Properly Screened

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...

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...

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...

  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