Properly Screened

This was the first silent film I've seen and I wasn't sure what to expect (beside maybe boredom) but I was blown away. This is one of the most intense and deeply affecting pictures I've ever seen. Renée Falconetti plays the titular role in Carl Theodor Dreyer's retelling of the 15th-century trial and execution of Joan of Arc based on the actual court record. Taking place after her capture during the Hundred Years War, Joan faces an inquisition by French-Burgundy clergymen. Throughout the trial they try to get Joan to admit that she was not sent by God, but was being guided by the devil. They deceive her, blackmail her, and threaten to torture her before she signs the confession. Shortly after, she withdraws her confession realizing that she would rather die than betray God. As she is burned at the stake, a riot breaks out by distraught witnesses who claim she is a saint. This film is 81 minutes long and features almost 1,500 shots, which results in a dynamically paced f...

Outrage a cinephile in five words: I've never seen Pulp Fiction. It's true. Somehow I managed to miss the indie blockbuster of the 90s, the one that transformed cinema by popularizing post-modern storytelling. So when a local theatre announced a showing as part of their "art house" series, both my husband and best friend jumped at the chance to watch me watch it for the first time. Because of this film's place in the cultural zeitgeist, I was aware it included: whatever a "gimp suit" is, a famous dance sequence, a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart, uncomfortable use of the n-word, and some references to "tasty burgers." But I didn't know anything about the theme, plot, or characters. I debated what to write this blog post about. The nonlinear plot. The dialogue that became part of pop culture. The extreme and absurd violence.  But what stuck with me and delighted me most was the relationship (and constant bickering) of Jules and Vin...

There are some films on the list that make me pause and wonder: why this one? Sometimes the acclaim feels misaligned with my viewing experience. This is not one of those films. It’s clear there’s something radical at work here. And that’s Agnès Varda. The diminutive Belgian filmmaker, too often recognized only in hindsight as the “mother” of the French New Wave, brings a perspective that still feels modern. What sets this film apart is how effortlessly it centers women. As a friend of mine noted, it passes the Bechdel Test with ease. This was genuinely revolutionary in 1962... and sadly, is revolutionary even by today's standards. A woman is the focus of the story; the men are just objects drifting in and out, bothersome but inconsequential.  Set in 1960s Paris, Varda seamlessly blends documentary and narrative to trace two hours in the life of a young singer named Cleo awaiting the results of a life-altering biopsy, quietly confronting her own mortality. It's an existential jo...

  "Keep it simple, stupid" was Weesner's first rule of film making. And this movie works largely because of how simple it is. There is very little in the way of traditional plot, and the film does not seem interested in building toward anything in particular. Instead, it moves through small, quiet moments and lets its world take shape gradually. It's a warm bath. In addition to being simple, My Neighbor Totoro  (1988) is strange, funny, and surreal. If the film is about anything, it's about the kind of imaginative space siblings create together, where the boundary between reality and fantasy doesn't exist. Having grown up with a younger sister, that dynamic felt immediately recognizable, and it grounds everything else the film does. Seeing it as part of a Family Film Series (something I’d typically avoid, given my aversion to children) ended up being surprisingly perfect. I expected a theater full of children to be distracting, but instead, their reactions mir...

Another one of my favorite discoveries from this project, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974) is a story about the unlikely love that develops between two lonely people and the society that refuses to accept their relationship. Directed by Rainer Werner Fassbinder , the film follows Emmi, a widowed cleaning woman in her sixties, and Ali, a Moroccan migrant worker more than twenty years her junior. Their meeting is almost accidental: Emmi takes refuge from the rain in a bar frequented by immigrant laborers, where Ali is jokingly dared to ask her to dance. What begins as a polite conversation gradually becomes something deeper. Both are isolated in different ways: Emmi by age and loneliness, Ali by xenophobia and his status as a Gastarbeiter (guest worker). In each other they find companionship and comfort. But their happiness is fragile. When they marry, their relationship becomes a scandal among neighbors, friends, and coworkers. Emmi’s own adult children disown her. People stare at them ...

This was my second time watching this film and I remained unmoved. It's often described as surreal neo-noir, an exploration of the dark side of suburban America, and I can see that: white picket fences, manicured lawns, but something rotten hiding just underneath. I just don't connect with it. What felt shocking or transgressive in 1986 has been escalated by decades of films since. I dunno.  But seeing it in a theater was a different experience than watching it at home. Without the option to fast-forward through the rape and abuse scenes, Frank was even more repulsive. I also noticed details I’d missed before, especially how alive the opening blue velvet curtains felt. They don’t just act as background for the title sequence text; they move as if they’re breathing. I was also grateful to see it on 35mm, and not a pristine print. The grit and texture suited the film, a reminder that celluloid is physical and imperfect. Maybe it’s because I’ve been revisiting a lot of Hitchcock l...

  Seeing this seminal piece of science fiction in a theater, especially with booming Dolby Atmos sound on a pristine 70mm print, is nothing like streaming it at home. And I don't care how good your home theater is. I had forgotten that the film begins with an overture. About three minutes of atmospheric music plays over a black screen before any images appear. As the lights dim and the curtains remain closed, the music feels ceremonial and unnerving. At home, it’s easy to overlook. But in the theater, it signals that the audience is entering something. Then the first thunderous blast of Strauss’s “Also sprach Zarathustra” hits. The brass and timpani explode as the sun rises over the earth and moon and the title of the film appears. It’s not background music. It’s an announcement. Strauss's “The Blue Danube”  turns a jump cut from bone tossed into the air to spacecraft floating in the galaxy into one of the most famous edits in film history. The docking sequence turns into a ...

I hadn’t seen this film in almost thirty years, but it was one of the screenings I’d been looking forward to the most, mostly for sentimental reasons. I was introduced to it in high school video arts by Mr. Weesner, who used the crop-duster scene to teach us about Hitchcock’s obsession with storyboarding and visual control. I can still picture him pressing pause on the classroom VCR, pointing at the leading lines and emptiness around Cary Grant, explaining how none of it was accidental. That sequence was conceived almost entirely in advance, planned shot by shot. The suspense doesn’t come from dialogue or music but from the composition of each frame. Hitchcock uses vast negative space --- Cary Grant stranded in an empty, sunlit field --- to heighten tension, subverting expectations of danger lurking in shadows. Each visual beat escalates with architectural precision. When the Mount Rushmore finale hit, I realized I had completely forgotten that the movie ends with Thornhill and Eve d...

This film was directed by the same filmmaker who gave us sweeping, visually stunning epics like Lawrence of Arabia and Dr. Zhivago , so I came in expecting grandeur. What I got instead was fairly ordinary. Brief Encounter (1945) leans heavily on exposition, with Laura, a reserved and introspective housewife, narrating much of the story through voiceover. Too often, it tells us what she feels rather than trusting the strength of Celia Johnson’s acting to convey it. But isn’t the first rule of effective screenwriting: show us, don’t tell us? By today’s standards, the central affair is tame. I understand that 1940s British social norms demanded that personal desire take a backseat to marital duty. But the film could learn a thing or two from Wong Kar-wai, who perfected the restrained, unconsummated affair in In the Mood for Love . He demonstrates how longing, tension, and emotional depth can make a story riveting. The film avoids total collapse thanks to Celia Johnson. Every emotion is ...

After the show, I immediately texted a friend, “That film was pointless and deranged.” Apparently, I wasn’t alone in finding it morally repugnant. When A Clockwork Orange (1971) was first released, it was met with fierce criticism for what many saw as its social irresponsibility and glamorization of sexual violence. In the UK, reports of copycat crimes intensified the backlash, and the controversy ultimately led Kubrick to withdraw the film from British cinemas for decades. I spent most of the movie distracted and angry at the sense that Kubrick wanted us to feel sympathy for Alex, the sadistic teenage gang leader, whom he called “a victim of the modern age.” I understand the argument: Alex is a monster, but the state’s punishment and attempts to reform him are monstrous too. The problem is, I  just don’t agree. The moral equivalency felt forced. His sadism is so gleefully staged that when the government turns cruel, it doesn’t deepen the film. What unsettled me most was the way ...

This might be my favorite discovery of the project, so far. A friend and I saw this for the first time and both fell for it immediately. Neither of us knew anything about it going in, apparently unlike everyone else, since the show sold out a 232-seat theater at 4pm on a Friday. Set in 1960s British Hong Kong, it follows two neighbors in a crowded apartment building who suspect their spouses are having an affair with each other. What grows between them is quiet, restrained, and heavy with feeling. Wong Kar-wai keeps the dialogue sparse, letting music, color, and close-ups --- hands, hips, glances, clocks, doorways, cigarette smoke --- do the talking. It took a bit of research to realize how many films and shows I love trace back to this one, including A Everything Everywhere All at Once , Moonlight , and Mad Men . Sofia Coppola has spoken about In the Mood for Love (2001) as a key inspiration when writing Lost in Translation , most notably in her Oscar acceptance speech for Best Origi...

  When I was introduced to Goodfellas (1990) in my early twenties, it felt like the epitome of frat boy cinema. The guys I knew could quote half the movie. They had the poster of Henry, Jimmy, and Tommy hanging in their bedrooms. They said, “funny how?” like it was charming. We all knew this guy. (Some of us even dated him.) But watching it now, with a little distance and a lot less tolerance for that energy, I can finally see it for what it is: Scorsese’s masterpiece, and maybe the greatest mob film ever made. But what I didn't know then is how much of Goodfellas ’ power comes from a woman behind the scenes: Scorsese’s longtime editor, Thelma Schoonmaker. The film's swagger isn’t just attitude, it’s craft. The snap of the jump cuts, the way scenes accelerate or suddenly slam to a halt, the propulsive chaos... that’s Schoonmaker shaping our experience moment to moment. She’s the reason the film feels intoxicating rather than indulgent, why the rise is euphoric and the fall is ...

Since its release, this film has left audiences perplexed. Myself included. It’s often cited as the best film of the twenty-first century, a reputation that somehow coexists with the fact that most viewers don’t fully understand what the hell they just watched. Mulholland Drive (2001) is meant to be felt not understood. I saw this as part of 4-Star Theater's celebration of David Lynch's birthday with a friend who had never seen the film. I failed to warn her that this was a two-and-a-half hour fever dream. In hindsight, that omission was very Lynchian. Lynch was notoriously cagey about explaining his work, leaving viewers to interpret what the film was about. But the generally accepted reading of the plot is Diane Selwyn is an aspiring actress who comes to Los Angeles after winning a jitterbug contest and receiving an inheritance from her aunt. She falls in love with another actress, Camilla, who ultimately betrays her by sleeping with the director of the film they are working...

All I knew about this film going into it was (1) it is very long, (2) it’s set in feudal Japan, and (3) it’s widely considered the cinematic blueprint for the “men-on-a-mission” genre. I suppose there is much to say about this film. But it’s all been said. What I was left thinking about is why there was so much bare ass in this movie. This is, of course, a ridiculous thing to fixate on when watching Seven Samurai (1954), a film that essentially taught modern cinema how to assemble a team, define each member with economy and clarity, and stage action so cleanly that it still puts contemporary blockbusters to shame. Kurosawa’s command of movement is staggering. Every frame feels deliberate. Nothing is wasted. And yet. Why is Kikuchiyo, played by Toshiro Mifune, slaying bandits in a thong? Kikuchiyo is different. While the other samurai are presented as professionals, right down to their clothing, his outfit is improvised and stolen. He looks exposed, sometimes indecent by comparison, wh...

It took some historical context for me to understand why this noir, which initially felt campy and predictable, has endured as a masterpiece. Compared to modern films like The Substance or Black Swan that also explore what happens to women when they are no longer seen as desirable, Sunset Blvd. (1950) feels restrained, classical, and polite. What I didn't realize was that Sunset Blvd. was the first film brave enough to tell the truth about how Hollywood treats leading ladies as they age. Gloria Swanson, a real silent-era icon --- at one time the most famous woman in the world --- was cast as Norma Desmond, a forgotten middle-aged silent-era star living in a decaying mansion on Sunset Boulevard. The film follows struggling screenwriter Joe Gillis, played by William Holden, who becomes Norma's (ambivalently) kept (much younger) man. Norma is convinced she’s on the verge of a comeback, while the audience can see she’s descending into madness. When it premiered, studio executive...

Wanting something badly enough has a way of loosening your boundaries. That’s the theme at the center of Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (1960), a cynical comedy about realizing how much of yourself you’ve given away. For C.C. Baxter (played by Jack Lemmon), ambition turns his apartment into a hook up spot for his bosses and their mistresses. Baxter is a lonely insurance clerk in New York City looking to climb the corporate ladder. He falls into a scheme where he allows the executives at his firm to borrow his Upper West Side apartment for their trysts in return for promises of advancement. At first this arrangement feels harmless, but over time, Baxter isn’t just giving up his space, he's giving up his sense of dignity.  Fran Kubelik (played by Shirley MacLaine) is making a similar compromise in love. Fran works as the "elevator girl" at the same insurance company. She’s romantically involved with Mr. Sheldrake, Baxter’s married boss, who promises he will leave his wife fo...

Edward Yang's slice-of-life family drama has been called meditative, bittersweet, and stunning by film critics. I found it... fine. At three-hours long, it wasn't terribly painful, but it was just fine. I couldn't connect with the sense of disappointment, heartbreak, joy, and love the film is known for. Maybe the long takes, austere cinematography, or slow pacing of New Taiwanese Cinema are all too subtle for me. But Yi Yi (2000) felt overly restrained.  In my effort to understand why this film is considered one of the best ever made, I learned that yi yi means “one by one” in Mandarin. The film doesn’t follow any conventional narrative patterns; things simply unfold as they do in real life, one after another, one by one. So I suppose it's poetic. But it might be lost on me.  Yi Yi on Letterboxd

I've spent my movie watching career generally avoiding the Classic Westerns genre. The frontier masculinity is off putting. So are the racist depictions of Native Americans. And the treatment of women as symbols rather than subjects. This film has all three. In The Searchers (1956), John Wayne plays Ethan Edwards, a brooding Confederate veteran driven to hunt down the Comanche chief who killed his family and abducted his niece, Debbie, played by Natalie Wood.  This film is one of the most mysterious of the classic Westerns because of the degree that the audience is asked to read into the antihero's motivations. Does Ethan feel he is to blame for the death of his family? Is he on a quest to bring Debbie home because he's secretly her father? Does he mean to rescue her, or is he so outraged by the threat of miscegenation that he'd rather kill her? Is that why Debbie's adopted brother is so insistent in joining him, to guard against his fury? Maybe Ethan is meant to b...

  I’ve been trying to see Singin’ in the Rain in a theater for years, and when a local cinema announced a screening, I really wanted it to work. A local theater --- recently “saved” by a man better known for losing his dental career after some  creative insurance practices and other legal troubles ---  announced a screening just a few miles from my house. I wasn’t sure what to expect, the idea of seeing a film locally felt too good to pass up. Usually, catching one of these titles means driving nearly 250 miles or more round trip. Having the opportunity so close tempted me away from using my better judgement.  I arrived early, hoping for the full experience, but the movie had already started. When I asked why, I was told it began early because “some people showed up early.” Inside, the seating had been replaced with metal café tables and chairs, and the projection was so dim that I could barely make out what was on screen. I'm also almost certain that they wer...

I'm just going to tell you what Roger Ebert said of this film, which he rated four stars. So here is it, verbatim. The screenplay was adapted from a play of no great consequence; memoirs tell of scraps of dialogue jotted down and rushed over to the set. What must have helped is that the characters were firmly established in the minds of the writers, and they were characters so close to the screen personas of the actors that it was hard to write dialogue in the wrong tone.   Humphrey Bogart played strong heroic leads in his career, but he was usually better as the disappointed, wounded, resentful hero. Remember him in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” convinced the others were plotting to steal his gold. In “Casablanca,” he plays Rick Blaine, the hard-drinking American running a nightclub in Casablanca when Morocco was a crossroads for spies, traitors, Nazis and the French Resistance.   The opening scenes dance with comedy; the dialogue combines the cynical with the weary; wi...

I can't watch Alfred Hitchcock films without thinking about Mr. Weesner, my high school video teacher.  But to reduce him to that --- my high school video teacher --- is woefully inadequate. Weesner was a dear family friend and my mentor. Over the decades we must have talked about hundreds of films. And we watched at least a dozen in his home theatre. I was a cocky kid, but he somehow delighted in my hot takes. (Years after his death, I finally watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid , one of his favorites. "A sad, toxic depiction of male friendship," I would have told him. That would have made him laugh.) There is so much I want to say about the role he played in how I think about art --- how I think about myself --- but it all gives me a lump in my throat. After his death, I stopped seriously watching movies for years, unable to love or hate something without being overcome with the grief of never being able to talk to him about it.  But, boy did he love Hitchcock, ...

  I tried to watch The Conversation (1974) twice on streaming, but fell asleep both times before the protagonist, played by Gene Hackman, even meets with Harrison Ford, his client's representative. At a friend's insistence, this was not a film to be missed. This was one of the most under appreciated films of all time, he said, by Francis Ford Coppola. It's set in San Francisco, he said. Analog technology has never been better captured in a movie, he said. Try it again, he said.  In spring 2025, after Hackman's passing, American Cinematheque hosted a tribute highlighting many of his most iconic performances, including his breakout role as a lonely wiretapper in The Conversation . And they were showing it at the Egyptian Theatre in Los Angeles, home of the world's first film premier. This was my opportunity to try again, but on the big screen. Hackman steals the show in a tense character study about the effect of spying on the spy. An analog sound hacker is convinced ...

If you go into this three-hour, 18th-century period drama expecting a gripping plot, you’ll be disappointed. This isn’t a film you watch to see what happens next; you watch it to look at it --- the compositions, the light, and, if I’m being honest, Ryan O’Neal, who does less acting than posing, but that turns out to be enough. I didn’t fully appreciate Barry Lyndon (1975) until I learned about the lengths Stanley Kubrick and cinematographer John Alcott went to make it appear entirely naturally lit. Kubrick looked to artists like Hogarth, Gainsborough, and the Dutch Masters to inform the masterful lighting design.  The candlelit scenes, like the card playing and gambling sequences, are the most famous example. Kubrick used Zeiss Plantar f/0.7 --- ultra-fast --- lenses originally developed for NASA to photograph the moon, and even then production had to create thousands of special candles with multiple wicks just to generate enough light. The effect is extraordinary. It’s perfecti...

  I'm not sure why one Sunday afternoon in January I wanted to watch Eraserhead (1977). David Lynch wasn't much part of my consciousness, beyond renting  Mulholland Drive  on DVD from Netflix back in college. Perhaps my interest was sparked by the recent media coverage of Lynch's passing. No matter. I knew exactly who to ask. My friend Matthew noted that I probably wasn't going to like the film, but if I was going to watch it, I'd better turn the sound up. Way up.  Below is our text exchange during my initial viewing, which is not thoughtful or informed. But it takes me back to the feeling of seeing a piece of art I've grown to love for the first time. Me: "We are four seconds in and the sound is already scaring me. I also have a feeling this is low budget... based on David using a meatball as a planet." Matthew: "It's Lynch's first film. He spent five years and his own money making it. And, very early into the film, Henry gets into an el...

  Parasite (2019) is one of only four films on the list made in the past decade. It’s precise, dark, and intense, but also slyly playful. Shot almost entirely within two homes, it's deeply layered masterclass in technical filmmaking. Bong Joon-ho’s sophisticated blocking—so exact it feels inevitable—often reminds me of Kurosawa. What stays with me most, though, is a quieter moment: Mr. Kim and his son Ki-woo are forced to spend the night in a school gym after their semi-basement apartment floods. Surrounded by other displaced families sleeping on the floor, Mr. Kim offers his bleak philosophy of survival: “You know what kind of plan never fails? No plan at all…” That idea lingers with me long after the film ends, made all the more haunting by the fact that Parasite itself is so meticulously planned, so ruthlessly controlled. But maybe that tension is part of what makes the film feel so alive. Parasite on Letterboxd

When the first Sight and Sound Greatest Films of All Time critics' poll was published in 1952, Bicycle Thieves earned the top position. Ten years later, it was relegated to sixth place (tied with Battleship Potemkin ) and Citizen Kane (1941) took the number-one spot. The film stayed there for fifty years, an immovable monolith of “greatness,” until Vertigo nudged it aside in 2012. My dad and I went to a free screening as part of the 90th anniversary celebration of the Golden State Theatre in downtown Monterey. The historic Moorish revival movie palace—with its opulent decor, velvet seats, and frescoed ceiling—was the perfect setting to watch a film that opens in the protagonist’s own palatial estate, Xanadu. It felt a little like stepping through the screen. More happens in the first ten minutes of Citizen Kane than in most full-length features: a death, a mystery, a newsreel obituary, and a montage that sketches the entire arc of a man’s life. The story pieces together the ...

If you can separate the art from the artist, this is a hell of a film. Woody Allen's first is often remembered for its jokes, style, and how credibly it portrays a relationship as it falls apart as a result of cultural incompatibility.  Alvy’s Jewishness is central to how he experiences the world. Annie, a gentile woman from Chippewa Falls, Ohio, comes from a distinctly different place. The movie constantly contrasts their formative experiences: Annie's "Norman Rockwell" childhood and presents from "Grammy" versus Alvy’s grandmother who "never gave gifts. She was too busy getting raped by Cossacks." The jokes land because they’re sharp, but also because they expose a real divide. Annie Hall (1977) is a film about the exhaustion of having to translate yourself to the person you love. Alvy’s narrates the failure of their relationship. Throughout the film, Annie grows --- artistically, emotionally, stylistically --- while Alvy largely remains the same...