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before i was born, people used joysticks.
the source of all that is pure and evil.
finally saw somewhere, sofia coppola's fourth movie, which was completely different than her other movies but somewhat all the same. set at the ruggedly luxe chateau marmont, it makes me want cigarettes, a corvette, and a gold card. i wish i could live in its frames forever.
drop everything and read.
oh, jimmy, jimmy.
montgomery clift is the poor nephew of a businessman just arrived in town looking for work. shelly winters is the shy factorygirl who catches his attention. liz taylor is the rich socialite who changes his mind. one of the first films to admit that there was tremendous tension bubbling under the bright veneer of postwar america. watch with a box of chocolates and glass of lager.
james franco is stoned. anne hathaway is on uppers. scarjo radiates. jennifer hudson looks beautifully nervous. melissa leo becomes the first person ever to drop f-bombs on stage. christian bale reminds me of british countrysides. amy adams should've won something. kirk douglas is charmingly ancient. gwyneth paltrow sings a bit too much. oprah is pharoah a goddess. eli wallach is finally given his respect. colin firth channels his inner-charles vi during his acceptance. princess natalie portman culminates her career. inception wins a bunch of sound and editing awards (yes, that's as interesting as it sounds). i still need to see toy story 3. the king's speech wins best picture, knocking my generation a step back into winning cinematic prestige, but at least trent reznor has become the only postgrunge musician with a little gold man. what a shitshow.
