Problematic doesn't begin to describe the mid 1990s molotov cocktail of Kids. Harmony Korine was a skateboard kid in New York City when the nearly 50 year old Larry Clark discovered him. However improbable, a partnership sparked and they were able to pull off this cinéma véritésque screed. Bracketing out the more improprietous and probably illegal aspects of the partnership between Korine and Clark, the film depicts a dystopian kaleidoscope of violence, sex, and teenage anarchy. Most of this piercing honesty came from Korine, but Clark definitely helped to make sure that dogmatic authenticity was captured on celluloid, for better or worse. It is hard to imagine the chic iconoclasts of A24 even considering distribution for Kids. It is much too raw, even for them.

Thus we got Spring Breakers in 2013 from Korine as a director. Style over substance is a badge of honor for Harmony. The vibe here is vibz. The four young ladies at the center of the story are mere playthings for Korine's blissed out polemic against some mirage of Americanism. This is perhaps the paradigm of A24 films: stylemaxxing with ponderous writing, an infinity pool of depth. While A24 has distributed and produced great films, their reputation was solidified early on with Spring Breakers, a provocative and vaccous montage.

As A24 is now attempting to become a mid-major studio, it is startling to look back at their beginnings. For at least half a decade in the mid 2010s, it seemed as those A24 was forging a new path in filmmaking: the high commerce of high art. Alas they could not contain themselves as their creative courage begat commercial victory. Nowadays, they seem a bit like the trust fund kid who went to Sarah Lawrence, a bit eccentric, but bourgeoise all the same.

Special Guest: Hollywood Insider and great friend of the show, Ryan

Slipping identity is one of the better themes for existential horror, but its narrative power can easily list the story until it capsizes. There is perhaps nothing scarier than losing one's self. It is a fear so extreme and palpable, it is not spoke of often, which reflects on how on edge we have become in the age of social media. Our self identities have never been more slippery than right now, as our self image has become a kaleidoscope of algorithms, vibes, propaganda, and postmodern chicanery.

Denis Villeneuve's Enemy (2014) seems almost out of time despite being written and shot during the hyper acceleration of social media. The movie starts with a quote "Chaos is order yet undeciphered." Yet, the entire film works to obfuscate the actual connection between the doppelgangers at the center of it story. The ending is notoriously opaque as well. All of this adds up to a classic A24 style film. A film that offers a lot of vibes and questions, but doesn't dare write a thesis statement that is decipreable.

Roman Polanski's The Tenant (1976) comes from a different world than our own. Pre-internet and personal computer, The Tenant harkens back to Kafkaesque institutional paranoia and identity dissolution more commonly seen in Scandinavian film. Here the maleficent forces are clear and all around us. Small acts of coercion via social compliance begin to rewrite Trelkovsky's self-identity until he himself finally erases the last mark of his former self. It is easy to see how The Tenant has had a large influence beyond its limited social cachet. While uneven and unkempt, Polanski confidently and courageously explores his own sense of faltering self.

Special Guests: David, comedian and musician from Chicago, check out his band Humdrum

Green Room is perhaps the most divisive film that splits apart your Film Trace cohosts. Chris loves this punk rock thriller, and Dan resolutely despises the film. For nearly a decade now, the two have squared off over this A24 stalwart from Jeremy Saulnier. What starts out as a sort of fun punk rock road movie quickly turns into a nazi funhouse of horrors. Grotesque violence mixes with fascist gang machinations as main characters get wiped out one by one. The film's tone is akin to a street paella: messy with lots of competing tastes and probably some deep and long lasting indigestion. Chris has always been a glutton for punishment.

Straw Dogs is somehow even more disturbing and unnerving than Green Room. Dustin Hoffman plays a little runt creative who has to contend with the rural anti-intellectualism of the English countryside. While the setup seems quite put on and rote, the final results are anything but. The tension rises throughout the film until its insane and hyper violent ending. Problematic is the starting point for this film. Where it ends up is entirely up to you as the viewer to determine.

Special Guests: Bridget D. Brave, horror writer and horror film aficionado

I will admit. These are a couple of tough films. It Comes at Night is bleak. The Crazies is messy. They both share a common Hobbesian DNA. That is, human beings can be pretty awful to each other. A24's marketing misfire struck down It Comes at Night at the box office, and the film has not recovered from that diminished status despite being extraordinary work of cynicism by Trey Edward Shults. The film reminds me very much of the height of 1970s American horror, a collective realization that maybe we are the baddies.

George Romero's The Crazies has a totally different tone, but I think a very similar message. Romero shot this on 16mm and edited it like a 16 year-old YouTuber. It is a complete mess. But within that mess is a lot of pointed and poignant political satire that is easy to miss. The Crazies came out when the USA was still murdering women and children in Vietnam, because some WASPs felt anxious in DC. It was the height of American Immorality, and Romero saw that very clearly. The Crazies is his valiant but ultimately failed attempt to speak truth to power.

While both films are brutal in their own way, our wonderful conversation with Bridget D. Brave is quite the opposite. Three horror film nerds try to make sense of these unflinching attempts to capture the darkness, perhaps, at the core of humanity.

Special Guests: Jen and Sarah of the great podcasts - Movies & Us and TV & Us

Paul Schrader has spent a lifetime wrestling with the question of transcendence. From Taxi Driver to Master Gardener, his protagonists are often solitary men seeking clarity and redemption in an indifferent world. In First Reformed, Schrader distilled decades of his own Calvinist guilt and expansive cinematic theory into a stark, haunting meditation on faith. The film follows Ethan Hawke's Reverend Toller as he spirals into despondency. He is unable to cope with the violence, sin, apathy, and immorality that swirls around his life. With A24's strong backing, Schrader achieved critical redemption with First Reformed. The film earned widespread acclaim and Schrader received long-overdue recognition as one of America's last great morality filmmakers.

Schrader was deeply inspired by the 1955 Danish film Ordet. This austere masterpiece delves into the inner workings of a farming family grappling with the outer edges of religious despair and madness. It is slow, serious, and pure cinema. The molasses pace proves worthwhile as the film explodes into religious ecstasy in its final act. While long considered one of the most important films in world cinema, its stature has diminished in recent years as we have loosened our grip of organized religion. Still, this work of art proclaimed a spiritual boldness that has rarely been matched in the genre.

Special Guest - James Adamson, the host of the great Double Reel Podcast, a monthly magazine podcast for the discerning film nerd.

A24 had a cult following well before it broke into the mainstream in the 2020s. Their surprise win at the 2017 Oscars for Best Picture with Moonlight put them in the spotlight, but they remained resolutely an arthouse company pre-Covid. That’s why their behavior surrounding the marketing and distribution of Under the Silver Lake (2019) is so profoundly bizarre. David Robert Mitchell was coming off his 2015 horror masterpiece It Follows with this twisting absurdist L.A. noir starring Andrew Garfield. The whole affair seemed right in A24’s sweet spot. So much so that A24 pre-bought the distribution rights before a single shot was filmed. Then, after the movie played to a muted response at Cannes in 2018, they essentially abandoned it: moving the release date multiple times before finally dumping it onto just two screens in April 2019. What exactly was so unnerving that made A24 bury the film?

L’Avventura (1960) had a similarly consequential Cannes premiere in 1960. At its first screening, the audience jeered and booed so loudly that director Michelangelo Antonioni left the theater in tears. Yet later that same week, a group of prominent film critic, led by figures from Cahiers du Cinéma, drafted and signed an open letter defending the film as a bold step forward for cinema. That act of critical solidarity transformed L’Avventura from a public embarrassment into a landmark of cinematic modernism. What began in jeers was quickly reframed as a radical new vision of film art, and its stature has only grown since. Today it stands as one of the undisputed masterpieces of 20th-century cinema, a fixture on “greatest films” lists and a touchstone for generations of directors.

Under the Silver Lake, by contrast, never received that critical reprieve, its initial dismissal has lingered, but that has allowed a small, but vocal supporting group to form around the film as it becomes one of the first cult classics of the 2010s.

Special Guest - Lillian Crawford is a freelance writer covering film and culture for publications including Sight & Sound, BBC Culture, The Guardian, Times Literary Supplement. In addition to her writing, Lillian is a prolific programmer and curator, including for the BFI, the Barbican, the Garden Cinema, and the Edinburgh International Film Festival.

Dan is unable to hide his adoration Kogonada's debut film Columbus (2017). It currently ranks 7th on his best films of the 21st Century (so far) List. His follow-up, After Yang, is a more murkier affair. Set in a future where robots have become immediate family members, Kogonada attempts to humanize and ground sci-fi in a hazy emotional uncanny valley. Are we supposed to feel for the AI as we would a human or are we just mirroring our own subjective experiences onto an avatar? Rather than providing answers, the film drifts between aching grief, transcendent love, and non-dystopic visions of the future.

Yasujiro Ozu is clearly a massive influence on Kogonada, and it is easy to see why with his film Late Spring (1949), a gorgeous melodrama about a daughter growing apart from her father. The film probably shares more with Kogonada's Columbus in its interplay between emotion and the natural world. Ozu is able to conjure the most hidden and profound emotions from his actors and the story. At the same time, he crafts a meticulous narrative that continues to propel forward even as the external drama remains subtle. A true masterpiece of filmmaking.

Jason Blum, The Town, July 2025

In a baffling moment of industry transparency, Jason Blum called into The Town podcast on the morning after M3GAN 2.0’s disastrous opening weekend in late June to discuss what went wrong. Jason is the founder and leader of the highly successful Blumhouse Productions, a movie studio that quickly rose to success in the 2010s by producing low-budget horror films. Jason is notorious for being open about the normally clandestine aspects of the moviemaking business, but The Town episode was extraordinarily illuminating and revealing. At the same time, Jason Blum was there to spin like any typical Hollywood mogul.

M3GAN 2.0 opened to only 10 million dollars on its premiere weekend in late June 2025, which was under a third of what the original film opened to in 2023. The sequel will end up with a total of 39 million dollars at the box office versus the 181 million dollars of the original. Adding insult to injury, the production budget on the sequel was 25 million vs the original’s 15 million, and the marketing budget for part two was certainly much higher as well. In short, M3GAN 2.0 is a huge bomb.

Full Article: https://film-trace.beehiiv.com/p/the-end-of-the-blum-supremacy

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Special Guest - Returning to the podcast, Writer and Horror Film Aficionado, Andrea Gomez

A24 has built a reputation for edgy horror films. They helped to popularize the concept of elevated horror in the 2010s: The Witch, It Comes at Night, Hereditary. They have continued to nurture new voices in horror in 2020s with their patronage of the Philippou brothers. Talk to Me was produced without any A24 input or support. They stepped in when the film was screened to much shock and applause at Sundance in 2023. Before A24 became big producers, this is exactly how they built the brand and company. Find really interesting and exciting new films and take over the distribution. Talk to Me was a glam slam for A24, who acquired it for only single digit millions as it when on to make 92 million dollars at the box office.

Possession was not a huge success upon its released in 1981. The outlandishly wonderful horror film popped off at Cannes winning the Special Jury Prize along with Isabelle Adjani winning Best Actress. But outside the artistic bubble of Europe, the film was met with extreme skepticism and outright hatred. The USA release was shambolic with the original 124 minute run time being cut down to measly 81 minutes. The UK outright banned the film in the 1980s. But time has a way of mellowing reactions and opening minds. Possession slowly became a cult film thanks to boutique home video releases. With the rise of elevated horror in the 2010s, Possession reached its vaulted status as a horror classic.

In this premiere episode, we are covering two new releases from A24: Sorry, Baby and Eddington. These two films act as bookends to the house style of A24. On one side - soft, highbrow, and cerebral. On the other - daring, outlandish, and transgressive. We pair the flighty rom com of The Holiday (2006) with Sorry, Baby and the conspiracy gumbo of JFK (1991) with Eddington.

In dissecting these four films, the defining traits of A24’s style come sharply into focus. Major studios wouldn't touch either Sorry, Baby or Eddington. Eva Victor's Sorry, Baby is too quiet and too honest about sexual violence and its aftereffects. It also tells its story in a very non-linear fashion. Only an art-house imprint of a major studio would even consider releasing it. Eddington is resolutely an A24 film. Ari Aster is a devout auteur who chooses to tackle the origins of the Covid world where we all still very much reside. The film is diffuse, difficult, and without a clear protagonist or antagonist. It is an anti-studio film, perfect for A24.

The Maltese Falcon has almost become shorthand for both Humphrey Bogart and the beginning of film noir. That famous film was preceded by a film adaptation a decade earlier, which itself was preceded by the hard boiled crime novel a year prior. The 1941 film has totally eclipsed both the original adaptation and the book in popular consciousness. Perhaps rightly so. John Huston's directorial debut is a masterwork in writing, editing, and acting. It has also been touted as one of the more rewatchable films from the era due to its production design, clockwork plot, and Bogart's enigmatic vibes.

The Maltese Falcon is a great example of why some films should be remade. The remake improves pretty much every aspect of the original film. But our discussion takes a turn when Dan questions whether Falcon is truly a noir film. We dive deep into this topic and how labels and genres can often obfuscate the significance and heritage of a film. If The Maltese Falcon is not the first big noir film, then what gives it such a high value among film lovers and filmmakers? The answer of course lies within the film itself, not a genre label.

The western has always been seen as a distinctly American film genre. The "west" in the word is the American West, a grand nearly ungovernable stretch of land filled with plains, deserts, mountains, rivers, and precarious cliffs, both literal and moral. It is a rich canvas that can tell a thousand different stories. Ironically, here we have two non-American voices calling out to the vast wilderness of the West. Perhaps it is a wild and mysterious place that exists in all cultures.

Kurosawa's Yojimbo is not necessarily a textbook Western, but of course, it is deeply indebted to Shane (1953), High Noon (1952), The Gunfighter (1950), and John Ford's Stagecoach (1939) and My Darling Clementine (1946). At the same time, the source material was a hardboiled detective American novel from the 1930s, and we can not discount its place in the lineage of the chanbara films. Yojimbo is an amalgamation and many different styles and genres, but it still feels like a Western at its core.

A Fistful of Dollars is resolutely a Western, but it came from somewhere left of the dial. Sergio Leone did not speak English nor had he ever been to America, let alone the American West. But Leone was able to spark something new and powerful in the waning genre. Westerns had been around since the beginning of film, but by the 1950s and 1960s, the genre had oversaturated culture mostly through dime-store tv shows: Gunsmoke, The Lone Ranger, Bonanza, and Rawhide. Westerns had become trite and tired. Along came Clint Eastwood, Sergio Leone, and Ennio Morricone to reinvent and rekindle that flickering flame.

Special Guest: Riley - Good friend of the show and true film buff

King Kong is a cultural institution. How that happened is still a mystery to us children of the 1980s. We grew up with the original. The 1976 version had been memory holed by the time we were children. The 1933 version is iconic for many reasons honorable or not. The special effects were groundbreaking for the time and its blending of genres was unique. But problematic doesn't even begin to describe King Kong (1933). It is hard to watch it without feeling a strong sense of distaste and unease, even viewing it as a film artefact.

The remake of King Kong from 1976 was a bold attempt to one-up Jaws which came out the year before. The summer blockbuster was born, but a big budget and spectacular marketing campaign do not make a hit. The making of King Kong 1976 would probably make for a better movie than what we got on screen. Mired in legal trench warfare, this remake tried to update the King Kong story to incorporate the cynicism of post-Nixon years. It fails mostly, but it does not disappoint. It is an interesting and bizarre watch that is getting reappraised by Zoomers, for better or worse.

Lastly, the 2005 version probably needs its own episode. Peter Jackson's King Kong was highly praised upon its release, and it still is held in high regard. But Dan has more than a few bones to pick with its prestige.

Special Guest: Daniel Malone - Host of the great You Talkin' to Me? podcast where Daniel watches classic films with his son for the first time. Check it out!

The impetus of this season was to explore how remakes can add, take away, or supercede the original. Of course, all remakes add to the discourse of the original, and it is not some arbitrary competition. But the intention to remake is in some sense always competitive. A producer, writer, and/or director wants to retell a story in a different way, presuming the original will no longer do. Often this desire is imprudent but The Fly is a great example of how that impulse can lead to something much deeper and richer than the original execution.

The Fly (1958) is certainly not a bad film. It was an elevated B-movie for its time, shot in beautiful CinemaScope. Vincent Price dutifully shows up, and a couple scenes became iconic (both fly head reveals). When compared to David Cronenberg's masterpiece from 1986, the original suddenly feels quite quaint and slight, a time capsule curiosity rather than groundbreaking film. Cronenberg's The Fly is perhaps the paradigm of taking an interesting idea and expanding it into something much more and much better. The remake also demonstrates that an idea or concept is just the foundation of a film. The true totality of a movie is the collective creative action of hundreds of people. When it all gels, we get something special and magical.

Special Guest: Amanda Jane Stern - writer, producer and star of the award-winning psychosexual thriller Perfectly Good Moment. Streaming now on Tubi! Co-host of the podcast Don't Be Crazy.

Both versions of Cape Fear are anchored by dazzling performances of the antagonist, Max Cady. Robert Mitchum reduces the overtly violent nature of Cady in order to play up his cleverness, obsessiveness , and wiliness. De Niro goes over the top in his version of Cady, playing him as zany, an almost comical but brutal cartoon villain. This difference underlines the drastically opposed tones, vibes, and outcomes of each version of Cape Fear.

The 1962 original focused on the limits of justice. It clearly asks and attempts to answer where the line between enforced law and moral justice lives, albeit wrapped in a juicy and sensational B-movie plot. Scorsese's 1991 remake does not ask those questions, but it does drench us in pulpy genre stimuli: graphic violence, improprietous sexuality, and domestic disputes. The debate we have in this episode is whether either film is successful in its intended mission. Is the original too flat for a genre flick and perhaps too lofty to escape pretension? Do Marty and De Niro swing away and strike out, can a trashy thriller be too much even if it attempts to do nothing more than shock?

Special Guest: Karl Delossantos, founder and film critic at Smash Cut, editor at The New York Times, a Rotten Tomatoes-approved critic, and member of the Online Film Critics Society.

George Romero's Dawn of the Dead (1978) was my favorite film through my 20s and 30s (Dan here). The horror film's intoxicating mixture of gonzo production, revolting gore, pitch black satire, and anti-consumerist musings were a perfect match for my young adult mind. My adoration hasn't faded at all since I first saw it in high school, some 25 years ago. Dawn of the Dead is often considered Romero's masterpiece and perhaps the greatest zombie film ever made.

The remake of Dawn of the Dead landed like an atom bomb in 2004. Running zombies! Zach Snyder's first, and inarguably his best, film helped launch a zombie cultural moment that peaked 10 years later when 22 million people watched the season five opener of The Walking Dead, a tv show heavily indebted to George Romero's dead universe. Zombies had become mass appeal. "What would you do in an zombie apocalypse" became a lamestream icebreaker question. While Snyder's Dawn was a catalyst for this popularity, it was really the ideas in Romero's Dead films that attracted people to this once very niche subgenre of horror.

Special Guest: Brian Eggert is the owner and film critic of Deep Focus Review, where he has written movie reviews, in-depth essays, and critical analyses since 2007. Brian also regularly appears on KARE 11, the NBC affiliate for the Twin Cities, to review and discuss movies. He belongs to the Society For Cinema and Media Studies, Minnesota Film Critics Alliance, Online Film & Television Association, International Film Society Critics, Independent Film Critics of America, The Critics Circle, and National Coalition of Independent Scholars.

Westerns have gone through many cycles since the beginning of filmmaking. Right now, we are seeing an uptick in interest as the tv show Yellowstone dominates the traditional tv market. But back in 2010, Westerns were definitely far off in the background as comic book movies had begun to take over the box office. In 2010, the Coen brothers were coming off a very successful adaption of No Country for Old Men (2007) as well as two more left of center films, the sprightly spy romp Burn After Reading from 2008 and the niche existentialist A Serious Man from 2009. It is unclear why they decided to remake True Grit and focus on the novel from 1968 instead of the John Wayne movie which came a year later in 1969, but the choice was very successful. True Grit (2010) became the 2nd biggest Western in the modern box office.

The 2010 True Grit showcases the refined talents of the Coens alongside the gorgeous cinematography of Roger Deakins, the layered and rich music from Carter Burwell, and a smashing breakout debut performance from Hailee Steinfeld as the lead Mattie Ross. The 1969 version of True Grit offers so much less. Despite John Wayne winning an Oscar for his portrayal of Rooster Cogburn, the original film seems totally out of step and out of time. In hindsight, it was an end-of-the-line production for the core creatives involved. The director, writer, and star actor were all at the end of their careers. Indeed this very type of Western was on its last leg as evidenced by the giant leap the genre made at the same time this film was being produced and released. Watch any of the bigger westerns from the late 1960s and then try to sit through True Grit (1969). The dislocation and disorientation is severe. The original True Grit was a swan song that came about a decade too late.

First up, we are covering Nosferatu. This season was inspired by Robert Eggers' remake which came out late last year. The film was a surprise hit at the box office and is currently doing very well on digital release. We will compare the modern Nosferatu with the famous original, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror from 1922. We will also toss in a little of Werner Herzog's remake from 1979.

Nosferatu is perhaps the most famous horror character in the history of film. The character was a blatant and conspicuous copy of Dracula, so much so that the original film was ordered destroyed due to copyright violations. We only have it now, because it had been exported from Germany. Eggers brings forward the titular character into the world of Imax Laser and Dolby Atmos. He adds layer upon layer of intricate production and sound design, but the overall feeling is a bit mushy and lukewarm. Eggers decided to shift the main focus from the male protagonist to a female supporting character in the original story. A bizarrely postmodern move from a resolutely modernist director. Nosferatu is perhaps the perfect film to kick off the new season. Why remake a film? What you are bringing to it, what are we losing?

In this special episode, Dan and Chris delve into the films that split them down the middle—where one of us loved a movie, and the other couldn't stand it. It's our version of cinematic crossfire, complete with slightly heated debates and a dash of common ground by the end.

Episode Highlights:

--Intro: House Divided Origins--

• Trap & Longlegs

--The Divide--

• I Saw the TV Glow
• A Quiet Place: Day One
• Hit Man
• Maxxxine
• Love Lies Bleeding
• The Substance
• Civil War
• Rebel Ridge

--Dan vs. Chris: To Watch Lists--

• For Chris:
• Dan Hates: Strange Darling
• Dan Loves: Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, Speak No Evil
• For Dan:
• Chris Loves: Conclave, Furiosa, Pavements
• Chris Likes: A Real Pain, The Wild Robot, Kinds of Kindness, Will & Harper, Dear Santa
• Chris OKs: Anora, Heretic, Cuckoo, My Old Ass, Transformers One, Woman of the Hour
• Chris Hates: Nutcrackers, Moana 2

--Conclusion: Where We Agree--

• Both Hated IT: Twisters, Deadpool & Wolverine, Alien: Romulus, Abigail, Blink Twice
• Both Love: Challengers
• Both Like Sort Of: The Fall Guy

Fritz Lang had already created two masterpieces, Metropolis (1927) and M (1931), by the time he reached middle age. He went on to direct twenty-three more films throughout his long career. While some of these subsequent films were great, it would be difficult to argue that any of them reached the heights of his early work. There is a clear reason for this. Lang, a vehement anti-Nazi, was forced into exile when the NSDAP took over Germany in the 1930s. Lang found work in the Hollywood system, which he persistently despised. This acrimonious relationship eventually soured beyond repair, and While the City Sleeps is a cynical swan song to the business side of filmmaking that Lang loathed.

M and While the City Sleeps serve as excellent bookends to Lang's career, as well as to our season of Manhunt. While M delves deeply into the underbelly of Berlin and the moral abyss of the protagonist, While the City Sleeps gingerly skips along a similarly dark story with overly light interiors and day drunk actors. Lang transformed from an experimental and deeply probing artist into one who seemed more interested in cashing-in checks endorsed by the era's big movie stars. M represents a high point in the true crime, thriller, and manhunt genres. While the City Sleeps, on the other hand, exemplifies the erosion of originality we often see in this popular genre. The farther the story gets from the minds of the hunter and hunted, the less thrilling it all becomes.

Bullitt is famous for two reasons: Steve McQueen and the car chase. Like most famous films, its celluloid holds many more layers than its reputation claims. Bullitt was a leap forward for crime thrillers. Its naturalism, meticulousness, and postmodern plot made it a harbinger for the decades to come. There is no Chinatown without Bullit nor Heat. That alone makes it a remarkable and important film. The car chase is maybe the best ever put on screen, so that doesn’t hurt it.

On the other side of the Atlantic, Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Samouraï takes us into the calculated, Zen-like existence of a contract killer, played with masterful restraint by Alain Delon. Unlike the exposed id of Bullitt, Le Samouraï draws its power from a detached coolness, which deepens as the films reaches its crescendo. The film's manhunt is quietly relentless. The glitz and glamor of Paris and a life of crime are ruthlessly stripped away scene after scene until the isolated hero makes a final existential leap.

Special Guest: the great Mike Field, Co-host of the Forgotten Cinema podcast

Any film critic or scholar who dares traverse the muddy waters up river within Apocalypse Now feels doomed to be bereft of insight about such a well-established pure cinema magnum opus. But alas, here we are swimming upstream in one of the many backwater tributaries that make up the cultural cache of the definitive 1970s New Hollywood film. Yes, Apocalypse Now is a manhunt movie at its core, but that plot is a thin veneer overlaying a philosophic treatise on violence and madness. Any attempt at trying to decipher it often renders us stupefied. Coppola would probably find the same is true for him. It is the best type of film, an untouchable mystery.

Logan's Run (1976) has been held in somewhat high regard for decades, but it looks quite poor in direct comparison to Apocalypse. Perhaps it is unfair to pair it against one of the best films ever made, but I think this juxtaposition only highlights the flaws that were already there. What was probably a very interesting and unique film for its time, Logan's Run now feels sluggish, stilted, and all together boring. There are some interesting ideas in the script, but those are stuffed into the first 30 minutes. By the time the chase really begins, no emotional foundation has been built for Logan, and we are left filling out a plot box score as the film diddles along to a flaccid conclusion.

Special Guest: Friend of the show and co-host of the Screen Time: A Quarantine Family Podcast. Brigitte

Manhunter failed to make its money back at the box office when it was released in mid August 1986 on a dumping ground weekend. In the forty years since its release, the film has gained a rather prestigious reputation. The film of course established Hannibal Lecter as a film character. It was also one of the first serial killer movies where the subject matter was treated seriously as opposed to the more ghoulishly depictions often seen in b-movies. The FBI profiler, played by CSI skipper William Petersen, is shown to be slightly depraved, fully troubled, and mostly cold-blooded. Graham was an anti-hero before the term has much cache. Mann's flashy style has aged the best here along with the intertwined psychology of the hunter and hunted. It takes one to know one.

The Running Man (1987) feels like the concept of an action movie. Cearly helmed by a seasoned tv director, the difference between the boob tube and pure cinema may never be more clear than this overly stuffed, rompous, and absurd action thriller. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Richard Dawson are at the Ponderosa Steakhouse eating up every scene in sight. That alone is worth watching. The rest, not so much. The source material, of course a Stephen King novel, is put in the shredder and out comes pastel and neon confetti that lights on fire the moment you touch it. It is a direct ancestor to the Schumacher Batman series, for better or worse.

Special Guest: Good friend of the show, and our resident Japan expert, Harry Brammer

Everyone loves a good villain, especially in a horror film. We might even root for them, see Jason Takes Manhattan. But every so often a horror antagonist comes along that we would like to forget. Mamiya is one of those bad guys. Cure plunges us into the existential dread of modern existence: dull grey concrete mixed with blinding fluorescence, devoid of all natural light and warmth. The film ties together a series of seemingly unrelated murders into one terrifying thread: a unknown force compelling ordinary people to commit unthinkable acts. Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa crafts an oppressive world out of everyday urban life. The conjuring of Mamiya seems so simple and casual until a shock of violence erupts. The film's realism anchors the fantasy to make it believable, and then Kurosawa has us in his hands.

One False Move doesn't have good guys or bad guys. The film opens with unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty committed by our supposed protagonists. In this sense, the film is defiantly postmodern as it brackets out any notion of morality or propriety. Directed by Carl Franklin, it weaves a suspenseful and oddly poignant story of feckless fugitives on the run, crossing paths with a small-town sheriff who yearns for excitement. Here, the manhunt is not just a chase but an exploration of racial tension, broken dreams, and the suffocating weight of the past. The chase builds to a showdown that erupts with a flurry of gunfire, and the finale comes quick. But no answers are given, just lives squandered and lost.

Special Guest: the talented John Brooks from the great 1999 Podcast which covers all the films from that seminal year of film.

Crime stories hinge on a denouement of justice. When that justice is denied, the audience is often left in suspended emotional agitation. We want to believe that violent crimes are always solved, and the villainous perpetrators are caught. That order is restored. Yet, reality dictates a much less clear cut finale to crime stories. Memories of Murder explores this ambiguity in its depiction of a real-life serial killer case, where answers are elusive, and the moral certainties dissolve in a haze of bureaucratic stagnation, intellectual flaccidity, and craven dispositions. Director Bong Joon-Ho crafts a deeply unsettling vibe where the boundary between good and evil fades, exposing the futility of the hunt and the flawed nature of those involved.

In contrast, The Bourne Identity is sleek, fast-paced, and decidedly straightforward. This chase movie skips across Europe with the hunter and hunted dichotomy awhirl. Director Doug Liman invokes the stacco precision of a spy thriller but interweaves melodrama with Jason Bourne's fractured psyche. In many ways, Bourne is more indebted to the dutch-angled noir tradition than its most obvious predecessor, James Bond. With its relentless action and tightly wound narrative, the film strips away the nuance of morality found in Memories of Murder while delivering a linear yet captivating tale of survival, deception, and revenge.

Crime dramas have been a staple of cinema since its inception. We find comfort in categorizing characters as good or evil. It provides order in a convoluted world. Actual morality is often murky and challenging to decipher. New World offers a crystal clear reflection of how the world truly operates, rather than a saccharine imagined one. Deep Loyalty and petty betrayal are commonplace, and the lines between good and evil blur, like a spinning merry-go-round. 

Taika Waititi's distinctive style is evident throughout Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016). This is both a pleasure and a frustration. While the story of two unlikely companions going on the run in the Kiwi woods is delightful, the narrative often seems to lose its way despite the simplicity of the story. The plot path is clearly laid out, but Waititi can't resist taking detours down every zany spur, leaving little room for emotional resistance and refinement. Nevertheless, it remains an entertaining joy ride with a quaint conclusion.

In this season of Film Trace, we will dive into movies about being hunted or being the hunter. While these hunted vs hunter films span a wide breadth of genres, we start with the most tried and true model, the serial killer thriller.

Longlegs made a huge splash this summer. A true indie made for under 10 million, Longlegs has broken the 100 million dollar mark at the worldwide box office to become the highest-grossing independent film release of the year. This is particularly bizarre for few reasons. One, the marketing campaign budget was tiny. It was a throw back to the Blair Witch Project campaign from 1999: guerrilla, less is more, driven by word of mouth. Two, Oz Perkins is not a huge director, mostly genre and more experimental fare. Three, while elevated horror has a big profile, it tends to not bring home the bacon. Longlegs starts a new chapter for Neon as studio-distributors and the horror genre at large.

Trap had a huge marketing campaign and a big name behind it, M Night Shyamalan. The trailer seemed everywhere in 2024. The release spot was not great, but it still counts as a summer release. So the hopes were high for fans and the studio. It turns out to be a pretty standard M Night movie: fun, odd, and very polarizing. Josh Hartnett makes a major return in this arena thriller with a conspicuous Hitchcockian flair. Where as a Longlegs tries to get by on mostly just vibes, Trap drives forward with a mousetrap plot that feels compellingly contrived. Neither seems to hit the bullseye, but both are well-made and engaging films that provoke discourse.

In our finale, we delve into the origins of Camp Cinema in the 1950s, spotlighting Nicholas Ray's flamboyant western Johnny Guitar and Douglas Sirk's melodramatic Imitation of Life. Johnny Guitar subverts the traditional male bravado typical of most westerns by pitting two powerful women against each other. The visual artistry of Ray and his cinematographer, Harry Stradling, reveals the campy essense of the film with a rich palette of canary yellows, baked terra cottas, and deep azures.

Imitation of Life achieves a similar feat, but with emotional resonance rather than visual flair. During our 1950s season, we explored Todd Haynes' commendable Douglas Sirk hommage, Far From Heaven. But nothing compares to the authentic touch of Sirk himself. Sirk masterfully understood cinema's power over an audience, manipulating emotions with precision in Imitation of Life. Its finale is one of the most emotionally explosive moments ever captured on celluloid. Camp manifest is many forms. Here we have two films that seem diametrically opposed in genre, but both use camp to full effect to elicit a deep response.

Special Guest: Manish Mathur, host of the It Pod to Be You, covering romantic comedies from classics to modern hits and everything in between.

French director Jacques Demy embarked on an ambitious project to create a film in which every line was sung. What initially appeared as a gimmicky opera about everyday life evolved into one of the most acclaimed musicals of all time. The film is imbued with vivid color and adorned with enchanting songs, showcasing Demy's profound appreciation for artifice, a hallmark of camp cinema.

In stark contrast to Demy's refined sensibility stands Roger Vadim's audacious science fiction film, Barbarella (1968). Infamous for the wrong reasons, the film features Jane Fonda in the lead role, navigating an incoherent narrative inspired by a French erotic comic. Here, the camp is strikingly naïve, and the collective artistic intentions remain enigmatic and elusive.

Special Guest: scholar, artist, author, and curator Marisa C. Hayes of the wonderful Afterimages podcast and book series.

The first film discussed needs no introduction, though Dan and Chris could have used one since the Jim Sharman-directed camp classic was a first-watch for both of them. Enter Marisa to help break down why it perhaps took so many years for two Midwest suburban boys to break through its storied midnight movie status and witness its madcap genius. Then, a hard pivot to John Schlesinger's takedown of the Golden Age of Hollywood in all its messy, over-the-top glory. The proto-Babylon isn't fully self-aware of its turgid and grisly nature, though perhaps that's exactly what defines it as an underrated camp gem, though certainly an oddity that lies on the fringes of canon.

Special Guest: Gavin Mevius and Louie Rendon from the great Mixed Reviews podcast

John Waters is the prince of camp. We simply had to choose one of his films for our season on Camp Cinema. The lucky winner was Hairspray. While Waters is known for his deft ability to push the boundaries of taste and propriety, Hairspray spins and shakes upon the line of respectability without overly indulging in taboo. This spry wiliness in tone perhaps what makes it his most potent film.

Xanadu on the other hand would never flirts with respectability or taboo. It exists in some liminal space between imagination and reality. Nothing about Xanadu makes any sense, especially the plot. But there is something a bit magical within this technicolor rumpus. Gene Kelly and Olivia Newton-John bring class and warmth to what could have been a real bad trip. Is Xanadu good? The syntax of that question is nonsensical. Camp is post logic, which is where Xanadu lies.

Special Guest: Returning Guest, Rotten Tomato approved film critic, Natasha Alvar from Cultured Vultures

When watching To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, there is an overriding sense of what could have been. Coming out in the mid 1990s, a surprisingly much more open time in American culture, Wong Foo went to number one at the box office. It was a modest hit, but clearly well received by the general public. If this movie was made today, everyone involved would get more death threats than residuals checks. Culture doesn't always move forward, sometimes it backslides.

Magnolia is a controversial pick for Camp Cinema. To me, it is the paradigm of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp in her 1964 essays Notes on Camp. Magnolia is a manically ambition film with a passionate and serious tone. Paul Thomas Anderson, like Cameron Crowe in Vanilla Sky, strived to reach the artistic heavens, but all he did was take on a tour of the sad and lonely people of the San Fernando Valley. Chris and Natasha offer some good counterpoints to my stance.

Special Guest: Good friend and frequent guest, Molly

The early Aughts was a bizarre time in American culture. The heady surge of the late 90s into Y2K was quicky benzo'd by 9/11 and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our two selections for the 2000s were written and produced before the big comedown, and they both definitely have a "we can do anything" vibe. Sugar and Spice deftly somersaulted through the byzantine development process at New Line Cinema, who were likely distracted by their massive production of Lord of the Rings trilogy at the time. What could have easily been a teen movie cash-in is a rather spunky, satirical, and fun mess. Does it work? No, but it is sassy enough to not care.

Vanilla Sky is not fun. Here Cameron Crowe's grandiose vision was blinded by his fiery ambition. Coming off his best film, Almost Famous, Crowe decided to tackle a remake of Alejandro Amenábar's 1997 Spanish film Abre Los Ojos. Vanilla Sky does not align with the traditional definition of camp, but it certainly seems to be the bullseye of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp. It is a film so devoutly serious about something so frivolously stupid.

Special Guest: Filmmakers Emily Gallagher and Austin Elston of Fishtown FIlms

As the dust begins to settle on the 2010s, the topsy turvy decade begins to come into focus. At the start of the decade, Darren Aronofsky released Black Swan (2010) to critical acclaim. I saw it in a packed NYC theater opening weekend. The buzz was palpable. Looking back now, especially post mother! and the rise of peak tv, the trashy and overwrought elements of Black Swan overshadow the great performances and wonderful cinematography, which is why we have selected as our Naive Camp film for this episode.

The Love Witch had a much quieter release in 2016, but it clicked with a small group of film lovers. While filmmaking is mostly a communal art, Anna Biller was so involved with every aspect of The Love Witch that it could only exist because of her. Biller's retro and kitsch style can not obscure the riotous passion for filmmaking and gender theory at the heart of the film. It is so campy that one could argue it is post-camp in that it is both obsessed with artifice and serious at the same time. At the very least, The Love Witch exists mostly in deviance of the ideas presented in Sontag's Notes on Camp.

First off is the financial and critical disaster of Madame Web (2024). We argue this film is a good example of what Sontag would call naive camp: over the top, extravagant, but without much artistic merit. A spectacular failure. The open question with Madame is whether anyone involved thought it should be anything more than a lark inspired by the trashy comic book films of the 1990s.

Countering the cinematic cacophony of Madame Web is the arthouse excess of Pearl. Ti West was given a million dollars by A24 to create a prequel to his 2022 slasher X. The star of that film, Mia Goth, helped write the script and plays the titular Pearl. Boy this one is a doozy. Goth is out there in a place all her own. We think it is a great example of intentional camp: total excess that somehow succeeds in being a good film.

Topics of discussion

1. Intro: 2023's Film Trace movies. They stood the test of time, but were they awarded upon release?

2. Nominated film most obviously conceived specifically with little gold men in mind?

3. Nominated film conceived originally with absolutely no award hopes in mind?

4. Nominated director/writer/DP/actor most obviously groomed to one day become an Oscar winner?

5. Nominated director/writer/DOP/actor least groomed throughout their career to one day walk to the stage?

6. Conclusion: Release the hounds. What 2023 movies do we think will stand the test of time despite receiving zero nominations?

Alas we have come to the finale of our Future Wars cycle. It has been a long season with a super-sized eight episode run. Sci-fi is often a real bummer. Most of the movies we covered this season depicted humanity's future as a nightmarish dystopia. Here we trace back the genre to its roots.

The Day the Earth Stood Still established many sci-fi genre conventions while Invasion of the Body Snatchers brilliantly depicted the nebulous unease that took over American domestic life in 1950s. The start of the Cold War did a real number on Americans. The real threat of nuclear annihilation doused the tranquil domesticity of new suburbia in caustic self-doubt and a deep fear of outsiders. But whereas more recent Future War films demonstrated the totalizing destruction of AI, aliens, or ourselves, these films from the 1950s had less fatalistic finales. Perhaps the actual threat of destruction gave them reason to think of an imagined way out.

Special Guest: Good friend of the show and onscreen performer Harry Brammer, dialing in from Tokyo.

Here we have two masters, Kubrick and Godard, spinning tales of future conflict and war in the mid 1960s. Slipping in their polemics right before the great social upheavals of the decade, these films depict the western world teetering on the edge of breakdown. Kubrick's scolding satire in Strangelove still smolders 60 years later. He depicts the most powerful people in the world, people with the ability to end the human race, as complete and utter buffoons. The accuracy of his portrayal is startling as it has only become more true with time.

Godard's Alphaville is a very different story. Shot for next to nothing in Paris, this ambitious film can't support its own intellectual weight. While some scenes still pop off the screen, it is a trudge to get through despite it merits.

Special Guest: Sean Patrick from the great Everyone’s a Critic podcast

The 1970s were a trip. The Omega Man is a zany, over-the-top apocalypse movie that is helmed by maybe the worst possible choice for the role, Charlton Heston. Zardoz is a legendary cult film that makes even less sense now than it did on release. Films about the future mirror their present, and it was crystal clear that the human race was in La La Land in the 1970s. But what could be read as unserious in these movies is more a reflection of our present. We feel locked into a future of degrading democracy, climate, and personal prospects. The absurdity of these films reflects a different time, a time before Reagan, AIDs, and a slowly suffocating planet. Perhaps there is something in the openness and creativity of a film like Zardoz. That maybe, we aren't stuck in an express lane to Cyberpunk 2077, time will tell.

Special Guest: David Riedel, film critic and co-host of the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast.

James Cameron is a master filmmaker. This two film run in the mid 1980s is iconic, legendary, and ground-breaking. When we think of this cycle's theme, Future Wars, we are ultimately thinking of Cameron and his oeuvre. The status of Terminator and Aliens is well-established, but it is interesting to look back at the actual films themselves instead of the cultural miasma surrounding them. Peeking behind the curtain is risky. A film that seemed powerful and important can easily be defrocked by time and an ever-changing collective consciousness. Terminator and Aliens have defied this normal cycle of art criticism. If anything, their power and status has been consistently reified decade and decade since their release. Perhaps if anything, the greatness of these films makes us mourn the loss of Cameron to the technical three ring circus of Avatar. What could have been becomes palpable when imbibing the tech noir vibes of Terminator or sweaty machismo of Aliens.

Special Guest: Evan Crean, film critic and co-host of the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast.

Here we have two films with diametrically opposed authorial voices. The Matrix is self-serious, pointelty intellectual, and so cool that it borders on frigid sterility. Starship Troopers is a polemic anti-fascist satire that mirrors Baywatch more than it does Aliens. Nearing its 25th anniversary, The Matrix has been rightfully deemed classic cinema. Starship Troopers, on the other hand, remains on the fringes due to its multiplicitous and duplicitous nature.

Intention seems to hold an enhanced importance in the longevity of a film's reputation. While The Matrix can easily be called pretentious, it hasn't lost its potency over the last two decades. In many ways and despite its middling sequels, The Matrix has risen to a new level of respect in the 21st century. Not for its accuracy in depicting the future, but rather for its ability to capture the dissociating effects of technology on our everyday lives. Starship Troopers has sadly begun to fade. For those of us in on the joke, the political reality we have lived through has lessen the bite of the punchline and satire. It also calls into question the effectiveness of red-nosed satire, lighting up the social commentary in every scene. When Verhoeven is perhaps murkier with intentions like in the reclaimed masterpiece Showgirls, his wit and delightful skewering of America feels heavier and more accurate. In Troopers, the daytime tv look is perhaps too much of a veneer on a devolving society surging towards fascism.

Special Guest: Film critic and co-host of Spoilerpiece Theatre and The Slashers, Megan Kearns.

The world doesn't end with a whimper. It ends with loud alien tripods and a nuclear winter. Spielberg had already made two alien films before War of the Worlds, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982). This was his chance to live out his boyhood dream of blowing stuff up on camera by displaying a not so friendly side of Non-Human Intelligence. War of the Worlds is a marvelous spectacle that most action and sci-fi lovers will enjoy. Spielberg is having so much fun pulverising the world that it is easy to miss the underweight story that ends too abruptly. The Road is not fun. The Road is brutal and awful. The viewer feels like they are staggering alongside the father and son with untread shoes and ripped rags for clothing that flutter in the frigid winds of a wasteland. Cormac McCarthy saw the end times being way worse than we could ever imagine. The film at least captures his unique nightmare even if it misses the deeper meaning within the novel.

Special Guest: Tommy Thevenet from the fantastic Haven't Scene It: A Movie Podcast

As we dip a little further into the last decade, our Future War cycle begins to take shape with the genius Mad Max massively outshining the sophomoric drivel of The Purge. Mad Max: Fury Road was stranded in development hell for over a decade. Geo-political upheaval, once in a century flooding, and skeptical studio execs conspired to keep it out of the theaters, but George Miller and his motley crew found a way to make it happen. The film is crazy in the best possible way. Unbelievable visuals and stunt work, a bizzaro grab bag of eccentric characters, and pure adrenaline. It is cinema magic. Geo-political upheaval, once in a century flooding, and skeptical studio execs conspired to keep it out of the theaters, but George Miller and his motley crew found a way to make it happen. The film is crazy in the best possible way. Unbelievable visuals and stunt work, a bizzaro grab bag of eccentric characters, and pure adrenaline. It is cinema magic. The Purge on the other hand was successful only as a concept. The execution leaves so much to be desired. Despite spawning many sequels over the last decade, this Blumhouse thinkpiece has next to no meat on the bones.

Our Future Wars cycle is focused on how the conflicts of tomorrow were depicted in the past. Over this 8 episode series, we will review 16 films spanning from the 1950s through today that attempted to predict how mankind might find itself at odds with the world and itself.

The first episode covers the 2020s with The Creator and Dune. Gareth Edwards gained famed after toiling away as a video editor at the BBC with Monsters, a shoestring sci-fi film. Edwards was immediately called up to the majors to helm two blockbuster budgets with Godzilla (2014) and Rogue One (2016). The results were decidedly mixed, and Gareth found himself longing for a simpler way to shoot a big movie. The Creator looks like a very well done 200 million dollar film, but it only cost 80. Technical achievements aside, the story attempts to unravel the very present day conflict of Artificial Intelligence and what role it should play in our lives.

Dune is a great counter film to The Creator as both films tackle a large scale war of tomorrow, but the approaches are diametrically opposed. The world created by Edwards feels warm, lived in, and extremely perilous. Dune, locked into the imagined worlds of Frank Herbert's book, is depicted by Denis Villeneuve as cold, spartan, and fateful. The Creator feels entrapped in the present, and Dune feels entombed by the past.

We have come to the end of our 1950s cycle, and we are struggling to find a thread that weaves through all of these films. The films we covered all use the 1950s in different ways: set dressing, pastiche base layer, dreamscape, hommage, coming of age background. Each film is a creative outcome of the lived reality of its source decade. Cool Hand Luke feels like a New Hollywood film. It is filled with rebellion and American Existentialism. Rebel Without a Cause, the only film we selected that was made in the 1950s, feels vibrant and raw. Its messiness a sign of authenticity. Perhaps one theme that reoccurred through these films is one of rebellion. Rebellion against some amorphous authority: moral, masculine, or otherwise. Indeed, the 1950s has always been seen as a decade of normalcy and Pax Americana. Each of these films counter examines the assumptions we have collectively made about the years of peace and plenty.

The next season of Film Trace is coming soon: Future Wars.

Special Guest: Andrea G, co-founder of filmchisme, X: @alifebydreaming

The 1950s has never been known as a gritty decade. We wanted to find films that demonstrated some of the hidden realities of the Eisenhower years. The Last Picture Show and Lenny both muck up the shiny image of Post War America. Bogdanovich's dusty tale of rural Texas shows us that even small town life is filled with contradiction, tragedy, and sorrow. Fosse's portrayal of Lenny Bruce never leaves the gutter. Both are vibrant films that give us an alternative glimpse into a decade too often encased in a plastic cover.

Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

Special Guest: Friend and frequent guest, Molly, who led us both to the existential oasis that is Desert Hearts

We often try to choose two films that create a discourse between them, but here I think it is safe to say both films are talking past each other. Desert Hearts was an impossible film that was made through sheer will and determination. Donna Deitch raised 1.5 million to make the film mostly via individual stock sales to investors. Unheard of back then and today. The film itself exudes that deep poetic desire. Diner, on the other hand, feels ramshackle and blase. Despite its high stature amongst film critics, the movie plays like a playboy who has had one too many, slipping and sliding through life as if no consequence could cut the wrong way. These two films are about the same decade, but they are about completely different worlds.

Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

We dive into two different worlds of the 1950s: the glam and seedy glitz of Los Angeles vs the cold and wet solitude of rural Washington. LA Confidential won high praise upon its release in the fall of 1997. It's stature has not faded much in the 25 years since. This Boy's Life had a muted release Easter weekend of 1993, and it seems to have gone missing since then. While LA Confidential uses the 1950s as a way to doll up the actors and scenery, it's satirical wit is focused mostly on the city itself and less on the time period. LA is notoriously born of bad blood, and the film never lets us forget that. This Boy's Life has much more simple and intimate story of triumph over an overbearing authority. It's matinee sappiness covers up a base coat of 1950s misogyny and patriarchy it attempts to critique.

Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

Special guests: Brian Eggert from Deep Focus Reviews, Rotten Tomato Approved and frequent KARE 11 guest film critic

What started out as a random pairing of two 1950s period pieces from the early Aughts became a rather interesting juxtaposition on the potency and fugility of worshiping art from the past. Far From Heaven was born from a love and respect for Douglas Sirk's fifties melodramas, and The Majestic has Frank Darabont donning his best Capra impression. While both films have inherited riches from the past, their contemporary narratives tend to sizzle instead of sparkle. Far From Heaven is beautifully shot and acted with an intricate and immaculate product design. But we wonder if there is anything happening beyond a Sirk lovefest. The Majestic has a prefab Americana store of redemption that is instantly gripping. But while the trim looks polished and proper, the rooms feel empty. Both films demonstrate how hommage can result is both a dissonant feedback loop as well as an illuminating ouroboros.

Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

Special guests and friends of the show Molly and Ryan join us to discuss what happens when Malick and Anderson get the creative freedom and financing to direct the movie they always wanted to make. Tree of Life kicked off a recent prolific period for the ever reclusive Malick. He originally had the idea for Life back in the late 1970s while working on his masterful Days of Heaven. Then he disappeared for twenty years. Similarly, Anderson had been ruminating on the root idea behind The Master for many years before he was able to finally make it happen.

Both directors go all in, and the final results vary widely depending on the viewer's willingness to go along with them.

Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

Both Chris and I are devout Wes Anderson fans, and covering Asteroid City was really the impetus for this cycle's theme. As we have traversed this cycle, we are seeing how the 1950s setting can be used in a variety of ways with varying degrees of historical richness. Wes, quite predictably, uses the Eisenhower years as mostly set dressing for his story of grief and isolation out in the red desert. Of course the film looks gorgeous and is filled to the brim with exquisite detail, but the film does deviate significantly from the typical Anderson film. Here the meta impulse is greatly indulged with a play running intertwined within the main narrative. The film has become quite divisive even amongst Wes Anderson aficionados.

A great counterpoint to Asteroid City is Steven Spielberg's autobiographical The Fabelmans (2022). Both works are about directors turning the lens inwards. Whereas Anderson deconstructs his own style and voice into a kaleidoscope of detail and paratexts, Spielberg lends his own story a hyperrealism he often evoked in his most classic work. Both films are honest reflections.

Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

Often overlooked by the infamy of its origin source, In Cold Blood enormous value as a film: the beautiful and stark cinematography of Conrad Hall (who went on to shoot Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Road to Perdition), the unsettling and rapturous performances of leads Robert Blake and Scott Wilson, the surgical plotting and execution of Richard Brooks. It sits snugly inbetween the post-war studio system and the auteur anarchism of the 1970s. Despite these creative high marks, In Cold Blood could be a thesis statement for this cycle: exploitation and true life film are inseparable. The moral weight of retelling this grisly murder of a family by two drifters is too much for the film, even with its progressive anti-death penalty ideology. But we find interest and discourse in the cracks and fissures of great art. Perfection in film would be a negation of the medium.

For our chaser film, we trace the lineage of true crime back to Compulsion (1959), a mess of a film that is salvaged by wonderful performances from Orson Welles, Diane Varsi, Dean Stockwell, and the truly creepy Bradford Dillman.

Special Guest: Good friend of the show and dedicated film nerd, Riley.

Dog Day Afternoon is certainly a film you hear about before you ever see it. The film has had a stellar reputation since its release in the mid 1970s. It is considered one of Sidney Lumet's most important and best films. As we approach the film's 50th anniversary, we reappraised both what is on the screen and what happened in real life, not all of which is easy to reconcile with the aura of prestige surrounding the film. As we explore about how true life overlaps with fiction, Dog Day Afternoon becomes hornet's nest of contradiction, exploitation, and high art craftsmanship. Featuring stellar performances from Al Pacino and John Cazale, we face the question that always arises when great stories are told about terrible people: can we separate art from reality?

For our chaser film, we reclaim a lost 70s classic, Straight Time. Dripping in 70s malaise and alienation, Dustin Hoffman plays a man on the edge of all things prudent.

Special Guest: Rob from the awesome Smoke & Mirrors Podcast

David Cronenberg was evicted from his home after his early film, Shivers, sent shockwaves through the Toronto intelligentsia. Cronenberg has always been an outsider with a deft ability to contort himself into the good graces of the monied class over his now fifty year career. Dead Ringers is one of his most grounded works but it is also one of his most confounding. The film closely follows the journalistic essays written about the life and death of twins Stewart and Cyril Marcus. As Cronenberg himself said, “The art of The Fly was to make the fantasy absolutely real, whereas the challenge here was to make the realistic seem fantastic.” But by the end, even Jeremy Irons' spectacular performance can't quite conjure the truth that lies between the tragedy of these twin brothers.

For our chaser film, we dissect Wes Craven's ballsy attempt to adapt a notorious account of real life zombies in Haiti, The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988).

Special Guest: The crew from There Are Too Many Movies podcast - Chris Collins, Josh Rodriguez, and Alex Wilshin.

Hunter S. Thompson was the paradigm of Stranger Than Fiction journalism. He helped create the entire genre of creative nonfiction by telling the world what he saw we his own two eyes instead of assuming some fake omniscient third person perspective, also known as "reporting." Terry Gilliam saddled up with Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro to bravely attempt an adaptation of Thompson's classic work of gonzo. It fails spectacularly, but the film is absolutely a high mark in visual experimentation. Not for nothing, Gilliam captures altered perception in a way never done before or since. It's too bad the film mostly misses the moral and political polemics underneath the book's narcotic blatherings.

For our chaser film, we travel to the fourth dimensions with Peter Jackson's wonderfully macabre Heavenly Creatures (1994).

Special Guest: Katey Stoetzel is co-founder and TV Editor for InBetweenDrafts. She hosts the “House of the Dragon After Show” podcast and can be read on various other places like Inverse and Screen Speck.

Refn's conspicuous filmmaking style lends itself well to the crazy and violent life of Charles Bronson aka Britain's "most violent prisoner." Shot as a performance art piece rather than a narrative film, Bronson was certainly a calling card for both Refn and the magnificent lead performance of Tom Hardy. Looking back on the film some fifteen years later, the boldness feels oversaturated and worn, like an overly compressed mp3. It blasts loud, but the dynamic range is so blown out that little emotional timbre is left. Especially troubling is the tightrope Refn chooses to snap in two instead of traverse. Refn claims he is making a movie about man he knows nothing about. Charles Bronson is a real person who did very awful things to real people. Refn gives us a barometer with which to measure the level of exploitation that true life films can conjure. Here lies the bottom.

For our chaser film, we lounge with Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg in 2004's The Terminal, a comfy mid-aughts dramedy filled with max schmaltz and min edge.

Elizabeth Banks is an almost household name who likes to stay busy as an actor, producer, film director, and now gameshow host. While prolific, the quality of her output has been uneven. Her 2019 film Charlie's Angels spectacularly bombed, and Banks, always the press whisperer, jumped on the grenade and blamed sexism. Here she returns to the director's chair for a loosely true concept about a bear who eats a lot of cocaine. Clearly a joke by people who are too well connected to truly fail, Cocaine Bear is tonal salmagundi: black comedy, creature feature, coming of age, postmodern pastiche. None of it really lands beyond the basic concept of bear being turnt up on coke. Considering the large production budget and the talented people involved, the final result is an embarrassment.

For our chaser film, we discuss The Bling Ring, Sofia Coppola's blasé docudrama of young thieves obsessed with celebrity consumption. Despite its glassy surface, Coppola suggests a deeper abyss lies below.

Coming off his break out art-house hit Call Me by Your Name (2017) and his wonderfully bizarre remake of Suspiria (2018), Luca Guadagnino rejoined with white hot Timothée Chalamet to adapt this young adult novel about the ills of eating human flesh. The book, a vegan polemic, is translated here by Luca with his normal grace, poise, and naturalism. Joining Chalamet is the splendid performance of Taylor Russell as the two young lovers crisscross the eastern half of the US. Also strangely a 1980s period piece, Bones and All becomes a gumbo of genre, style, and tone. It doesn't really work, but there is a joy in the experience of trying to make sense of it all. Mark Rylance shows up to piss off Chris and for me to fall in love again.

For our chaser film, we reconnect with Her (2013), a techno-romance that captured the thirty something zeitgeist of the late Obama years as we became soulmates with our iPhones.

Chris and Dan present the top five behind the scenes dramas in film for 2022. The goal of our show is to tell the listener the story of how a film came to be. Sometimes everything goes right, and we get Top Gun: Maverick. Sometimes it doesn't go right and we get Morbius. The successes are fun to talk about but the abject failures are truly delicious.

Join us as we trace the lives of five films that face planted in 2022.

Special Guest: Amanda Jane Stern - writer, actor, and producer from New York City. She wrote, produced, and starred in the new erotic thriller Perfectly Good Moment, soon to be playing at a film festival near you!

When Brokeback came out in the mid-Aughts, it was supported by effuse buzz and whispered homophonic jokes. This was not unlike the release of The Crying Game in the early 90s. Both films were from smaller studios and gained traction due to their misperceived salaciousness. Looking back on Brokeback, the film's reputation is bizarre and totally ill-fitting. The film is a quiet and slow mediation on how love blossoms quickly but then withers for decades only to constantly reemerge through turned soil, like a perennial bud. Its loss to Crash at the 2006 Oscars for Best Picture feels more and more criminal with every passing year. Brokeback Mountain is one of Ang Lee's enduring masterpieces alongside Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

For our chaser film, we reexamine the 2002 film Secretary, which felt like a slight curiosity on release but plays totally differently now. Very much a hidden gem.

Like the Wachowskis' more successful and canonical sophomore effort, The Matrix, Bound both works wonderfully on its own as a playful lesbian-centered noir and as a challenge to the WWII-era subgenre, as well as modern crime films writ large, to reconsider and deconstruct masculinity and femininity alike. Essentially a chamber drama with Hong Kong action-inspired flair, its lead performances from the still-underrated Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon leap off the screen with ferocity while also retaining a delicate sense of intimacy. The supporting cast, including reliable Wachowski mainstay Joe Pantoliano and a magnetically maniacal turn from Christopher Meloni, fleshes out the film's ahead-of-its-time graphic novel pulp sensibility too. The whole affair comes off as not just risqué but downright revolutionary.

For our chaser film, we discuss the trashy erotic thriller Poison Ivy (1992). Directed by exploitation master Roger Corman protégé Katt Shea and largely a footnote of the decade's offerings, its queer undertones and Lolita riffing merit discussion, not to mention the fact that it somehow spawned three direct-to-video sequels.

Dan is off this episode, but joining Chris in his absence is the insightful and talented freelance film writer and frequent Little White Lies contributor Lillian Crawford.

Valley Girl, the paradigm of an indie film, transcended its own means of production to become an oddly dismissed 80s mall romcom. As one reviewer aptly stated, the influence of Valley Girl was so massive that it's hard to watch it without feeling a sense of deja vu. Helmed by Martha Coolidge, who went on to direct the classic Real Genius and to become the president of the DGA, Valley Girl features Nicolas Cage in his breakout lead role. Coolidge placated the indie studio's grindhouse expectations while at the same time deftly producing one of the more authentic 1980s romance films.

For our chaser film, we explore My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), a homosexual love story that plays down any risque notions. Written by a playwright, this gem of Britain's Channel 4 glows brightly despite its three decades of age.

Loosely based on the real-life murdering spree committed by Charles Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate in the late 1950s, Badlands quickly steers clear of true crime tropes and traditional story structure. While Terrence Malick is at his least idiosyncratic here, the vibe and flow of the film are resolutely unique and unexpected. Perhaps the strange pacing and narrative focus should have been expected from a Hollywood outsider who nearly got his Ph.D. studying the existential philosophy of Martin Heidegger. The fully colored lens through which Malick displays the violent journey of Kit and Holly (Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek) has not been drained of its vibrancy despite being fifty years old. The film shows how fame can easily dislocate the guttural horror of violence, a sophisticated message that has only strengthened over the decades.

For our chaser film, we discuss the twee-influence of Harold and Maude (1971). The gender roles are reversed in this March-December romance, and we debate how this alteration affects the whimsy that props up this pitch-black comedy.

We start out this new season by tiptoeing through the minefield that is Lolita, a notorious film adaptation of the even more notorious novel by Vladimir Nabokov. It is hard to fathom that housewives and bankers were reading Lolita on the subway in the 1950s, but that is how popular this novel was during the Eisenhower years. This classic unfilmable novel is bizarrely translated by Kubrick, which greatly aggravates the problematic nature of the story. Chris and I debate whether we could even call this a romance film.

For our chaser film, we discuss an often-overlooked kitchen sink drama from England, A Taste of Honey (1961). Where Lolita stumbles all over the place trying to say something profound, Honey says it with the smallest of glances and touches.

When we decided to do Absurdist Action as the theme of this cycle, we both struggled to find a starting point. Over-the-top action movies were the lingua franca of 1980s American cinema, and we had dozens of Reagan-era films to choose from as an origin. But as we tried to trace the theme back further, things became quite murky: Kung Fu, James Bond, Micheal Cimino, heist movies, cop movies, military shoot 'em ups. Chris wisely choose this yakuza B movie as our starting point, and it rings incredibly true to the theme.

The undercurrent that connects Bullet Train to Bad Boys to 48 Hrs can be seen clearly in Seijun Suzuki's surrealist gonzo hitman film. Branded to Kill was shot in 25 days and edited in the three days before it was released. It was a factory film. The studio hated it and fired Suzuki. It was mostly unseen outside of Japan until the late 1990s when it was released on home video. Branded To Kill is a fever dream that runs solely on poetic logic. It is definitely absurd, and intoxicatingly provocative. Explicit sex, epic violence, and free verse plotting make this the missing link of Absurdist Action films.

For our chaser film, we beat back the current of modern cinema to explore Beat the Devil (1953), a lark from John Huston and Truman Capote that became kitsch for the coastal elite set.

Special Guest: Daniel Malone from the great ‘You Talkin’ to Me?’ film podcast

Michael Cimino will forever be a mystery. He seemingly appeared out of nowhere with Thunderbolt and Lightfoot in 1974 after winning favor with Clint Eastwood by punching up the script for his Dirty Harry flick Magnum Force. Cimino followed up his debut with The Deer Hunter (1978), arguably a masterpiece. He then came crashing down with the infamous Heaven's Gate (1980), arguably another masterpiece that was saddled with a supernova budget and an anathematic critical response.

Within a single decade of working in Hollywood, Michael Cimino became a notorious and beguiling legend. Thunderbolt is a finely chiseled yet indecipherable clue to the persistent enigma of Cimino. Here the men are resolutely stoic yet desperate for connection, the landscape is brutal but intoxicatingly gorgeous, and America is both wide open and falling apart at the seams.

For our chaser film, we scope out The Hot Rock (1972), an ensemble heist movie that juggles folly, irony, and low stakes.

Special Guest: Ryan Hendricks, friend of the show and Hollyweird insider

The buddy cop movie would not exist without 48 Hours. Ironically, the buddies involved aren't both cops. Third pick Eddie Murphy has his breakout role here playing a convict put on temporary release for forty-eight hours to help track down a cop killer. Nick Nolte is a grizzled detective tasked with wrangling Murphy as they criss-cross a sleazy 1980s San Francisco. Time perhaps has not been kind to 48 Hours. The incessant side quest of Murphy looking for "trim" and the blatant racism highlight the inescapable and ignominious realities of late 20th century America.

For our chaser film, we go the distance with Midnight Run (1988), an oddly underappreciated showcase for Charles Grodin and a stoic De Niro.

Special Guest: Harry Mackin from the fantastic Trylove Podcast.

Bayhem has its own origin story. Shot with a small budget and jerry-rigged script, Michael Bay exploded into the multiplex with this longshot buddy cop movie. Originally meant as a vehicle for SNL all-rounders, Dana Carvey and Jon Lovitz, Bad Boys was saved by the snappy and kinetic duo of Martin Lawerence and Will Smith. Michael Bay planted his flag in modern cinema here with a brute-force style. He may have single-handily reduced the average shot length of action movies to below three seconds.

For our chaser film, we shift to Hong Kong for The Legend of Drunken Master aka Drunken Master II (1994). Harry helps us with our kung-fu history, and we reminisce about the lost art of physical fight scenes.

Special Guest: Max Covil, Rotten Tomato Approved Film Critic from the great It's the Pictures podcast and newsletter.

If Edgar Wright is an auteur, then Hot Fuzz could easily be his calling card. This hyper-rewatchable UK export plays dual roles as both a great action movie as well as a meticulous satire of action movies past. Here we get textbook Wright: ping pong dialogue, spastic quick cuts, bite-size montages, brilliant soundtracking, joke per cut quotas, and indigenous English humour. It is the high point of the Cornetto Trilogy and perhaps is rivaled only by Scott Pilgrim as Wright's best film.

For our chaser film, we visit In Bruges (2008) to decipher the allegory within the pitch black lilt of Martin McDonagh's Irish comedy.

The action comedy is a delicate balance. Too much comedy and the stakes feel too low. Too little and the tone becomes muddled. Bullet Train attempts to walk this fine line and stumbles into an abyss of tedium right from the start. Brad Pitt is a loosey-goosey hitman who is tasked with finding a briefcase amongst other assassins aboard a high-speed train in Japan. Former stuntman, David Leitch, takes the helm and the results are decidedly mixed. While some sequences sparkle with visual pizzazz and charm, much of the incessant bombast falls flat and the final result is a drowsy affair.

For our chaser film, we revisit the highly successful 21 Jump Street (2012), the early 2010s Lord and Miller requel calling card.

Upon release, Frenzy was widely seen as a return to form for Hitchcock, but it has developed a rather odd reputation since its release fifty years ago. This gritty serial killer romp through Covent Garden has been cited as a forerunner to the bleaker side of thrillers we have seen in spades over the last three decades. But as we unpeel the layers, a more insidious ideology quickly becomes apparent. The misogyny is deafening, and the dim view of humanity soaks deeper than cynicism. Hitchcock was an angry man near the end of his life, and Frenzy is his rage-filled swan song.

For our chaser film, we survey Wait Until Dark (1967), a pulpy psychological thriller starring Audrey Hepburn with a career-best performance from a young Alan Arkin.

Released in the shadow of Star Wars and Friedkin's own masterpiece, The Exorcist, this bizarre down-and-out adventure film was a total financial failure. Critics didn't much like it either. But time has a funny way of shuffling the deck, and Sorcerer has found itself with a lucky draw. Film critics, nerds, and aficionados have reclaimed Sorcerer as a lost masterpiece. But some at Film Trace are skeptical. Is the Letterboxd set being hyperbolic or was Friedkin's fatalistic road trip movie really a high mark of the auteur golden age?

For our chaser film, we transverse the wobbly Deathtrap (1982) and try to plot its bewildering narrative convulsions.

Special Guest: The Mikes from Forgotten Cinema, a podcast for forgotten films that deserve a second chance.

A film's notoriety can easily mute or distort what is actually on the screen. The Crying Game is an interesting and rich movie that was unfortunately overwhelmed by its own infamy. The film's US distributor, Miramax, decided to start a sly whisper campaign to create controversy surrounding a plot twist in the film. The hush-hush angle worked wonders and the film became a smash hit in America. The popularity of the film along with Miramax's carnival barker campaign masked Neil Jordan's layered and fiery script as well as the immense and historic performance of Jaye Davidson. The film deserves a deep reconsideration outside the cultural confines of the atavistic early 90s.

For our chaser film, we untangle the narrative tendrils of David Mamet's oft-passed-by House of Games (1987).

Special Guest: Natasha Alvar, film editor at Cultured Vultures and Rotten-Tomato Approved film critic.

David Fincher is one the most powerful and popular auteurs working in film and tv today. We revisit what has strangely and wrongly become one of his minor works. Fincher teamed up with Micheal Douglas in the pre-Fight Club days to concoct this highly entertaining yet perplexing thriller. The audience is effectively thrust into the chaos unfolding around the protagonist as his palatial life begins to crumble. By the end, it feels like you have been on a theme park ride, or rather, you have been taken for a ride. The much scoffed-at ending perfectly fits the kaleidoscopic tone of the proceeding ninety minutes. This is genre work gone mad.

For our chaser film, we regrettably reexamine Christopher Nolan's Insomnia (2002). What an absolute trudge of a film. Thankfully our broteur whisperer, Molly, helps us decipher this broodfest.

Special Guests: Great friend of the show Molly is back!

On paper, Michael Clayton probably seems like a taut legal thriller played to the middle-aged set, a John Grisham movie with the latest A-Listers. Tony Gilroy chose a much different path by crafting a cerebral thriller infused with corporate nihilism and existential longing. Clooney plays Clayton as a formerly charming bagman who stayed too long at the party. He is stranded and saddled with financial debt, vertiginous self-doubt, and severe moral failing. Clayton is living in what Jean-Paul Sartre would call bad faith. He must face the immediate danger all around him while also breaking free from his calcified moral will. A seemingly small film greatly amplified by Gilroy's impeccable craftsmanship and brilliant performances from Tilda Swinton, Tom Wilkinson, and George Clooney.

For our chaser film, we grapple with The Hunt (2012), a Danish film detailing how hearsay can become an avalanche that can bury anyone's life. Created before cancel culture was a thing, The Hunt offers a rather intense refutation of how groups pass judgment.

Special Guests: Tommy Thevenet & Tim Sestito from the great Haven't Scene It: A Movie Podcast

Alex Garland has quietly made himself into one of the more exciting filmmakers of the A24 set. The former novelist turned screenwriter turned auteur exploded onto the arthouse scene with his first film Ex Machina (2014). The success of that film led to his major studio debut Annihilation (2018). The spectacular failure of that film led him back to the indie world where we find him with Men. What starts out as a woman-alone thriller transforms into a formalist nightmare, for all parties involved. Garland shoots for the stars, but where does he actually land?

For our chaser film, we pursue Yorgos Lanthimos' The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017). While less conspicuous than our main film, Deer has deep and twisted roots that slowly reveal themselves in this glacial thriller.

Made off the proceeds of a successful pornographic film, this genuinely gonzo horror film sparked the careers of two kings of horror, Wes Craven and Friday the 13th creator, Sean Cunningham. On the surface, this rape-revenge exploitation film plays it straight: shock, rape, murder, revenge. But beneath the schlock is an avant-garde rip current that is essentially a middle finger to American Exceptionalism, a canary in the coalmine for a desiccated and fraying empire. This is a bizarre juxtaposition that never really settles right in your stomach. What is depicted vs what you feel seems separated by a grand canyon of satire, which is why we chose this as our final film in our Self-Aware Horror series.

For our chaser film, we try to decipher The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967). It is a lark, a common parody, or is there something more going on in Roman Polanski's first major studio film. The year after Vampire came out, modern horror began with The Night of Living Dead. We try to decide whether Vampire Killers was a harbinger or an anachronism.

Creepshow is an anthology horror film created as an hommage to the trashbin mid-century comic series, EC Comics. Romero and King grew up with EC Comics and its twisted tales of the macabre. Here the comic's ghastly ethos is distilled into five different segments starring big names of the time: Hal Holbrook, Adrienne Barbeau, Ted Danson, Leslie Nielson, and Stephen King himself. The film's particular mixture of gore, faux-naif satire, and moral comeuppance feels quite out of place today, a little Molotov mocktail aimed at the classic bogeyman of 1950's social conformity.

Special Guest: Max from the lively and fun Galaxy Of Film podcast.

For our chaser film, we face the music with House (1977). This bizzaro historical curio works the exact opposite of Creepshow. House feels like it could have been made yesterday: absurdist surrealism horror of a hipster vein. One suspects the t-shirts inspired by the film are more popular and seen than the film itself.

Dead Alive is a shocking film for a variety of reasons, but perhaps most astonishing is that it came from the same man who helped create the most recognized and beloved films of the last 20 years. Peter Jackson became famous for the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit film series. They exist alongside the Star Wars and MCU films as some of the most popular global cinema ever made. But Jackson started out where most young aspiring filmmakers do, in the free-for-all low-budget haven of horror. It was there that Jackson developed as a great filmmaker. Dead Alive was his first masterpiece, a zombie comedy masquerading as a bizarre period piece that devoured all notions of good taste with its insatiable appetite for blood, guts, and pus. Beautifully deranged.

Special Guest: Brian Eggert, RT approved film critic of Deep Focus Review 

For our chaser film, we had no other choice than Evil Dead 2 (1987). Two of the best horror comedies ever made, back to back. We talk at length about how comedy and horror overlap, and how they work together to tickle and titillate a piquing audience.

28 Days Later reanimated the zombie subgenre of horror, which had been left for dead and maligned where it always had been. Yes, technically speaking, the infected in the film are not zombies. But they might as well be. Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake came a couple of years later in 2004 and helped pushed the zombie genre fully into the mainstream where it stayed for the next 18 years. The highly popular tv series, The Walking Dead, is finally ending this year after twelve years on the air and two spin-off series with more to come. Zombies don't die.

While director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland have attempted to play down the zombie connection, 28 Days Later plays like an intricate and explosive hommage to George Romero's original Dead trilogy. Shot entirely on early digital video recorders, the film maintains a late 90s early 2000s look that is post analog but Pre HD. Even less appealing than the film's digital graininess is its cynical depiction of humanity as the last vestiges of the civilized world fall away. It is a nightmare that feels all too true and relevant to today's world.

Special Guest: Good friend of the show, Riley, who is our resident Wes Craven scholar. 

For our chaser film, we have chosen 1997's Scream 2, the slasher thrill ride that came out less than a year after the original. Craven and Williamson are back here with the mainline cast and a tight story that somehow doesn't tarnish the first film. Often cited as one of the best horror sequels, Scream 2 is now 25 years old, so perhaps it is time to question its lauded status?

First up in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is Scream 5 aka Scream 2022. We are both huge Scream fans, so we felt like we had to do a deep dive on this requel. I hate that term, and we discuss why in this episode. What does it mean to make a love letter film? Are requels progressive or regressive? The Scream series has been surprisingly strong when compared to other horror series, but where can it go on the 5th film, coming out 26 years after the original. The surviving gang is all back with some fresh blood as leads, but it all feels like a theme park version of the original. It looks and sounds the same, but it just feels different, off even.

Also new this season, we are doing a 2nd film at the end of the episode as a chaser. In this episode, we wash down the requel swill with the peppy and perky slasher romp, Happy Death Day (2017).

Joining us for the Season 5 Finale is Harry from the Trylove podcast, an awesome podcast dedicated to the wonderful The Trylon Cinema in Minneapolis. 

Special Guest: Great podcasters and friends of the show, Brigitte and Mark

But, as the saying goes, perhaps there were script problems from day one. Whether it be characters that seem to serve no other function than a vehicle for body horror or plot contrivances that distract more than they entertain, how does a small project like this with an uncompromising and borderline disgusting vision (arguably to a fault) wind up available to everyone with a Hulu subscription? And where does it go from here besides the annals of scary movie obscurity?

Special Guest: Friend of podcast and Hollywood Insider, Ryan, joins us to discuss this sad boy opus.

Joining us this week is erotic thriller expert and great friend of the show, Molly. 

Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin is not really found footage and it's not really a Paranormal Activity movie, but it does have Amish devil worshipers. It has more in common with Blair Witch (documentary film team explores rural America) than the other PA films. But instead of embracing that gonzo style, it aims more for a polished pov adventure. It feels a little like an old Sega VR game but just in HD. This low art mishmash of genre and technique should not work at all. But one of us thinks there is still some gold in the barren mines of the Paranormal Activity franchise. Listen to find out who is the Gus Chiggins. 

Diablo Cody was supernova, but this began to fade as her follow-up Jennifer's Body stumbled at the box office in 2009. Here we have her 3rd script and 2nd film with Reitman, 2011's Young Adult starring the motley crew of Charlize Theron, Patton Oswalt, and Patrick Wilson. The film is almost unclassifiable: black comedy or doomed romance or domestic horror. Cody's dark script with Reitman's lowkey direction creates an uncanny valley between pity and empathy. Young Adult is Diablo Cody's very personal nightmare about what might have been, and we attempt to psychoanalyze her distraught fever dream.

The first film was a huge hit and the 2nd best performing slasher film ever at the box office. Why then is this sequel such a god-awful mess? Almost everything goes wrong in this textbook case of sequelitis. Completely forgetting the strong emotional narrative of the first film, Halloween Kills lists from zany to brooding until it capsizes in a preachy mob violence scene. The only joy to be had from this shipwreck of a film is figuring out what caused the disaster by piecing together its creative debris.

Joining us this week is first-time watcher and great friend Brigitte from the awesome Screen Time: A Quarantine Podcast. Without nostalgia clouding her judgement, what is the verdict: gonzo cult classic or vapid 90s trash?

Join us as we trace the life of the best pandemic film out there, Ride the Eagle

Special Guest: Great friend Molly joins us to discuss this canonical film of our young adulthood. We relive the first time and revisit how Donnie Darko has never let us go.

Join us as we trace the life of the Donnie Darko from conception (white boy blues) to production (speed shoot by a greenhorn) to release (Chris Nolan begging studio execs) to reception (DOA but DVD late bloomer)

Join us as we trace the life of the Fear Street trilogy from conception (Fox News exec wants an MCU for horror) to production (shot back to back over 6 months) to release (theatrical scuttled for Netflix 3 weeks rollout) to reception (critically praised, widely watched, but will it be remembered?)

Special Guests: Chris, Josh, and Alex from the hilarious and fun There Are Too Many Movies podcasts. 

Join us as we trace the life of An American Werewolf in London from conception (the sophomoric mind of a 20-year-old Landis) to production (loosey-goosey - see the Twilight Zone deaths) to release (a big hit for the newly minted Polygram Pictures) to reception (part of the horror film cannon)

Join us as we trace the life of No Sudden Move from conception (A Don Cheadle vehicle) to production (strict covid precautions) to release (straight to SVOD) to reception (film nerds yes, everyone else snoozes)

Special Guest: Blaine Andrews from the very cool Critically Aroused podcast, where they watch movies cold to avoid getting skewed by the critics. Really fun listen! 

Join us as we trace the life of 50/50 from conception (nothing sells like a cancer memoir) to production (rehearsed improv) to release (break-even at worst) to reception (a low key highly adored film)

Join us as we trace the life of The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It from conception (a very real murder blamed on the devil) to production (Wan passing baton to Chaves) to release (covid pushed to day and date release) to reception (give the people what they want)

Join us as we trace the life of One Fine Day from conception (written by a couple of nobodies) to production (40 different NYC locations) to release (DOA holiday movie, a week after Jerry Maguire) to reception (Millenials getting nostalgic)

Join us as we trace the life of Army of the Dead from conception (failed Dawn of Dead followup) to production (ebay vintage broken lenses) to release (Netflix shiny object) to reception (widely watched, narrowly loved)

Special Guest: Gary Horne from the fantastic Cinema Shock Podcast

Join us as we trace the life of The Nice Guys from conception (modern-day detective tv show for CBS) to production (Crowe going method as fat man) to release (snoozy summer release) to reception (muted in theaters, elevated on home video)

Join us as we trace the life of Every Breath You Take from conception (a script by the Third Man) to production (filmed in a West Elm catalog) to release (acquired a month before release) to reception (crash and burn)

Special Guest: Ryan Hendricks, a movie industry veteran, long time friend, and film aficionado

Join us as we trace the life of The Fountain from conception (Brad Pitt cold feet) to production (budget cut by 60%) to release (C- Cinemascore) to reception (pseudo cult hit)

Join us as we trace the life of Cherry from conception (autofiction NY Times bestseller) to production (budget cut from 100 million to 40 million) to release (the final pandemic release?) to reception (critical pariah) 

Our resident Nolan critic, Molly, joins us to dissect a film that hit us hard as young adults. But does it still pack the same punch?

Join us as we trace the life of Memento from conception (road trip storytime) to production (The Valley in Cinescope) to release (minor success) to reception (critical hit becomes frat hall cult film)

Join us as we trace the life of Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar from conception (Bridesmaids outtakes) to production (heatstroke Caribbean) to release (PVOD or bust) and reception (instant cult hit).

Special Guest: Mike Field of the fantastic Forgotten Cinema podcast.

Join us as we trace the life of Thief from conception (Mann cold selling) to production (18 hour days stalking Chicago) to release (muted and forgotten) and reception (Letterboxd catnip). 

Join us as we trace the life of The Little Things from conception (script hot potato) to production (Denzel has nothing better to do) to release (hanging up on Warner Bros) and reception (no one loves it but most people watch it).

Joining us this week to dissect this 1996 bromedy are repeat guests Mark and Brigitte from the Screen Time: A Quarantine Podcast

Join us as we trace the life of Swingers from conception (Dad got you Final Draft) to production (what's a release form?) to release (only LA people got it) and reception (massive home video hit).

Join us as we trace the life of Promising Young Woman from conception (opening scene spark) to production (shoestring shoot) to release (film twitter hype) and reception (loved by many, hated by few).

Join us as we trace the life of Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale from conception (admen got bored) to production (filmed on location in Santa's backyard) to release (International cult hit) and reception (aged very well, new holiday classic).

Join us as we trace the life of Possessor from conception (philosophy 101 mad libs) to production (7 damn years) to release (Sundance darling) and reception (a split-brain response).

Join us as we trace the life of V for Vendetta (2005) from conception (turning wine into swill) to production (who needs locations when you have a soundstage) to release (perfect timing) and reception (an average person's idea of a thinking man's movie).

Join us as we trace the life of The Wolf of Snow Hollow (2020) from conception (what if Zodiac was a comedy) to production (guerilla filmmaking in Utah) to release (a pandemic treat) and reception (critics love, audiences like, we praise).

Join us as we trace the life of High Fidelity (2000) from conception (I wonder what men think?) to production (Chicago is cheaper to film than London) to release (I don't see a lot of money here) and reception (loved in its time but grown stale with age).

Join us as we trace the life of The Trial of the Chicago 7 from conception (Sorkin's historical amnesia ) to production (creating a painting, not a photo) to release (a 24-hour bidding war between the streaming giants) and reception (beloved by all except the deeply cynical and the British).

Join us as we trace the life of Species from conception (8 rewrites of the script) to production (HR Giger sending hate faxes) to release (good enough for 3 sequels) and reception (genrework as its best defense).

Join us as we trace the life of Hubie Halloween from conception (Sander's posse needed cash) to production (Salem's first film since Hocus Pocus) to release (Netflix  Triple-A) and reception (universally disliked but not hated).

Join us as we trace the life of Desperate Hours from conception (a true story sensationalized) to production (randomly Utah) to release (DOA) and reception (the penultimate film of Micheal Cimino).

Find out as we trace the life of The Devil All the Time from conception (guy reads a book) to production (celebrities in rural Alabama) to release (Netflix awards chum) and reception (Number 1 in USA)

Join us as we trace the life of The Devil All the Time...

We trace the life of Nightcrawler from conception (the antihero wins) to production (location scouting at 3am) to release (a TIFF success that didn't take) and reception (Critical raves, B- CinemaScore)

Join us as we trace the life of Nightcrawler...

We trace the life of The Tax Collector from conception (it all began in a dojo), production (the cast rehearsed for over 2 months), release (VOD hit), reception (0% Top Critic Rotten Tomato score)

Join us as we trace the life of The Tax Collector...

We trace the life of Remember Me from conception (they started with the ending!), production (Pattinson needed security to take a piss), release (Tiger Beats saved it), reception (rage against the screen)

Join us as we trace the life of Remember Me...

We trace the life of The Rental from conception (AirBNB Nightmares), production (finding the spooky house), release (a pandemic bounce), reception (showing promise or a first misstep)

Join us as we trace the life of The Rental...

We trace the life of Pineapple Express from conception (Apatow's "weed action movie"), production (Greene refused to use the script on set), release (dog days with 3.7x multiplier), reception (cult classic or an afterthought?)

Join us as we trace the life of Pineapple Express...

We trace the life of this newly released film from conception (why a cow?), production (an indie period piece), release (skipping Venice after being explicitly invited), reception (critical rapture, but will it play outside the West Village?)

Just us as we trace the life of First Cow... 

We trace the life of this bizarre mid-Aughts artifact from conception (a 6 digit bidding war for the script) to production (Cage job shadowing a Chicago weatherman) to release (shuffled for a delusional Oscar campaign) to reception (a D+ CinemaScore).

In our journey, we uncover the difference between an authentic indie pinot noir versus a studio system brown-bag merlot.

Listen to found out as we film trace The Weather Man (now showing on Hulu)

We chat a lot about Netflix's house style for their original content and how comedy has quickly fallen out of grace at the box office. Can Eurovision reignite the golden years of the mid-2000s when improv comedy took over the multiplex? 

Listen to found out as we film trace Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga

This week's episode is The Darkness, newly released on Netflix.

We cover how horror film upstarts George McLean and Jason Blum joined forces to bring us one of the most mediocre horror films of the last decade. The micro-budget film starring Kevin Bacon and Radha Mitchell attempts to build on the haunted house tradition of Paranormal Activity and The Conjuring. Instead, we get a mushy melodrama with the edge of the blunted knife. 

Join us for the perilous journey into The Darkness. 

This week's episode is Da 5 Bloods, Spike Lee's new film for Netflix.

We cover how the film was conceived from a script scribed by no other than the writers of The Rocketeer. Oliver Stone was originally attached but dropped out. Step in Spike Lee who brings along an amazing cast and crew. Filmed in Vietnam and the jungles of Thailand. The film has already received rapturous approval from critics and currently sits at the number 1 spot on Netlfix.

Join us for the journey of Da 5 Bloods