intensity to the story, which feels most urgent when delving into themes of race within this particular context. However, Zimmer’s score often clashes with the natural emotional tone of the scenes. While there are moments of poetic filmmaking and compelling sequences of large-scale devastation, Blitz ultimately lacks a cohesive perspective on what it wants to say about war.

My sister has cerebral palsy, and while her experience isn’t identical to the protagonist’s, there are some meaningful parallels—particularly around not being fully seen or understood for her unique perspective and intelligence.

The use of voiceover narration as a way to speak for someone who is not physically able to do so is a beautiful cinematic choice. It’s wisely used sparingly, coming and going as needed, but ultimately conveys that it’s not the sole or most effective means of bringing the character’s inner world to life. Phoebe-Rae Taylor delivers an incredibly moving performance, showing just how much can be communicated through the eyes and face when there’s enough empathy and patience to listen. Jennifer Aniston’s voice work is equally caring and honest, while Judith Light brings wisdom, grace, and heart. The soundtrack adds a touch of alternative greatness.

The screenplay is generally grounded but occasionally feels contrived in creating external conflict for Melody. Its loose structure sometimes conflicts with the amount of plot it ultimately tries to deliver, and it doesn’t fully immerse us in the period setting. That said, the stakes of the whiz kids competition are compelling and align well with the film’s themes. Out of My Mind (brilliant title) succeeds as both a heartfelt YA-toned coming-of-age story and a beautifully naturalistic character study of a young person with cerebral palsy.

“Elphie, you’re trembling.” 

😭😭😭

Thanksgiving thrives on its appeal as a holiday-themed slasher, drawing heavily from more polished entries in the genre. However, its tone often feels inconsistent, leaving the film uncertain of its identity and overly preoccupied with catering to an internet-savvy audience. The Black Friday madness sequence from the marketing stood out, and while the heightened tone works well in concept, the screenplay struggles to deliver the sharp satire needed to match it. That said, the film succeeds in offering creatively staged kills that cleverly incorporate its Thanksgiving motif, all while capturing the cozy yet increasingly bleak atmosphere of deep autumn.

Overview:
News of a “Wicked” movie first surfaced in 2004, and somehow, twenty years ago, I was already discussing this adaptation at musical theatre camp, passionately debating who should (or shouldn’t) be cast. Now, more than two-thirds of my lifetime later, one of Broadway’s most monumental works finally reaches the big screen, arriving at a moment when humanity arguably needs its message the most. The main idea of Wicked—the radicalization of individuals against a fraudulent governing authority that wields fear as a tool for power—resonates more deeply in 2024 than it probably should.

Director Jon M. Chu captures this idea poignantly, focusing his lens on an ostracized protagonist and reimagining Oz’s witch as a revolutionary hero for our times. As expected (but no less breathtaking), Cynthia Erivo embodies Elphaba’s transformation with majestic intensity. Meanwhile, Ariana Grande’s ethereal, almost transatlantic vocal cadence—reminiscent of something recorded on a 1930s tin-can microphone—feels perfectly attuned to Glinda’s character. At the heart of it all is the emotional bond between these two “best friends,” which remains key to Wicked’s enduring power. To put it briefly, fans of the Broadway musical should leave wholeheartedly satisfied with this cinematic adaptation.

More on movie musicals:
Adapting a stage musical for the screen presents unique challenges because of the fundamental differences between the two forms. Perhaps the most significant difference lies in how each medium uniquely controls perspective. On stage, directors rely on lighting, movement, and shifts within a fixed physical space to guide the audience’s focus. Film, on the other hand, allows total control over what the audience sees through framing, camera movement, and editing. This can sometimes detract from the magic of live theatre, where the audience shares a connection to a consistent physical world that transforms before their eyes. However, when employed intentionally, film introduces a unique set of tools that can add new layers of specificity to how a musical story is told.

During “Dancing Through Life,” for example, Jon M. Chu constructs a sequence of shots that show Elphaba embarrassing herself yet choosing to stand her ground, with Glinda stepping in to defend her new friend. What could be effectively communicated onstage with a tableau—one image encapsulating the entire exchange—is instead broken down and expanded into an entire series of story beats (with a gorgeous new piece of musical underscoring) that expresses the evolution of their friendship in an emotionally impactful and distinctly cinematic way. Non-linear editing further places viewers inside Elphaba’s psyche, allowing her past to seep into present moments and deepening our understanding of her self-actualization (e.g., a vision in “Defying Gravity”). Another example would be the subtle use of “For Good” (a song we won’t get until in full until Part 2) as underscore for moments that editorially feel like it cinematically expands upon the relationship of the pair. Meanwhile, close-ups offer a distinct form of intimacy—what effectively feels like the film version of hitting an actor downstage with a spotlight by allowing us easy access to the interiority of the characters through the expressiveness of their eyes (e.g., the self-discovery in “The Wizard and I”). 

There’s also plenty of visual creativity and clever musical staging, from the playful split-screen and montage editing in “What Is This Feeling?” to the rotating bookshelves and acrobatics of “Dancing Through Life.” The shadow play in “Something Bad” and “A Sentimental Man,” make both of those songs stronger here, and “Popular” exemplifies Chu’s knack for setting precise sync points between his musical staging, camera blocking, and cuts to the score. Many of Glinda’s gestures are so wonderfully aligned to the song’s rhythm and prominent beats—the quick camera push-ins on the “You…will…be…” leading to the first chorus is both sharply cinematic and very musical theatre. However, contrary to expectation (and personal preference), he rarely cuts on the button of a song, instead using transitions to glide into the next scene or fade out entirely, as in the case of “I’m Not That Girl.” I think Chu’s style would benefit from letting the big finale of a song do its thing by swelling and then stopping with an abrupt sense of excitement. Chu and team often extends songs with added beats to the point of disrupting the natural momentum of the music and lyric, but overall, he wields his cinematic tools deliberately. At its best, this film Wicked is able to craft moments of detail and specificity that deepens the protagonists’ central relationship and enrich the thematic complexity of their world.

True transcendence in musical theatre often relies on the spectacle of stagecraft, with audiences using their imaginations to fill in the gaps. In contrast, movie musicals must create their own kind of magic, justifying the experience within a medium typically grounded in fully realized physical worlds. Production designer Nathan Crowley rises to this challenge, crafting a magnificent collection of colossal interior sets to house a majority of the film’s song sequences. The already high-fantasy aesthetic ensures the “song world” feels intrinsic to the narrative, allowing characters to burst into song and dance without disrupting the film’s cohesion. While the screenplay’s expanded world-building results in some slightly drawn-out book scenes between musical numbers, the transitions into song are seamless because the world feels wholly unified. Massive orchestrations (with over 80 musicians!), intricately detailed props and costume designs, and an energized ensemble all contribute greatly to the extravagance of the Wicked experience. 

Building on its cinematic strengths, Wicked pays homage to the heart of its stage origins while skillfully reimagining the story through the language of film, offering a fresh yet faithful take on the beloved musical. While a few adjustments to rhythm and pacing might enhance the flow, these minor shortcomings pale in comparison to the adaptation’s overall successes, especially when measured against the typical contemporary movie musical blockbuster. Most importantly, watching Wicked on the big screen with an audience that applauds after every number evokes a sense of shared experience reminiscent of attending live theater. Musicals, with their unique ability to blend vulnerability and grandeur, encourage us to suspend our disbelief and connect with one another in a way few other art forms are capable of. When Wicked soars, it makes us feel like we can do the same.

Death has been personified in countless ways throughout storytelling history, but rarely as audaciously as in Tuesday, where it takes the form of a talking bird capable of changing sizes. The film blends a familiar grief narrative with elements of magical realism—tropes often reserved for family-oriented stories—but approaches them with a mature, mostly unsentimental tone. At its core is a poignant portrayal of a mother grappling with loss, initially resisting death’s claim over her daughter before coming to accept the inevitable. While this intimate exploration is compelling, the narrative ventures into some outlandish territory as the stakes escalate and the scenarios broaden. The film also lingers too long in its somber atmosphere, occasionally feeling weighed down by its own gravity. Nevertheless, its naturalistic performances keep the premise grounded and deliver moments of genuine resonance without tipping into overt emotional manipulation.

When I was a kid, my mom bought me a compilation CD of John Williams' movie music, and it quickly became a kind of sacred treasure for me. Without his music, I’m not sure I would have fully committed to playing piano or started composing my own music. It’s safe to say I wouldn’t have developed a directorial sensibility so profoundly shaped by rhythm and musicality.

I’ve been fortunate to see Williams conduct live on four occasions, including unforgettable performances at Tanglewood and the Hollywood Bowl—both featured in the documentary. While I don’t know if I’ll ever have the chance to see him again, I’m grateful for this film, which feels like a cinematic compilation celebrating his greatest hits from an extraordinary career.

Though Music by John Williams could have gone deeper into his craft—exploring the intricacies of his scores, the evolution of his themes, or the meticulous art of cue spotting—it still provides a solid appreciation of his collaborative genius and his astonishing versatility across musical styles. Most importantly, it captures his immense contributions to pop culture and his role in elevating film scores to a respected place in the symphonic tradition.

It’s comforting to know that, even when we no longer have John Williams, we will always have his music—woven into our pop culture references, our favorite franchises, and the world’s concert halls. His legacy is immeasurable, and while this documentary (which frustratingly leaves out several of my personal favorite scores) could never encompass his full oeuvre, it serves as a beautifully accessible way to experience some of the greatest music ever written for an hour and forty-five minutes.

The first time I watched this, I thought it was a stylish exploration of introversion and the feeling of being an outsider, yet the story was never fully allowed to blossom into the magic realism genre plot the creative premise so greatly deserved. 

This time, I realized that the recognition and acknowledgement of denying that for both the audience and the protagonist is the entire point. It’s the dread of being stuck in desolation, cursed by Mr. Melancholy after being shown what you’re missing by denying your true self.

Even broken musical theatre adults deserve a coming-of-age, slightly magical realist tale to help process their hardships!

This was one of my most anticipated movies of the year, and while I was a bit disappointed that it didn’t turn out to be a full-blown musical, the few grand, larger-than-life sequences we do get—clearly inspired by classic movie musicals—are undeniably charming. Sure, I could nitpick some aspects of how the process of creating a new Broadway show is portrayed, but Your Monster does succeed at capturing how personal and professional boundaries blur in the creative world, especially within an industry where commercial success often overshadows the art itself. Melissa Barrera, who should be in every movie musical, is so endearing, and her character’s romantic relationship with her childhood imaginary monster carries just the right amount of whimsy and thematic depth. However, the final sequence takes an unexpected turn that only feels inevitable once viewed in hindsight. A more gradual stylistic shift and some foreshadowing might have made this choice feel better justified in the moment.

Also, beyond the obvious, there’s some truly atrocious theater directing on display here. Tough to watch! (Good tunes though…)

I love art that celebrates and advocates for its own medium. Through the unique visual style of each character’s drawings, Look Back feels like an artist both wrestling with and paying tribute to their craft. While the narrative may feel rushed, jumping between events like vignettes that echo the paneled structure of manga, it’s remarkable how effectively the slower sequences capture the essence of being an artist—the heartbreak, jealousy, and the unfiltered potential of entering a creative collaboration with another person. Some of the backgrounds are breathtaking, and the final sequence is astoundingly poignant.

To its credit, many of the more emotionally resonant moments in Emilia Pérez emerge from its musical sequences. Although there’s no clear framework for the film’s “song world”—it’s unclear why, when, or how these shifts into song occur—the songs themselves are often melodically strong and lyrically poignant. Standouts include a song where a child recalls the scent of their deceased father and a sequence in which individual stories of grief coalesce into an expressionistic portrayal of a community mourning its missing members. The movie musical’s fatal flaw, however, is that this particular story should leave no room for any heightened artificiality—especially given its focus on a trans narrative, a topic that calls for a rejection of any sense of inauthenticity. Instead, director Jacques Audiard seems to want the heightened artificiality of the “song world” to merge with the identity crisis of his melodrama plot, resulting in an inconsistent tone that fails to unify the disparate narrative and stylistic elements he half-heartedly and problematically explores.

While Haunt may not reach the intricate puzzle-solving of the Escape Room films, it easily surpasses Hell House LLC (a recent letdown) in immersing viewers in the experience of navigating a haunted house attraction gone wrong. The film excels at keeping both the characters and the audience uncertain about the true level of danger, all while building toward progressively creepier imagery and scenarios. The production design is notable, though the polished lighting and cinematography introduce a cleanliness that detracts from the lo-fi aesthetic it could have embraced. While the performances are serviceable, the screenplay provides some solid thrills along the way. Ultimately, however, it strains a bit too much in trying to link the haunted attraction to the protagonist's troubled past, when it might have worked better as a more straightforward haunted house slasher.

Hooptober 11 #31 of 31

Without a doubt, Hell House LLC was the film I was most anxious to watch during this Hooptober. Unfortunately, it fell short—not only in creative haunted house jump scares but also as an example of found footage horror. Instead of elevating its lo-fi aesthetic in an authentic and immersive way, much of the execution feels forced and unconvincing. Sure, roaming through a dark basement with a DV camera carries an inherent creepiness, but the film lacks narrative drive, compelling characters, and visual creativity, ultimately wasting what could have been a really fun premise.

Hooptober 11 #30 of 31

Third acts in horror movies are challenging, especially when unraveling a mystery meant to culminate in a profound thematic revelation. It’s understandable, then, that the dialogue-heavy, chamber-drama feel of Heretic’s first half struggles to build up to the more conventional demands of a horror blockbuster. Although the film doesn’t quite stick the landing, with the plot becoming slightly muddled and convoluted as it progresses and expands, the first half is a deliciously taut thriller driven by a trio of clever performances that each weaponize the actor's unique charisma. Heretic stands out among religious horror films for its detachment from specific religious practices, focusing instead on the concept of religion itself. The film’s pseudo-intellectual exploration of various religions as versions of a single origin story is complemented by clear nods to its cinematic influences. Despite these references—or perhaps because of this acknowledgment—Heretic manages to feel refreshingly original within the modern horror landscape.

Completing a feature-length stop-motion animated film is always a remarkable feat, one well worth the effort for the rigorously crafted quality and precise personal touch it brings to storytelling. Adam Elliot's Memoir of a Snail embodies this tactile authenticity, capturing a world-weary tone in a somber landscape of faded dreams, lost connections, and fleeting joys. His characters express emotion through the shape and molding of their forms, inhabiting a bleakly colored physical world filled with claustrophobic clutter and a pervading sense of confinement. 

Narratively, the film is one of the more ponderous examples of the animated form, unfolding almost entirely through reflection—a spoken memoir paired with accompanying imagery. While this approach ultimately highlights the screenplay’s themes in hindsight, it occasionally renders the film inactive in its introspection. Nevertheless, Elliot’s quirky details and aphoristic dialogue feel well-earned, deepening the thoughtful, peculiar world he miraculously constructs.

Hooptober 11 #29 of 31

Noroi: The Curse combines Japanese supernatural folklore with a found footage, investigative journalist format. While it may not always justify how or why the cameras are rolling, it still impressively sets up twists and manages a collection of narrative threads that ultimately intertwine. The creepier moments feel especially real thanks to its lo-fi presentation. It’s length and documentary style keep it from building much narrative momentum, but I suspect fans of true crime might find themselves more engrossed in its simmering mystery than I was.

Hooptober 11 #28 of 31

Step 1) Write and direct a zombie feature film with all your middle school friends when you're 12 years old.

Step 2) Don’t care what some random guy over twice your age thinks when he watches it nearly two decades later.

Step 3) Keep making movies.

Hooptober 11 #27 of 31

Happy Halloween, friends! A quick note—I’ve been too busy to finish my Hooptober list by today’s deadline, but I look forward to carrying the spookiness into early November!

WNUF Halloween is my final viewing in a series of television broadcast found footage films I’ve explored this year. While Ghostwatch stands out as the most innovative and immersive experience, each subsequent film in this format has offered its own unique take on leveraging the believability of the scenario to deliver effective scares. WNUF transports us to a bygone era of cable television through VHS playback, where an unseen viewer occasionally fast-forwards past repeats of the same commercial, political ads, and weather updates. The film takes its time working within this framework to establish a believable reality before eventually veering into the unplanned. However, even as the film shifts toward more manufactured scares, WNUF ultimately feels underwhelming as a piece of narrative horror, unable to transcend its formal experimentation beyond its nostalgic analog aesthetic.

Hooptober 11 #26 of 31 

My first time watching a film made by a friend for Hooptober—and it turned out to be a perfect fit for my found footage theme this year!

Uncle Sleazo’s… sets up a clever horror anthology framework, featuring the deliriously twisted Uncle Sleazo as the host of three unique short stories: a tribute to 50s creature features, a supernatural soulmate tale (the film’s standout segment), and a body horror contagion. Interstitial commercials between the stories are especially creative and humorous, and the bumpers leading back into Uncle Sleazo’s television program evoke the lost charm of cable marathons. Great work, Lucky!

Hooptober 11 #25 of 31 

Bulbbul is my second Indian horror film from this year’s Hooptober lineup. Like other contemporary films I’ve seen from India, it blends multiple genres and tones. While this can occasionally disrupt its cohesion, it also adds depth to a story that wears its heart so openly. I appreciate the folklore-inspired framework and the vibrantly colorful cinematography—with rich practical lighting and smoke effects—even if the digital polish detracts slightly from the period feel. The score is beautiful, and the non-linear editing in the finale is genuinely moving. Still, an air of artifice prevents the story from feeling as grounded as some of its most impactful moments might require.

When moving on is less about letting go of the past and more about redistributing its weight across a community built on kindness, love, and genuine acceptance. 

That final sequence will never fail to get me.

Hooptober 11 #24 of 31

Having now seen four of Dario Argento's films, I appreciated how much of Inferno leans into pure visual storytelling, immersing viewers in the moody, expressionistic color palettes he’s so famous for. The plot barely has a thru-line and also feels secondary to the spectacle. While very little of it genuinely feels like a New York City film, the pacing keeps it engaging and never dull.

This viewing only further confirms that I’m just not really an Argento fan, but there's no denying the lasting influence of his distinct visual style.

Hooptober 11 #23 of 31

I found two easily accessible versions of Deep Red: a longer Italian dub and a shorter English cut (which also seemed dubbed). I opted for the longer Italian version, figuring it might feel a bit overstuffed but at least complete.

After feeling fairly indifferent toward my first two Argento films—and not being a big fan of Giallo horror in general—I found Deep Red more narratively engaging, tonally grounded, and stylistically restrained than most other films of its kind. While the murder mystery itself may verge on feeling dry, it becomes fun as it ventures into an eccentric, almost surreal, stalker thriller. Even though the horror sequences are spaced farther apart in this longer version, they're well worth the wait. Goblin’s score brings a thrilling intensity when fully unleashed, though it sometimes defies traditional expectations of horror music’s role in building dread or tension. The film also boasts striking shot compositions and playful camera movements that feel almost autonomous, adding to the sense of unease without overwhelming the genre’s natural style. The whole piece has a captivating, theatrical, time-capsule quality, like an Italian Edward Hopper painting come to life, perfectly matching the eerie, dreamlike tone of the narrative.

I imagine it would be fine to opt for the shorter cut on any subsequent viewings.

After a string of 12+ hour days working on an independent feature film, I watched American Movie with a small group from the team—a viewing experience impossible to separate from the film’s content (especially as we collectively nodded on and off from the exhaustion of making a movie). What struck me most was the reminder of how much of a privilege it is to make any movie at all: to have even the most modest resources and people in place, while we give so much of ourselves mentally and physically to make it happen. There’s something undeniably beautiful about creating something with a community out of a simple love for it. Even if our circumstances are significantly different from those of the film's subjects, there remains a powerful connection to the tradition of all who have made a movie before us.

Though I knew the general premise of American Movie going in, I was still surprised by the humor and pathos Chris Smith captures in his portrait of Mark Borchardt, a financially struggling but relentlessly driven amateur filmmaker, and the community that rallies around him. The film offers an unflinchingly harsh view of the “American Dream,” highlighting the tension between one’s responsibilities to others and the all-consuming passion that can drive someone into the ground. It’s a complex moral question, as the act of making films demands a level of sacrifice that goes beyond that of most other forms of artistic expression. Even so, there’s something especially poignant in recognizing Borchardt’s potential and vision, knowing that perhaps, in a different set of circumstances, he might have found his audience.

Hooptober 11 #22 of 31

Warlock puts a somewhat unique spin on the “fish out of water” trope, blending it with a classic “cat and mouse” narrative between witch and witch hunter. Julian Sands and Richard E. Grant deliver entertaining performances as they adjust to the bewildering world of the 1980s, three hundred years after their own time. However, the film often feels too tonally restrained, never fully embracing its potential for campiness, leaving it lingering in a somber mood and relaxed pace instead of reveling in the sorcerous fun of its premise.

It’s not unreasonable to claim Sean Baker as the prime example of a contemporary auteur, with each film in his oeuvre seemingly in conversation with every other. His latest film, Anora, blends elements from across his earlier works while offering a more accessible experience on a slightly larger filmmaking scale. It’s arguably his most meticulously manufactured plot, yet it still retains his signature naturalistic sensibilities, particularly in his grounded and empathetic portrayals of socioeconomic outcasts.

Anora’s first act brims with energy, centered on the day-to-day work life of dancers at a strip club and the comedy that quickly emerges from a young Russian client, who is obviously out of his depth, but has access to a seemingly endless stream of cash. Instead of turning the clear wealth polarity into the predictable opportunism, Baker crafts a more distinct arc for Ani where she genuinely believes she can be sustainably desired by someone for more than just her body. This charming series of affairs culminates in a standout montage, set to a vibrant soundtrack, that rivals the most exhilarating sequences in Baker’s previous films, showcasing a new side of his editorial strengths.

Following this mid-way emotional high point, where most romantic comedies might end in a comfortable paradise, the film’s second half crashes into harsher reality. This section of the film starts to feel slightly repetitive, as it abandons the tight pacing of the earlier scenes and shifts away from Anora’s subjective perspective into a more objective one, placing her more in the passenger seat of the plot. Though Baker controls the film’s slightly eccentric tone, the immediate goofiness of his antagonists weakens any real stakes. However, this narrative shift also creates space for a subtle, underlying relationship to emerge—one that becomes the true emotional core of the film.

Sean Baker has a rare gift for capturing the sense of entrapment within a fractured American dream and the deep care that exists between those who inhabit its margins. In the final shot of Anora, Baker holds on a remarkable moment of physical acting from Mikey Madison. Without uttering a word, she conveys a watershed moment so profoundly human that it recontextualizes the entire story that came before. While my favorite Sean Baker films settle into this level of intimate vulnerability more regularly throughout, the few moments when Anora does drop into it are unforgettably special.

Hooptober 11 #21 of 31

I was gearing up to make my usual "I survived the obligatory Tobe Hooper movie" joke, but I ended up surprising myself with how much I genuinely enjoyed his debut feature. Maybe it's the Austin influence, but Eggshells feels like a precursor to early mumblecore—think Linklater, but with fewer joints and more psychedelics. It's a cinematic time capsule, an experimental gem with in-camera editing tricks, hippie vibes, and an anti-plot structure that blends observational cinema with lo-fi surrealism.

Are you telling me there's an alternate timeline where we got this version of Tobe Hooper?

Hooptober 11 #20 of 31

I loved how Demons explored the parallels between the main story and the film-within-the-film, especially the way the curse seemed to bleed from one into the other. It’s the movie’s most distinctive and intriguing element, and I wish it had been developed even further across the runtime. It’s also the kind of fun, high-concept premise that villainizes the kind of inventive marketing you’d expect from a distributor like A24. The filmmaking delivers some fantastic movie theater visuals, bathing the cinema in colorful giallo-style lighting and atmosphere. I'd love to experience this again on the big screen with a crowd someday!

A charming underdog sports comedy from “Uncle Adam,” Happy Gilmore earns its laughs thanks to its winsome premise and big heart. I’m looking forward to the sequel! 😉

For nearly a decade, I’ve wanted to direct Nick Payne’s play “Constellations,” and his screenplay for We Live in Time almost feels like witnessing a cinematic adaptation of that play. In both pieces, Payne introduces a cancer diagnosis early on, shifting the emotional weight away from that burden and freeing the viewer from anticipating its reveal as the story’s climax. Instead, both narratives unfold through a series of non-linear vignettes that create a tapestry of a relationship, inviting us to focus on individual moments of profound love and intimacy. Once we stop fixating on where we are in the chronology, each fragment of time stands alone, contributing its own texture to our understanding of this relationship. These isolated moments then form a beautiful, cohesive whole that embodies and emphasizes the central theme of We Live in Time—and, of course, its title.

While non-linear storytelling is more commonly found in the metaphorical world of stage plays, where the immediacy of live performance helps ground the experience, I’m struck by how seamlessly Payne and director John Crowley translate this structure to film. Payne’s screenplay shows great restraint in resisting the pull toward a more conventional, gut-wrenching climax; after all, we already know "what happens." The film’s final power lies not in a shocking reveal but in the small, nuanced goodbyes we witness. The last moment is a simple yet perfect bookend—an understated act of honor and remembrance. It suggests that if we truly allow ourselves to live inside time, it’s these moments—the ones infused with love and specificity—that we’ll carry with us forever.

I expected this to be more of Adam Pearson’s film, and while I understand the decision to make his character so two-dimensional to solidify the film’s argument, it’s disappointing that his emergence in the narrative coincides with the screenplay becoming its most obviously settled about its themes. A Different Man is metacontextual in a way that might not be entirely satisfying on its own terms or without additional commentary. Still, it raises interesting questions about who gets to play which roles and at what point one loses ownership of their own story. While Pearson and Stan will likely receive most of the praise, it’s Renate Reinsve who holds the two halves of the film together. She is such a skilled actor that I went from being smitten with her “playwright next door” persona to finding that character absolutely insufferable. But where Edward and Oswald exist almost exclusively a result of what happens to them, Ingrid is at least given the opportunity to act with different shades of complexity.

Hooptober 11 #19 of 31

Final Destination 5 brings the franchise back to its fundamentals: premonitions, freak accidents, and the relentless fight against fate. Although it shares some of the stylistic blandness of the fourth movie, this installment is far better crafted, featuring stronger writing and a genuine effort to create emotional connections between the characters and the audience. Although seasoned viewers may stay a step ahead of the characters, the film's deliberate pacing adds value as it explores Death’s rules, and a new loophole introduces an intriguing moral layer we haven't seen before. Tony Todd’s return further enhances the film's atmosphere, reestablishing Death as a true antagonist shrouded in mystery. The final franchise wrap-around is very clever! 

Overall, I enjoyed this franchise far more than I expected. Its moments of brilliance lie in turning everyday activities into sources of tremendous paranoia. The unique premise sets it apart from most major horror series, even if the death traps' cause-and-effect spectacle sometimes overshadows the depth or development of its characters. If I had to rank the films, it would be: 1 > 3 > 5 > 2 > 4. I'd gladly welcome another entry that takes the concept in a fresh tonal and aesthetic direction. Thanks for following along with my marathon! Let’s see how anxious I am about leaving my apartment tomorrow…

Hooptober 11 #18 of 31

While none of the movies in this franchise are exactly models of restraint, this installment feels needlessly excessive, likely due to its heavy reliance on CGI for both the premonitions and deaths. Additionally, this is the first time the series feels derivative of itself and short on new tricks, with characters seeming to make irrational or unsafe choices. Since we aren't shown their struggle to explore every possible means of escape during the drawn-out deaths, their overall impact is diminished. The quicker deaths also feel less creative or plausible. This entry features the least compelling visual style, protagonist, and set of characters—a combination of strangers and a friend group—and the dialogue blatantly spells out what previous films trusted the audience to intuit. While it wasn’t quite as unwatchable as I was expecting, there’s nothing in this one that’s likely to stick with me, nor does it add anything new to the franchise.

Hooptober 11 #17 of 31

As a big fan of amusement parks growing up, this was the first “Final Destination” movie that really caught my attention when it was released, and it was the one I was most excited to watch today. After another exhilarating opening sequence—this time tapping into the common fear of roller coasters—I realized I’m always left disappointed when these movies move on to the rest of the plot. Their structure tends to open with their most unique aspect, but then feels somewhat repetitive as the story unfolds. However, despite the photographic clues feeling less logical than the unexplainable premonitions that happen solely in a character’s mind, this update to the concept adds an intriguing layer of mystery. We discover the setting of the deaths, but not exactly how they’ll occur.

Given that these movies are slasher-adjacent, the teen horror-comedy tone in this installment works well. The inclusion of relationships and family members makes it easier to connect with the characters, raising the stakes and adding a deeper sense of guilt, which emotionally grounds this one a bit more. I also appreciated how the events of Flight 180 are now almost treated as an urban legend, though the story starts to lean into a "gaslighting horror" angle, which I was glad the original movie avoided.

Dinner break before the fourth movie. I’ve heard that one’s the best, right?

Hooptober 11 #16 of 31

Final Destination 2 delivers another thrilling opening premonition sequence that arguably surpasses the original, thanks to its larger scale and impressive practical effects. The film continues the series' signature tension, with more bait-and-switch close calls to keep audiences on edge. However, it also falls into many of the trappings of what we now call a “legacy sequel,” despite being made only three years later—featuring a few original characters guiding a new group through a familiar plot. The attempt to connect it back to the first movie feels somewhat convoluted, and the dynamic of strangers facing death is less compelling than a group of friends. Additionally, the film treats premonitions more like a superpower, detracting from the randomness and mystery that made the original concept so effective. Outside of that opening sequence, this is another classic case of bigger not necessarily meaning better.

Hooptober 11 #15 of 31

I never thought I'd find myself willingly embarking on a marathon of the “Final Destination” movies, but Hooptober has a way of making one do some crazy things.

Even if the premise feels tired by the end of the franchise, as I expect it might (stay tuned...), it's refreshing to see some inverse gaslighting horror—where we quickly learn that the "insane" person isn't insane at all. The first entry is unexpectedly thoughtful about the mysteriously inescapable nature of death, yet revels in its over-the-top, elaborate deathtrap sequences. Its sleek visual aesthetic enhances the dramatic irony for the audience, and the early 2000s vibe, tinged with Y2K conspiracy paranoia, adds a layer of millennial nostalgia. Fun!

Hooptober 11 #14 of 31

While I love this premise, The Hands of Orlac exemplifies my common criticism of non-comedy silent films, taking far too much time to communicate each new action of storytelling. Still, it’s occasionally nice to visit movies that are this expressive, not only in performances communicated through gesture, but also in shot composition, production design, and lighting. The simplicity is refreshing, and the more time that passes through the progression of the medium, the more hauntingly atmospheric a 100-year-old ghost of a film like this becomes.

Hooptober 11 #13 of 31

Man, they really don’t make enough mindf*ck psychological puzzlers anymore. Much of the joy of It’s What’s Inside (an amazing title once it clicks) comes from discovering the soft sci-fi premise in real-time and considering all of the potential possibilities and ramifications of this phenomenon. Even after that first viewing, it likely rewards multiple rewatches to track all of its switches. It’s a good thing the film doesn’t fully trust its audience, offering visually clever hints along the way, though a stronger sense of command or more defined rules for when it reveals this information might have heightened its dramatic impact. 

Still, it’s a compelling character-driven piece that explores fractured romantic relationships and the shallowness of internet social life. It’s also fun to consider as an acting exercise—it’s wild how we are sometimes able to see straight through the actor’s body to the character inside (this will make more sense after viewing). Director Greg Jardin incorporates many bold and direct stylistic flourishes, enhancing the film's self-reflexive take on the hyper-connected, sensationalist world it portrays.

Don’t botch this, Netflix.

The brick-by-brick assembly of the risky unproven seemingly doomed to fail…

Saturday Night is a vigorously kinetic ensemble production that proves vision is always secondary to the people who make it all happen. Shot like a period documentary and edited to make you feel the ticking clock in your bones, Jason Reitman’s appropriately inappropriate film captures the ecstasy and agony of live production and the emotional weight of sending your creation out into the world. While it occasionally falters in its steadfast commitment to its formal exercise—focusing on many small interpersonal conflicts instead of any one of greater substance—the final sequence had me cheering through tears. 

Even if we may someday become the old producer, slumped in a chair with our mind drifting elsewhere, we still choose to run up the stairs with full determination for what lies ahead anyway.

The genuine disdain that permeated the Times Square IMAX with the beginning of each new musical number has fueled me tremendously. Thank you, Todd Phillips!

Look, I completely understand why folks hate this. It’s a 2-hour-15-minute prison drama/courtroom procedural that offers almost no action but includes more songs than many traditional musicals. Yet, I found this to be an extremely clever evolution of this character and his chosen forms of performative expression. When we find Arthur Fleck in prison, with all jokes (and Joker) beaten out of him, it’s a prison screening of The Band Wagon that is able to psychologically reawaken something within him. What follows is a surprisingly intricate exploration of movie musical performance as a means of identity, escapism, transcendence, or perhaps psychosis. For Phillips to execute this with such deliberate pettiness—essentially presenting a series of pedestrian karaoke renditions of classic songs—is, in its own way, inspired.

For all those who have watched a musical and cynically asked, “Why are they singing?” Joker: Folie à Deux actually has a really fascinating answer.

Hooptober 11 #12 of 31

Hold Your Breath is a Western psychological thriller with elements of folk horror and religious parable. While it touches on the horror theme of parental protection, it lacks the same degree of period authenticity and richness of style needed to distinguish it from other contemporary horror dramas. The screenplay occasionally feels inscrutable, juggling too many narrative threads where a tighter focus on fewer events might have been more effective. However, the film consistently finds inventive ways to generate fear within the unsettling atmosphere of its unique setting. The filmmakers excel at conveying the palpable dread of the deteriorating air quality, immersing the audience in the escalating tension. Sarah Paulson delivers a predictably fierce performance, propelling the story to a surprisingly emotional and powerful conclusion.

I, for one, never think about the Roman Empire—like, ever. The same, however, cannot be said for Mr. Coppola, who attempts to tackle the fallacy (or potential) of a utopian civilization by applying the principles of Ancient Rome to a New York City that oscillates between the familiar and the fantastical. His colossal city is filled with real-world iconography, from a swastika to a taxi advertisement for “The Outsiders” musical currently on Broadway. Take that simple example of incongruence and extend it across every aspect of Megalopolis, and you might begin to grasp how this film is teeming with ideas while lacking even the most basic thematic, tonal, or stylistic cohesion.

To Coppola's credit, his wildly ambitious and unlikely film is never dull. Many of his ideas, and their often spectacularly surreal visual execution, are compelling within their own context. The plot, too, is far less incoherent than I was led to believe. There’s a discernible central character, alongside lovers and opponents who fit together within a story world that changes over the course of the runtime. Yet even as there is a followable narrative spine, particularly on a more personal scale than a larger societal one, it doesn’t engage with the viewer enough to elevate the experience as a whole.

I do think it’s neat that some people genuinely like this movie, and ultimately, I’m glad Coppola got to make something he was so clearly determined to bring into this world. Even if Megalopolis felt like a cinematic artifact from the moment it was completed, it still offers a fascinating cultural curio within the history of the medium. It exists outside of time and place, yet is forever tied to Coppola’s singular vision for an impossibly perfect future.

Hooptober 11 #11 of 31

“It is sad
Maybe that’s why the sex scene is so beautiful.
because you know it’s coming from grief.
Because the grief is 
tearing the couple apart
but then it’s bringing them together
at the same time.
In this very strange way.”
- Stereophonic

Intercutting between the act of sex and its unremarkable aftermath, accompanied by a melancholic piano/reeds underscore, makes a truly memorable sequence inside of a film that otherwise often feels narratively meandering and, as a watch for a horror challenge, somewhat disappointing. That said, much of Nicolas Roeg’s craft is still admirable. The cinematography is evocative, particularly in how it leans into the inherently eerie, labyrinthine decay of Venice. Pino Donaggio’s score is emotionally resonant, and the climactic sequence—using non-linear, subjective editing set against a disparate soundscape—feels ahead of its time.

I don’t log short films, so this is how I track the ones I’ve seen. (Sorted by release year)

*Some of these also fall under TV specials.

• 1 in the Chamber
• Swedish Death
• FEIGN
• This Means Goodnight
• SICK DAY
• The Boy & the Octopus
• Tender Thoughts
• Corpse Fishing
• FIRELINE
• Endling

...plus 264 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

/ˈˌmajik ˈrēəˌlizəm/

noun

a literary or artistic genre in which realistic narrative and naturalistic technique are combined with surreal elements of dream or fantasy.

(Open to suggestions!)

• 13 Going on 30
• About Time
• The Adventures of Baron Munchausen
• The Age of Adaline
• All of Us Strangers
• Amélie
• Anomalisa
• The Artist
• Atlantics
• Beasts of the Southern Wild

...plus 107 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Strapping in for my 7th Hooptober!

Even though my Hooptober lists will never be as cohesive as my first year—when my rookie status as a horror fan allowed me to fill the list with classics—this year’s lineup feels particularly amorphous as I juggle fulfilling criteria with trying to check off as many watchlist movies as possible.

Still, I’ve managed to find a few themes that offer a little alliteration for my list title. After watching Late Night with the Devil and Ghostwatch earlier this year, I wanted to explore more broadcast-adjacent found footage and ended up leaning into that subgenre even further. Simultaneously, I selected the “Final Destination” movies for my complete franchise watch—an unexpected endeavor prompted by Cinemonster’s criteria. And to cap it off, I’m very excited for a Coralie Fargeat double feature, with The Substance hitting theaters soon.

As always, I'm likely to shift a few movies around throughout the process.

This year's original list and rules can be found here. Happy Hooptober, y’all!! 🎃

6 countries:
USA
Austria
Italy
Japan
Spain
France
India
Canada

8 decades:
1920s
1960s
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
2010s
2020s

ALL of the films from a horror franchise with at least 4 entries (if there is a hard reboot, you can choose whichever has 4+ that you prefer):
Final Destination (5) 

1 film by Wes Craven:
Red Eye

1 film caused by/worsened by weather:
Hold Your Breath

1 film starring a Black woman:
Vamp

1 Donald Sutherland film:
Don’t Look Now

3 films from New World Pictures:
Warlock
Vamp
Children of the Corn

2 Indian films:
Bulbbul
Game Over

4 Italian films:
Cemetery Man
Inferno
Deep Red
Demons

2 Horror comedies:
Vamp
Cemetery Man

2 films made primarily or entirely in Texas:
Pathogen
Eggshells

1 film that exists in at least 2 available cuts (you just have to watch one. Bonus if you watch them all.):
Hell House LLC

1 Robert Wiene film:
The Hands of Orlac

1 Michele Soavi film:
Cemetery Man

1 film from 2011:
Final Destination 5

1 film from 1984:
Children of the Corn

And 1 Tobe Hooper Film (There must ALWAYS be a Hooper film):
Eggshells

Bonus:
Uncle Sleazo’s…
WNUF
[Rec]
Noroi: The Curse
The Visit
Milk & Serial
Revenge
The Substance
It’s What’s Inside
Heretic

• The Hands of Orlac
• Eggshells
• Don't Look Now
• Deep Red
• Inferno
• Children of the Corn
• Demons
• Vamp
• Warlock
• Cemetery Man

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Big Fish
2. Edward Scissorhands
3. Batman Returns
4. Corpse Bride
5. Ed Wood
6. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
7. Beetlejuice
8. Pee-wee's Big Adventure
9. Batman
10. Frankenweenie

...plus 10 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Over the past six months I have been rewatching many of my favorite movies from the past decade. I’ve also explored many new movies from the 2010s, by recommendation from friends as well as films that I’ve missed that have had critical or commercial importance. In total, my watchlist consisted of 70 films. I watched each with a notebook in hand, diving deeper into criticism and analysis than I typically would.

The following is a list of my “Top 10 Films of the 2010s.” I want to stress that I am not claiming these as the 10 BEST movies. “Best” is subjective and frankly, doesn’t mean much.

Instead, I believe that these are the 10 films that have ultimately lingered on my mind and in my soul in the most profound way. As I continue throughout life, I can always look back at these films as the ones that shaped me the most significantly in my young adulthood. The ones to always be remembered from the most formative years of my love for cinema.

1. Boyhood

   Some have written this film off as simply being a gimmick or as an abuser of style over substance. But for me, Boyhood is the clear top film of the decade and one of the most astonishing artistic achievements I’ve ever seen. I know this movie won’t appeal to everyone and I won’t try to convince you if you’re set against it, but allow me to share my personal feelings as to why I consider this film to be a miracle.

   As you probably know, the designing principle of Boyhood is that it was filmed over 12 years, depicting a series of characters as the actors age naturally with them. Each year lasts approximately 10-12 minutes of the movie. This format allows for a cinematic experience that has otherwise rarely been accomplished (except by some of Linklater’s other films). Over the course of the film, we literally watch a human being grow. Many human beings actually. Just as well as it is called Boyhood, it could also be called Motherhood or Fatherhood or even Familyhood. While we are primarily chronicling Mason’s story from the first grade to his freshman year of college (age 6-18), we are also watching Patricia Arquette’s beautiful portrayal of a stay-at-home mother who finds independence as an inspirational college professor. We also witness Ethan Hawke as a father who ultimately learns to become a good parent, where he was once absent. Still, all of this amounts to something that is bigger than any plot or story. Boyhood is successful at documenting life itself.

   This form of non-narrative structure gives Richard Linklater a completely open canvas to pose every possible existential question that he has on his mind. While returning to the project each year, he would check in with the cast and write each section based on the things they would bring to the table and what felt pressing in their own lives at the time. The conversations would affect the plot and the growth of the characters, and especially inspire the fears and dreams they express throughout the film. I remember one of the cast members talking about how it almost became therapeutic; that they had the freedom to put themselves so fully into the piece.

   Boyhood also exists as a time capsule of the 2000s, and especially what it was like to grow up in that period. We see Gameboys turn into Halo, the High School Musical craze, the 2008 Election, etc., all signifying where we are in time. This specificity really grounds the film and provides a fascinating way of seeing how even the world itself changes year by year. Many of these details are familiar to my own life. I remember having bike races around my block, going to the midnight releases of the new Harry Potter book, and even having to say goodbye to my childhood home. The parallels could go on and on, and there are things in here that all of us have gone through in one way or another.

   The editing is crucial to the success of Boyhood. We are not shown sections broken down by year (characters do not “wake up” with another year gone), nor are we shown any titles indicating each age. Instead, Linklater moves us naturally from one moment to the next, allowing time to unfold like a series of memories or photographs undefined by age. As we go, we see characters enter and leave without celebration, showing how someone could be the most important person in our life at a given moment in time, and be completely gone a year later. But we also come to realize the people who are always there, throughout everything. We don’t “feel” a year older on our birthday, just as we don’t wake up one day and suddenly realize we look more like an adult. And our memories are often not defined by the milestones they represent, but rather our feelings surrounding that event. You don’t necessarily remember your high school graduation, but you remember the car ride home, or maybe the graduation party. We are not shown Mason’s first kiss, losing his virginity, finding his first job, or getting accepted to college. We are shown the moments in between. The colossal significance of the everyday. Because that’s where life is. Our lives are defined by moving from moment to moment to moment to moment. Only forward. It’s constant, and it’s always right now.

   Honestly, there’s a part of me that’s hoping they’ve been secretly off filming the next twelve years. I’d like to know that these people are okay. And I’d like to be reminded that wherever I am in my life, I am also doing okay. Revisiting this movie has become its own set of memories for me. I remember seeing it in theaters for the first time with my childhood best friend, watching it alone my first week of college, and sharing it with family and a girlfriend.

   By condensing 12 years of moments into a singular experience, Boyhood has become its own therapeutic part of my life. A time for reflecting upon my own series of moment to moment to moment to moment.

2. The Florida Project

   When I saw this movie for the first time at the Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn, the theatre was playing a pre-show of clips from some old Florida tourism commercials. It felt like a yesteryear in a faraway land of swamps and orange groves. At some point this transitioned into the sun-kissed glow of a motel with fading purple paint. A place that was so physically close to “The Most Magical Place on Earth,” but couldn’t possibly be further away.

   The Florida Project is a naturalistic film about six-year-old Moonee and her mother Halley living at The Magic Castle, a cheap motel just a few miles from Walt Disney World. The title refers to the low-income families stuck living in the motel, as well as the name Walt Disney gave the parks in the early days of planning.

   Moonee spends most of her summer days unsupervised with her fellow motel-resident friends, often engaging in activities that are dangerous, illegal, or morally wrong. Halley is an irresponsible parent, unemployed, and spends too little time figuring out where the week’s rent will come from. Bobby, played by Willem Dafoe, is manager of the motel and often the protector of the children. At first, the “slice-of-life” plot seems to move without a clear sense of direction, but we are ultimately led somewhere extremely purposeful. Upon further consideration of the film, it is easy to recognize that we have been led to this ending all along. It was inevitable. The final sequence is a bold shift in tone, and leaves the audience in an incredibly difficult place. Of all the stunner endings I’ve mentioned on this list, this is the one that left me utterly speechless and gutted the first time I saw it.

   I mention only Willem Dafoe by name because he is one of the only performers in this film that had prior acting experience. Halley, played by Bria Vinaite, was found on Instagram, and Brooklynn Prince (Moonee) was a local girl that Sean Baker found at an open casting call. Valeria Cotto, who plays Moonee’s friend Jancey, was hired after Baker saw her shopping with her mother at a Target. Many of the background actors in the film were actual residents at the Magic Castle. In a way, Sean Baker’s films almost feel like a documentary. It is evident how much care he puts into exploring a community with sincerity, and without exploiting his subjects. While the exact details of this story are fictional, this hotel and the hidden homeless inside are very real. We’ve all seen people like Moonee and Halley.

   The filmmaking keeps us primarily within Moonee’s perspective. Baker shoots her at eye height and keeps the camera low to the ground, often giving her the status in scenes with adults. We see something as fun and games through the eyes of the kids, that is dangerous in the world of the adults (a duality that can be very difficult to watch in some scenes). Baker also brilliantly keeps us aware that we are always in the shadow of Disney without ever explicitly relying on that as plot. Our characters walk by off-brand gift shops and flip off tourists taking off on helicopter tours. In one scene we see a couple who mistakenly booked the Magic Castle thinking they were staying somewhere a few miles down the road. We even see a road sign for “Seven Dwarfs Ln.” If I’m correct, we never hear any actual Disney words in the film, outside of referring to “the parks.”

   All of the movies on this list mean something to me, but The Florida Project perhaps affected my life in the most concrete way. If you didn’t know, I worked at Walt Disney World in the winter of 2018. If it weren’t for this film, I probably would not have applied for the program, and I definitely would not have gone. I won’t explain why, but this film was the push I needed. I watched The Florida Project the night I moved into my apartment and showed it to some of my new friends the night before I left. I even convinced a friend to drive me to The Magic Castle for a visit.

   The Florida Project is about being a kid, the moment when you are forced to no longer be a kid, and the magical kingdoms you make for yourself when your world is anything but. Instead of an animal kingdom, Moonee plays in a nearby cow field. Instead of a haunted mansion, Moonee and her friends explore an abandoned housing project. Instead of robotic birds, Bobby talks to a real flock of birds passing through the parking lot.

   It’s easy to miss, but if you look closely you might understand why I think this is the most magical movie I’ve ever seen.

3. Whiplash

   Whiplash is a rhythmic masterpiece.

   Andrew, played by Miles Teller, is an obsessive drummer who desires to become “one of the greats,” and is extremely determined to not let anything get in his way. This is a perfect example of a story where a character pushes themself past their limit and to an extreme, in order to achieve their goal. Andrew’s behavior moves from simply being unhealthy, to becoming completely self-destructive as he willingly sabotages all of his personal relationships and even dances with death. His obsession eventually leads him to what he was chasing all along. But at what cost? I think Chazelle really captures the “genius” mentality and presents it as a caution tale. Andrew is both triumphant and pathetic in his endeavor, as he sacrifices being “good,” for being “great.”

   J.K. Simmons as Fletcher gives what is perhaps my favorite performance of the decade as one of my all-time favorite movie characters. Fletcher provides a perfect counterpart to Andrew, and is an incredible antagonist. His music coaching method is complex. He is brutal and damaging, often to the point of being violent and abusive, but he also has a certain validity in the points that he makes. Fletcher is trying to inspire “one of the greats.” He attempts to create the next Charlie Parker by referencing a story of a cymbal being thrown at Saxophonist Charlie Parker’s head for playing something poorly. Fletcher claims that if Parker had just been told “good job,” and metaphorically handed a participation trophy, he would have continued on as an average musician just like anyone else. Instead, Parker turns around and gives one of the best Jazz solos of all-time, leading to his rise to greatness. When Andrew asks Fletcher if his harsh methods may instead discourage students, Fletcher replies that the next Charlie Parker would never be discouraged. Whether you are onboard with aspects of this methodology or not, there’s an interesting moral question presented that depends on where one choses to fall on the spectrum of these two arguments.

   I’ve always been drawn to stories about student/teacher relationships, and I’ve never seen that dynamic have more electricity or be explored more fully than in Whiplash. There is a constant push and pull between Andrew and Fletcher, and ultimately every success and every failure becomes shared between them. That back and forth is the driving force of the film and regardless of whether it’s a quiet conversation at a bar or a chair flying through the air, they continue to challenge one another by raising the stakes and demanding the other to meet them there. It becomes a sort of dance and has a musicality that gives the screenplay the same rhythmic essence as the drumming that the story is about.

   The inciting moment of Whiplash comes on the very first shot of the film when Andrew, playing drums late at night in a rehearsal studio, is discovered by Fletcher. His desire to impress Fletcher and get into his top ensemble becomes Andrew’s immediate desire. There is no wasted time in this film as it also ends immediately following the climax. Many films fall short for me when we lose all of the momentum in its final moments, but instead Whiplash ends with a nearly 10-minute long drumming sequence that continues to grow and build tension as it moves. Chazelle doesn’t release that tension until he cuts to black, and we realize that we’ve been holding our breath through the film’s final few moments.

   I love that Chazelle doesn’t answer every question he poses and chooses to leave certain character intentions and the reality of the ending up to the viewer’s interpretation. If you read my La La Land piece yesterday, you know that I think Damien Chazelle is a master at endings. What he does in Whiplash is very similar to La La Land, but instead focuses on the actual performance the musician is giving. We stay closer to a realistic perspective, rather than going into any heightened version of artistic expression. We are left to fully witness Andrew’s perfect performance as he becomes the next Charlie Parker.

4. La La Land

   La La Land is as a musical love story told through bright colors, soundstages, and dreamers. It is an homage to the classic movie musicals of yesterday, and pulls most specifically from the work of Jacques Demy and his film “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.” At age 32, Damien Chazelle became the youngest person to win the Academy Award for Best Director and has emerged as one of my favorite new filmmakers.

   La La Land works to be grounded in reality in a way that the musical theatre form is usually not. The little flaws and imperfections in the film deliberately make these struggling artists more human. For example, there’s a great little moment where Ryan Gosling trips up on a lyric and it causes him and Emma Stone to laugh through the rest of that phrase. Chazelle’s choice to actually use that take in the film gives us a genuine “liveness” that is ultimately closer to the essence of theatre than most other musical movies. Gosling and Stone may not be as polished as dancers or singers as the strongest musical theatre performers, but that would make for an untrue film.

   Mia’s arc showcases many of the day-to-day challenges of being an actress, and an artist at large. In early scenes, we see her as a coffee shop barista, going to parties hoping to meet the person who will give her a big break, and at an audition with dozens of similarly-dressed girls who look exactly like her. We also see her go through major failures and the struggle of almost giving up. One of my favorite scenes is when she goes back to her childhood bedroom and the camera glides across her drama trophies and certificates. We finally see her come to full life in an important audition, where she remembers why she wanted to be a storyteller in the first place.

   Sebastian’s inability to move forward and change is what holds him back. His stubbornness in “trying to save Jazz” is his fatal flaw as a character. Keith, played by John Legend, is crucial in opening Sebastian up to new ideas. By the end of the film he has learned to compromise and recognizes that he has to listen to what his audience wants or there will not be an audience. If he named his Jazz Club, “Chicken on a Stick” like he is insistent upon at the beginning of the film, it probably would have been a failure. It is not only about him.

   I look at La La Land more as a romance with songs than as a traditional musical. There’s a point in the film where the tone flips, the music stops, and the color starts to fade away. This works very well in a movie, but would probably not work on stage. The music comes back at the end in the form of a nearly 10-minute long dream ballet (which contains my second favorite piece of film music in the history of cinema). Sebastian sits down at the piano, plays the main love motif, and finishes playing. Within that is an entire life shown through memories, abstractions, and “what if’s.” It becomes surreal and is the closest thing to what artistic expression means to me, that I’ve ever seen captured.

   I’ve spent hours thinking about the ending of this film. When friends starting seeing it, I spoke with dozens of them about their interpretations, and even made a facebook status at one point asking whether or not the film has a happy ending. Draw your own conclusions from this, but a definitive majority of the under-30 crowd said “Yes, this film has a happy ending,” and a definitive majority of the over-30 crowd said “No, it does not.”

   La La Land came at the perfect time in my life as I was about to leave the comfort of college to enter the struggles of dream-chasing. It challenged everything I had come to believe about myself, my relationships, and my hopes for the future. I saw La La Land five times in theaters and probably close to that many since. It’s a film that has brought me more joy than any other film this decade and has given me a score that I will listen to forever.

   “Here’s to the fools who dream”

5. The Social Network

   The Social Network has appeared at the top of nearly every 2010s list I’ve seen, and if it wasn’t for a stronger personal connection to my remaining four movies, this would be an easy top pick. At the very least, I would argue that this is the most definitive film of the last 10 years. The Social Network depicts the rise of a disturbingly powerful corporation that steamrolls by anyone attempting to hold it back, at the hands of a lone sad dude trying to get back at a girl who dumped him. That corporation is Facebook and the dude is Mark Zuckerberg, a career-best performance from Jesse Eisenberg.

   There are many things to admire about this filmmaking. Aaron Sorkin’s script is sharp and witty, and plays out more like a well-timed thriller than a traditional biopic. Structurally, Sorkin gives us a frame narrative of a deposition hearing. The rhythmic editing between the hearing and the main storyline allows for an incredible intensity that heightens the stakes in a very cinematic way. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross write one of the absolute best film scores of the decade. The ambient, electronic droning combined with a simple piano motif creates a perfect main theme that becomes the emotional spine of the film. Additionally, the film has some of the best uses of spotting (where the score kicks in) that I’ve ever seen.

   The film leaves us with another one of my favorite movie endings. It’s small and simple, but gives a perfect bookend that brings us back to the brilliant opening scene of the film. There is a limitation to the happiness that power can bring, and Mark is forced to reckon with the choices he’s made and the people he’s left behind.

   As the social and political impact of Facebook continues to grow, so do our chances of seeing The Social Network 2.

6. Moonlight

   I remember when Moonlight started screening, and it was immediately called by many as the best film of the decade. This is the first of two times I can recall that happening in the last 10 years and every time I’ve watched the film, my belief in that statement has grown. It is my favorite Academy Award Best Picture of the decade, and remains a film that I think of often when I’m making theatre.

   Moonlight is the story of a gay black man growing up in Miami, told through three separate chapters of his life (titled Little, Chiron, and Black). He is played stunningly well by three different actors, a choice that can often create a disconnect, but works tremendously here. The performances are tied together so well that you see the essence of this character living seamlessly through all three actors. Each has a sense of who he is, where he’s been, and what he may become.

   Cinematically, this remains one of the most poetic pieces of filmmaking I’ve seen. The color palette of deep blues and reds, the flowing sensuality of the camera work, and the reoccurrence of water all exist as visual metaphors within the storytelling. Barry Jenkins captures the body in a way that is uniquely intimate, as his close-ups simultaneously show a character’s strength and the depth of their vulnerability. I’ve never seen someone do that before. His filmmaking is profound in its gentleness.

   Moonlight beautifully captures the isolating feeling of being other, told through a lens of masculinity and tenderness. It is Jenkins’ specificity in the world and people he‘s expressing, that allows us to see clearly into Chiron’s soul. Chiron is different from me in many ways, but he is very similar in others. That we may have that connection is one of art’s greatest gifts.

7. Blue Jay

   Blue Jay will likely be the least-known movie on my list, but it is absolutely a hidden gem that I hope people will seek out. Written by and starring Mark Duplass and Sarah Paulson, the low-budget film was shot in a week and is stunningly photographed in Black and White.

   The story is about Jim and Amanda, two former high-school sweethearts, who meet by chance at a supermarket when returning to their hometown. We spend the film with just the two as they reflect upon their shared history, diverged present, and hopes for the future.

   I love how intimate and personal the film feels due to the modesty of the filmmaking. In an indescribable way, I feel like I wrote this movie. I feel like I’ve been writing this movie in my mind since I was old enough to think about love and stories and memory. It is a strange sensation that is unique to my connection with this film.

   To paraphrase Mark Duplass, “Blue Jay feels like when you go home for the holidays and you’re looking through your room and finding old letters and old pictures and you’re remembering who you thought you were going to be and reckoning with who you are now, and it’s never the same thing. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes that’s bad, but it always makes you feel so deeply.”

   No matter how great our lives might be now, or how traumatic some people might consider their high school experiences, I think there’s a bit of all of us that misses some part of the person we used to be.

   Blue Jay sits in that.

8. Short Term 12

   Short Term 12 is one of the first small, independent films that I ever saw, and I immediately fell in love with it. It features a now all-star cast of relative newbies at the time, including Brie Larson who carries the film in what I believe remains her best performance to date. Director Destin Daniel Cretton is a name you should come to know, as this film is why he was recently chosen to direct the upcoming Marvel film “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.”

   Grace (Larson) is a supervisor at a short term foster care facility for neglected teens struggling with a myriad of challenges. As she navigates a relationship with a new girl, pieces of her own troubled past begin to surface. What could come off as overly sentimental or cliché if done poorly, is instead an honest and nuanced portrayal of the social work system and the kids who fall victim to the stigmas associated with "disadvantaged" youth.

   The movie allows you to feel deeply for each of these kids from the moment you meet them, and their very real performances and an unconventional camera drops you right into their world. There is a particular scene led by first-time actor Lakeith Stanfield (now known for Get Out, Sorry to Bother You, and Knives Out, among others) that remains one of the most truthful moments I’ve ever seen captured by a camera. It’s simple and small, but a piece of storytelling I will never forget.

   Short Term 12 is about people who carry pain, the guards they put up in attempt to protect themselves, and the efforts they take in order to heal. If you need a bit of healing, this film is the best medicine I can offer. The journey may be difficult, but it will leave you with a smile on your face and a heart full of empathy.

9. Her

   Her is one of four screenplays that sits on my desktop. If you haven’t seen the film, you likely know the premise as the one where a guy falls in love with his computer. What it’s actually doing - if you’re willing to buy in - is a deep exploration of love and connection in the age of technologic dominance. A world that seemed close in 2013, but inevitable in 2020.

   Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) is a greeting card writer. More specifically, he writes love notes for the same couples over the course of their marriages and relationships. We see him formulating the words, poetic and true, for these strangers where he cannot with his ex-wife. He was not emotionally truthful with her; not willing to connect. He begins a relationship with Samantha (his Operating System, voiced incredibly by Scarlett Johansson) that is respected by some, and criticized by other. Characters in the movie represent the audience’s discomfort by his choices. However, at some point we start to buy into this relationship. Perhaps because it makes Theodore happy. We see all of the ingredients of a loving, successful relationship (except for the part where she is an artificial intelligence). But there is a lesson to be learned here, and ultimately we are left with a hopeful ending of protagonist who is ready for something real.

   The film has one of my favorite scores of the decade (an area of film that means a great deal to me, and a major player many of the films on this list).
   

   Her is about sadness,
   depression,
   feeling alone,
   but feeling.
   It’s about love,
   connection,
   and learning to connect.

   “Now we know how.”

10. Inception

    If I had to guess, Inception is probably the movie that made me fall in love with movies. At least in a way that I started really paying attention to. I would have been 14 years old when the movie came out and defined the summer of 2010, the perfect age for what we call a “Christopher Nolan Mindf*ck” to be my favorite thing at the time. But the truth is, 10 years later and Inception still holds up as an incredible piece of filmmaking that goes far deeper into the psychology of its ideas than most other action blockbusters. The score remains one of the most well-known of the decade, and the final shot is a masterpiece in its own right.

    This is what Nolan does, at its best. The scope of the plot is immense. If you imagine the arc of a story looking like a mountain, Inception looks like a music staff. “Dreams within dreams,” equal layers of plotting frames that go deeper and deeper. It’s so complex and ambitious that as a 14-year old, I couldn’t help but be inspired that someone came up with this story. I remember thinking of the filmmaking as a puzzle. Nolan would only give us certain pieces upfront; the border and couple of sections where the colors seem to match. Then by using non-linear storytelling, he can reveal information about the past when it makes the most narrative sense and packs the strongest emotional punch.

    Even despite the plot being so massive and the thematic ideas carrying such immense weight, Inception can ultimately be whittled down to something very personal: a father doing everything he can to be with his children. The movie is as bombastic or as intimate as you want it to be.

    Nobody achieves that balancing act quite like Nolan.

My 5th Hooptober!

I'm hitting some cult classics that I've been eagerly awaiting, as well as some theatre/circus/cinema set horror flicks that I have very high personal hopes for. As always, I'm likely to switch some things around as we gets closer.

Happy spoopy movie season!!

This year's original list and rules can be found here.

6 countries:
Germany
USA
UK
Canada
Italy
Spain
Australia
Argentina

8 decades:
20s
50s
70s
80s
90s
2000s
2010s
2020s

2 insect centered films:
Phenomena
Mimic

1 horror film set in space or the future (relative to when it was released):
Sunshine

2 animated films:
Spine of Night
Wendell & Wild

1 bloodthirsty old person/people film:
Relic

2 1970s regional US films:
The Last House on the Left
Let’s Scare Jessica to Death

The worst horror sequel from the 1990s that you haven't seen and can access:
Candyman: Day of the Dead

1 German Silent:
Faust

5 Films from David Cronenberg, Ti West, Bill Rebane, Charles B. Pierce, William Grefe and/or Joy N. Houck Jr.:
Pearl
The Innkeepers
Videodrome
Existenz
The Brood

2 Christopher Lee films:
The Wicker Man
Gremlins 2

1 film with a musician or band in it:
Phantom of the Paradise

1 Stephen King adaptation that is not the first go around:
Carrie (2013)

1 Lon Chaney film:
The Unknown

And 1 Tobe Hooper Film (There must ALWAYS be a Hooper film):
Lifeforce

Bonus:
The Last Circus

Extra:
Carrie (1976)
Stage Fright
Stage Fright
Stage Fright
Theatre of Blood
Puppet Master
Hocus Pocus
Hocus Pocus 2
The Last Matinee
Santa Sangre

• Faust
• The Unknown
• Stage Fright
• Let's Scare Jessica to Death
• The Last House on the Left
• The Wicker Man
• Theatre of Blood
• Phantom of the Paradise
• Carrie
• The Brood

...plus 22 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Up
2. WALL·E
3. Ratatouille
4. Monsters, Inc.
5. Finding Nemo
6. The Incredibles
7. Toy Story
8. Coco
9. Inside Out
10. Soul

...plus 18 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. The Taste of Things
2. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.
3. The Holdovers
4. Barbie
5. Poor Things
6. Asteroid City
7. Therapy Dogs
8. Oppenheimer
9. Anatomy of a Fall
10. Godzilla Minus One

Always official. Sometimes changes.

1. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
2. Big Fish
3. Boyhood
4. La La Land
5. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

   *This counts as the full series

6. Pan's Labyrinth
7. The Florida Project
8. Before Sunrise
9. Beauty and the Beast
10. Whiplash

...plus 15 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Eat your hearts out, fanboys.

Can’t change 14 year-old Peter’s opinions.

1. Inception
2. The Prestige
3. Interstellar
4. The Dark Knight
5. Oppenheimer
6. Memento
7. Batman Begins
8. Dunkirk
9. The Dark Knight Rises
10. Insomnia

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Lost in Translation
2. Marie Antoinette
3. The Virgin Suicides
4. Priscilla
5. The Bling Ring
6. On the Rocks
7. Somewhere
8. A Very Murray Christmas
9. The Beguiled

Hooptober is one of my favorite things about Letterboxd, and I'm thrilled to be participating for my 6th year in row!

As always, I began by choosing movies with as much category crossover as possible. Then I use my extra slots to hit some current releases, big blindspots, and movies that fit into whatever theme that emerges. As the title implies, this year I'm hitting multiple 'Dracula' adaptations, films about the Devil, and movies set around high school (shoutout to Criterion Channel!)

Happy Spoopy Season 🕸️👻🎃

This year's original list and rules can be found here.

6 countries:
USA
UK
Italy
Germany
France
Japan

8 decades:
20s
50s
60s
70s
80s
90s
2000s
2010s
2020s

2 post apocalyptic or natural disaster related films:
Crawl
10 Cloverfield Lane

1 film with Robert Englund:
The Mangler

1 something is underground film:
The Descent

3 Satan/Devil centered films:
The Devil’s Carnival
The Devils
The Babysitter

1 Amicus film:
Tales from the Crypt

The worst Dracula film (by Letterboxd rating) that you haven't seen and can access:
Dracula 3000

1 LGBTQ+ connected film:
Knife+Heart

5 Films from De Palma, Wes Craven, Ken Russell, Hitchcock and/or Moorehead & Benson:
Altered States
The Devils
Resolution
Something in the Dirt
Synchronic

2 Peter Cushing films:
Tales from the Crypt
The Hound of Baskerville

1 film based on a work of or invoking the name Bram Stoker:
Nosferatu

1 film based on a Clive Barker story:
Hellraiser

1 film that was released the year that you turned 10:
The Descent

1 Mario Bava film:
Blood and Black Lace

1 film with an 'x' in the title:
Extraordinary Tales

And 1 Tobe Hooper Film (There must ALWAYS be a Hooper film):
The Mangler

Extra:
Bram Stoker’s Dracula
Nosferatu the Vampyre
The Last Voyage of the Demeter
The Craft
Ginger Snaps
I Know What You Did Last Summer
The Faculty
Heathers
Assassination Nation
Seance
Totally Killer
Five Nights at Freddy’s

• Nosferatu
• The Hound of the Baskervilles
• Blood and Black Lace
• The Devils
• Tales from the Crypt
• Nosferatu the Vampyre
• Altered States
• Hellraiser
• Heathers
• Bram Stoker's Dracula

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• Everything Everywhere All at Once
• Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

I don’t log comedy specials, so this is how I track the ones I’ve seen. (Sorted by release year)

• Sheng Wang: Sweet and Juicy
• Jerrod Carmichael: Rothaniel
• Bo Burnham: The Inside Outtakes
• Bo Burnham: Inside
• Taylor Tomlinson: Quarter-Life Crisis
• Eric Andre: Legalize Everything
• My Favorite Shapes by Julio Torres
• John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch
• James Acaster: Repertoire
• Hannah Gadsby: Nanette

...plus 7 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Fantastic Mr. Fox
2. The Grand Budapest Hotel
3. Moonrise Kingdom
4. Rushmore
5. Asteroid City
6. The French Dispatch
7. Isle of Dogs
8. The Darjeeling Limited
9. The Royal Tenenbaums
10. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

...plus 1 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Come at me...

1. Guardians of the Galaxy
2. Iron Man
3. Avengers: Infinity War
4. Thor: Ragnarok
5. Avengers: Endgame
6. Captain America: Civil War
7. Spider-Man: Homecoming
8. Black Panther
9. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2
10. Captain America: The First Avenger

...plus 22 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

List of films for which I've written a published review or feature with links to each in the notes.

• Soul

  Feature - The Film Magazine

• Giving Voice

  Review - Film Cred

• The Father

  Review - The Film Magazine

• Dating & New York

  Review - Film Cred

• Roaring 20's

  Review - Film Cred

• The Novice

  Review - Film Cred

• Nine Days

  Review - Film Cred

• Dear Evan Hansen

  Review - Film Cred

• Everybody's Talking About Jamie

  Review - Film Cred

• Red Rocket

  Review - Film Cred

...plus 12 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. Everything Everywhere All at Once
2. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On
3. Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio
4. RRR
5. The Fabelmans
6. Aftersun
7. TÁR
8. Top Gun: Maverick
9. Cha Cha Real Smooth
10. The Banshees of Inisherin

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. Nine Days
2. Mass
3. The Worst Person in the World
4. Drive My Car
5. West Side Story
6. The Mitchells vs. the Machines
7. Pig
8. The Tragedy of Macbeth
9. C'mon C'mon
10. Dune

...plus 1 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Anima
2. Phantom Thread
3. Magnolia
4. There Will Be Blood
5. Licorice Pizza
6. Boogie Nights
7. The Master
8. Hard Eight
9. Punch-Drunk Love
10. Inherent Vice

The second year of my Hooptober-inspired watch challenge for romance movies in February. Anyone is welcome to join in, just comment below and I'll link to your list!

Participants: 
Aaron Bartuska

Rules:

- I will do 28 first-time watches that fall under the romance genre over the month of February.
- I will pull from throughout history, over multiple countries, and within many different sub-genres.
- I will rate and write a review for each film!

• The Cranes Are Flying
• Hiroshima Mon Amour
• Evening Primrose
• The Magic Flute
• Pennies from Heaven
• A Room with a View
• Maurice
• Say Anything...
• Howards End
• The Piano

...plus 18 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

I wanted to try making a "Hooptober-esque" watch challenge for romance movies in February. The rules are very simple this year, but if it goes well, maybe I will do this again and add some criteria.

Let me know if anyone might be interested in joining me next year!

Rules:

- I will watch 28 movies that fall under the romance genre. I'm pulling from throughout film history, and from many different styles and sub-genres.

- At least 75% of these movies will be new for me. This idea is mostly an excuse to hit a lot from my watchlist, but I also have a few I want to revisit.

- I will rate and write a review for each film!

• Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans
• The Cameraman
• Bringing Up Baby
• The Philadelphia Story
• Brief Encounter
• A Place in the Sun
• Black Orpheus
• Harold and Maude
• Scenes from a Marriage
• Desert Hearts

...plus 18 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Back again for my fourth round of good ol' Hooptober! I'm pleased to say that I'm finally attempting some films I've always been too chicken to watch (looking at you, James Wan) as well as a number of films that have been on my watchlist since I started doing this challenge! As always, I'm very likely to switch some things around as it gets closer. 

Happy spoopy movie season!! 

This year's original list and rules here

6 countries:
An American Werewolf in London (UK)
Kwaidan (Japan)
The Day of the Beast (Spain)
The Wailing (South Korea)
Scanners (Canada)
Koko-Di Koko-Da (Denmark)

8 decades:
1930s
1950s
1960s
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
2010s
2020s

2 folk horror:
Blair Witch Project
Kwaidan

4 films from 1981:
The Funhouse
An American Werewolf in London
Friday the 13th Part 2
Scanners

2 films from your birth year:
Tales from the Hood
The Day of the Beast

2 haunted house films:
Forgotten
The Conjuring

The worst Part 2 that you haven't seen and can access:
Hobgoblins 2

1 film set in the woods:
Blair Witch Project

1 Kaiju or Kong film:
King Kong

2 Hammer films:
Let Me In
The Mummy

3 films with a person of color as director or lead:
Candyman (1992)
Tales from the Hood
Candyman (2021)

3 Asian horror films:
Kwaidon
The Wailing
Forgotten

1 Tobe Hooper Films (There must ALWAYS be a Hooper film):
The Funhouse

Extra:
Friday the 13th
A Nightmare on Elm Street
Insidious
Saw
Malignant
Trick ‘r Treat
Carnival of Souls
Frankenweenie
Mom and Dad
Mandy
Color Out of Space
Scare Me
Willy's Wonderland

• King Kong
• The Mummy
• Carnival of Souls
• Kwaidan
• Friday the 13th
• Friday the 13th Part 2
• An American Werewolf in London
• The Funhouse
• Scanners
• A Nightmare on Elm Street

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. Nomadland
2. Wolfwalkers
3. The Father
4. Never Rarely Sometimes Always
5. Dick Johnson Is Dead
6. Shithouse
7. Promising Young Woman
8. Soul
9. One Night in Miami...
10. Sound of Metal

Yup. It's my third year doing this thing. Apparently I like horror movies now. Still too scared to watch The Conjuring, but maybe next year...

This year's original list and rules:
Hooptober Se7en: We Have Such Masked Socially Distanced Indoor Sights to Show You

6 countries:
The Innocents (UK)
The Lodge (Canada)
Train to Busan (South Korea)
Cronos (Mexico)
Diabolique (France)
House (Japan)

6 decades:
1950s
1960s
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
2010s
2020s

7 2nd films of franchises:
Scream 2
Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2
Bride of Re-Animator
Evil Dead 2
Jaws 2
Halloween II
Creep 2

4 body horror films:
Eraserhead
Starry Eyes
Cronos
Bride of Re-Animator

2 films from this year:
The Turning
Host
Antebellum

3 disease based films:
Twelve Monkeys
The Falling
It Comes at Night 

The highest rated horror film from the 50s that you can access:
Diabolique

1 film that is set entirely inside one location:
Evil Dead

1 Invisible Person film:
Mad Monster Party?

1 Non Dracula Hammer Film:
The Lodge

2 films with a black director or predominantly black cast or lead:
Eve’s Bayou
Antebellum

Extra (Subject to change!):
Sinister
Oculus
The Others
The House of the Devil
Spring 
The Endless
The Wolf of Snow Hollow

• Diabolique
• The Innocents
• Mad Monster Party?
• Eraserhead
• House
• Jaws 2
• Halloween II
• The Evil Dead
• The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2
• Evil Dead II

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

I am new to the horror genre and I’m probably going to hate myself for attempting this. But let's see how it goes...smh

10 'Anniversary Films' (Release years end in an 8, excluding 2018):
Let the Right One In (2008)
Rosemary’s Baby (1968)
The Vanishing (1988)
Night of the Living Dead (1968)
Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Dracula (1958)
Dead Ringers (1988)
Halloween (1978)
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)
The Fly (1958)

6 countries:
Let the Right One In (Sweden)
What We Do in the Shadows (New Zealand)
28 Days Later (UK)
Funny Games (Austria)
Suspira (Italy)
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Germany)

6 decades:
Dracula (1958)
Psycho (1960)
Suspira (1977)
The Vanishing (1988)
Funny Games (1997)
Funny Games Remake (2007)

6 films from before 1970:
Psycho (1960)
Rosemary’s Baby (1968)
Wait Until Dark (1967)
Dracula (1958)
The Curse of Frankenstein (1957)
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

6 films from the following: Romero, Cronenberg, Clive Barker, Terence Fisher, Sergio Martino, Bill Lustig (mix-and-match, or all one):
Night of the Living Dead (Romero)
Dawn of the Dead (Romero)
The Fly (Cronenberg)
Dead Ringers (Cronenberg)
Dracula (Fisher)
The Curse of Frankenstein (Fisher)

2 flying things that kill you films:
The Birds
The Fly

1 silent film as a tribute to A Quiet Place:
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

1 aquatic menace film as a tribute to Meg:
Creature from the Black Lagoon

2 women directed films:
A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night
The Invitation

1 inanimate object comes alive film:
Rubber

1 film with Barbara Crampton in it:
Re-Animator

And 2 Tobe Hooper Films (There must ALWAYS be a Hooper film):
Poltergeist
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Extra:
Alien
The Cabin in the Woods
The Thing

• Let the Right One In
• Rosemary's Baby
• The Vanishing
• Night of the Living Dead
• Dawn of the Dead
• Dracula
• Dead Ringers
• Halloween
• What We Do in the Shadows
• 28 Days Later

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

The shortlist of the best movies I've seen, haven't seen, and have been told to see, of the 2010s! I will revisit each movie on this list throughout 2019 before creating my final list at the top of 2020.

Comment recommendations and I may add them to my watchlist!

• The Social Network

  Me

• Exit Through the Gift Shop
• Inception

  Me

• Black Swan

  Me

• Incendies

  Letterboxd

• Jiro Dreams of Sushi
• A Separation

  Letterboxd

• The Artist

  Maddi

• Melancholia
• The Tree of Life

  Critic's Poll Top 15, Me

...plus 63 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

A niche collection for all your marathon curating needs...

• Teen Spirit
• Vox Lux
• Wild Rose
• Her Smell
• A Star Is Born
• Hearts Beat Loud

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. Portrait of a Lady on Fire
2. Parasite
3. 1917
4. Marriage Story
5. Jojo Rabbit
6. Honey Boy
7. Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood
8. Little Women
9. Uncut Gems
10. Booksmart

...plus 1 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. The Florida Project
2. Phantom Thread
3. Call Me by Your Name
4. Lady Bird
5. Brigsby Bear
6. Get Out
7. Coco
8. Blade Runner 2049
9. I, Tonya
10. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

*This list becomes locked at posting

1. Roma
2. Eighth Grade
3. Won't You Be My Neighbor?
4. Minding the Gap
5. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse
6. Free Solo
7. The Favourite
8. Tully
9. A Star Is Born
10. If Beale Street Could Talk

I'm excited to be back for my second Hooptober! A year ago I did not consider myself a horror enthusiast, but I'd consider that changed as this past year I would get excited every time I found a potential "Hooptober" movie. This year has a some classics, but a lot of newer movies as well.

I always try to include a wide range of subgenres, and also left myself a few classic goodies to look forward to next year :)

This year's original list and rules:
Hooptober 6/6/6: A Number and Ms. Dee

6 countries:
Tigers Are Not Afraid (Mexican)
The Host (South Korea)
Antichrist (Denmark)
The Lure (Poland)
Possession (Germany)
The Orphanage (Spain)

6 decades:
1920s
1930s
1950s
1960s
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
2010s

6 films from before 1966:
The Phantom of the Opera (1925)
Dracula (1931)
Frankenstein (1931)
The Invisible Man (1933)
The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)
The Night of the Hunter (1955)
Little Shop of Horrors (1960)

6 films whose year ends in '6':
Scream (1996)
The Host (2006)
Eaten Alive! (1976)
The Frighteners (1996)
Hush (2016)
Don’t Breathe (2016)

6 films featuring work from the following: John Carl Buechler, Jack Pierce, Rob Bottin, Screaming Mad George, Lon Chaney and Carlo Rambaldi:
Dracula (Pierce)
Frankenstein (Pierce)
The Bride of Frankenstein (Pierce)
The Invisible Man (Pierce)
The Phantom of the Opera (Chaney)
Possession (Rombaldi)

The 6th film of a franchise:
Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers

1 Reptile Rampage film as tribute to Crawl:
Eaten Alive

2 women directed films:
Tigers Are Not Afraid
The Lure

The lowest rated film from the 80s that you can access:
Hobgoblins

1 film where the men and women of the church are having a bad day:
Antichrist

1 Larry Cohen or Dick Miller film:
Little Shop of Horrors

1 Classic Universal:
Dracula

1 film with Dee Wallace in it:
The Frighteners

1 film with a black director or predominantly black cast. (NO JORDAN PEELE):
Blacula

1 film from a Mexican director to honor 2 great films from Gigi Saul Guerrero & Issa López. (NO GDT, but it can be GSG or Issa):
Tigers Are Not Afraid

And 1 Tobe Hooper Films (There must ALWAYS be a Hooper film):
Eaten Alive

Extra (Subject to change!):
Zombieland
Little Monsters
Young Frankenstein
ParaNorman
Signs
The Lighthouse
Creep
Ready or Not

• The Phantom of the Opera
• Dracula
• Frankenstein
• The Invisible Man
• Bride of Frankenstein
• The Night of the Hunter
• The Little Shop of Horrors
• Blacula
• Young Frankenstein
• Eaten Alive

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.