I think my preferred niche genre when it comes to culture is that of women figuring out the world.
I’m not really sure why—that would require $250 and 45 uninterrupted minutes—but there’s a certain charm and trying-to-figure-it-all-out quality in that type of story that appeals to me whether it be the (very much aforementioned) The Worst Person in the World or the Sally Rooney extended universe or books like Exciting Times, The Idiot, My Year of Rest and Relaxation and Juliet the Maniac or shows like Sharp Objects and Fleabag. There are plenty of others, but we have Six Pack for that.
With that said, I can’t say I didn’t have a bit of jubilant glee as our packed theater ooh’d and ahh’d throughout Robert Eggers’ new film The Northman, a greatest hits of what-the-fuckery, toxic masculinity and fucking kick-ass stunts. There’s a long single take, or what’s supposed to look like a single take, that features a pillaging of a village by the animalistic Alexander Skarsgård and a horde of berserkers that makes the storming of Normandy in Saving Private Ryan look like child’s play. At one point, he catches a spear hurled at him and in a moment Steph Currys it right through his foe’s heart.
It’s harrowing, gory, uber-masculine and a remarkable sequence. Maybe the pinnacle of an excellent movie. As the too-short 137 minutes progressed, our audience felt a lot of things, most notably the sensation of oh, shit.
Every single scene feels like a referendum on the one before it. Oh, you thought that was bonkers? What about this? It was a five-star viewing experience on the big screen and I recommend it immensely. You think it can’t top itself as it reaches the fitting conclusion and it somehow does with a volcano sequence not for the faint of heart. The story is basic, but who gives a shit? It’s like Mad Max: Fury Road. The art is in the brutality and the sensory overload that we haven’t seen this before.
It’s difficult to review a movie like this because even though there is lore and a tight story, it’s more about the moviemaking that anything else. However, I would like to give it an official rating of five hell yeahs, two oh, shits and three goddamns. Can someone please add that to Rotten Tomatoes?
There are two types of people in this world: those on Twitter and the healthy ones that aren’t on it. Unfortunately, I’m in the former camp.
Last week, there was a bit of hubbub on the ol’ Twitter machine centered around a rom-com ranking from The Ringer. I actually think it’s a relatively good list of movies I’ve mostly seen. These list-makers are fickle, as long as they’re not complete nonsense and focus on the topic, I’m usually okay with it. However, Twitter exploded in vitriol as the list seemed to center around rom-coms from the last 25 years with a few exceptions.
Although I’d like to think I’ve seen all I can see, that’s most certainly not the case. I’ll take any and all rom-com recommendations you have, and I’ll try to get to them at some point. My knowledge on anything from before 1990 is iffy, but I’m trying my best.
Some of my favorites if you’re looking for one are Punch-Drunk Love, When Harry Met Sally, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, It Follows, Lost in Translation and Eternal Sunshine. I’ve also probably seen Crazy, Stupid Love too many times—it’s a family favorite, and my newest member of the club is Palm Springs. Anyway, please send recs my way. It can’t be just me reviewing things on here.