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The Master (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2012)
“We cut ourselves to suit the cloth. We cut ourselves to size when first we are delivered to the world’s blunt engine. Barely twenty, with catalogue shoes and faces not our own, we step out on the shifting funhouse floor, clumsy at first but rapidly adopting the requisite compensatory gait, a paraplegic cakewalk almost graceful
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I Still Don’t Know
Another day, another attempt to avoid a pointless scrap on social media! I understand what Elizabeth Sandifer is getting at with this joke, but the comparison still bams me up. More than it should, obviously. The gaming franchises of the 2000s don’t need defended from every lighthearted mention, and yet… Guitar Hero and the like
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“A homeschooled pimp who argues with bins…”
I refuse to feign interest in a Rolling Stone article, but this tweet from Phil Purser-Hallard – and they’re all tweets, as even the dank one himself knows – is as dull as the story it objects to. To watch The Sopranos as “macho gangster pulp” is to admit you watched it in the most
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Behind the Screens
One afternoon, Father Power pointed up at a red light to the left of the altar and said that when that light was glowing, God was in the house – it was powered by Him. I looked up at it, a red glowing bulb in an ornate brass cage, and asked why – if God
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Get Pumpt
The backlash against heat pumps had only just started last time I talked about environmental politics here. We’re now so high on the fumes of the whole saga that it’s tempting to cheer when one businessman pops up to tell another one they’re talking pish. Having spent a bit of time considering the question of
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The Matrix Resurrections, revisited!
The problem with the Matrix movies has always been that you can’t live in the future. This might be true on a philosophical level, but in cinematic terms there is a more immediate problem: the future world of the films has never looked or sounded like a destination. Resurrections tries to rectify that, filling the desert of
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Blue Box // Recorder 