Yeah Dude, Okay

Film Collection: Lake Placid

October 23rd, 2026

Directed by Steve Miner
Written by David E. Kelley
1999 | 82 minutes | English
VHS

Bill Pullman, Bridget Fonda, Oliver Platt, Brendan Gleeson, Betty White, Meredith Salenger, David Lewis, Tim Dixon, Natassia Malthe, Mariska Hargitay, Adam Arkin

What it’s about: Kelly Scott (Fonda) is a paleontologist at the American Museum of Natural History who gets dumped by her boss (Arkin) and sent to Maine. A Fish & Wildlife guy got attacked by something in a remote lake up there, and they found an almost-prehistoric looking tooth in him. So city-slicker Kelly sets out with stoic F&W investigator Jack Wells (Pullman) and the cranky local sheriff Hank Keough (Gleeson) to find the killer beast. They are joined, somewhat against their will, by Hector Cyr (Platt), a wealthy and eccentric professor of mythology, convinced (correctly) that the beast is a crocodile, an animal that should not be in Maine, and is determined to preserve it as an ecological miracle. But despite the reptile’s impressive size, even finding it will be a challenge, let alone trying to capture it. Especially if it has help.

Reflections: This is not about lawyers and/or Boston, so David E. Kelley is out of his wheelhouse here, and he’s not good at it. Instead of characterization, we get a lot of quippy sarcasm and childish bickering that I think is supposed to be funny, but is actually much more annoying. The actors involved are all much better than this and none of them seem to be relishing it other than Betty White (a frequent collaborator and apparent muse of Kelley’s). There are fat jokes, although calling them jokes is generous, casual misogyny, the invoking of a lot of obviously basic stereotypes. And the story barely does anything–moments of action or tension are sparse, leaving plenty of room for the characters to argue about dumb shit.

I inherited this from a house I used to live in, where it was one of the movies that would get put on coming home from a night at the bar. And it’s perfect for that. On the one hand, it’s so stupid, it’s kind of breathtaking sometimes. As just one example, there is what should be a kind of “oh shit” reveal during the climax, but the movie does absolutely nothing with it and returns to the status quo immediately–it’s bonkers. There are lines of dialogue that are completely baffling. What little scientific premise there is is hand-waved away. The romance is bizarrely flat. It’s all madness. And then on the other hand, I’ve seen this movie sorted as comedy horror, but I would not call it that. It’s barely a comedy, and more like a slightly gorier cousin to something like Dante’s Peak or Twister, where a force of nature is out of control and must be respected and feared. But there is a pretty good shlocky horror movie in here somewhere. A giant crocodile tries to bring a helicopter out of the air. A dude’s head gets bitten off so fast, no one sees it. If the movie had decided to be more that instead of leaning into the banter stuff, it would’ve been pretty good and there is enough of a streak of it that it’s fun to imagine.

This is a bad movie. I don’t even know if I’d call it a good bad movie–honestly, it’s kind of grating, especially during the first act. But I do have a certain sentimental fondness for it and I find it fascinating in the way it wants to be so many things and doesn’t manage to pull off any of them. Why does this exist–what made David E. Kelley, arguably at the peak of his success with Ally McBeal and The Practice, write this? How did such a talented cast end up in this cheapo, 82-minute B-movie (at best)? Why is it called Lake Placid when the name of the lake is Black Lake? It boggles the mind, and there is a certain pleasure to that.
Film Collection: David Lynch: The Art Life

October 22nd, 2026

Directed by Rick Barnes, Olivia Neergaard-Holm & Jon Nguyen
2016 | 88 minutes | English
Criterion Blu-Ray

David Lynch

What it’s about: The filmmaker David Lynch recounts the story of his life, from early childhood in the late ’40s and early ’50s through the filming of Eraserhead in the mid ’70s. His narrations are broken up into discrete anecdotes, detailing memories from growing up in Idaho and Washington, moving to Virginia as an adolescent, discovering a love of painting as a teenager, rejecting art school, living in Boston and Philadelphia, and eventually receiving an AFI grant and being accepted into the Center for Advanced Film Studies. As these stories unspool, we see intercut live footage of the narration, contemporary footage of him in his studio, a wide variety of his cinematic and visual artwork, and archival photographs and home-movies of his younger world.

Reflections: David Lynch was a fascinating character of a filmmaker–his works are known most for being compellingly inscrutable and his name has become an adjective (“Lynchian”) for a certain kind of dreamlike, uncanny atmosphere. He also seemed to be a gentle soul, reportedly cultivating a warm and collaborative environment for those who worked with him and coming off authentically encouraging in his surprisingly prolific social media presence. And it’s fascinating to listen to someone who often preferred to let his work speak for itself explain some of his understanding and artistic motivation. There is some pleasure to be had in connecting some of the childhood memories he recounts to moments he would recreate–he details an encounter with an apparently abused woman that is almost exactly like a scene in Blue Velvet–but the real pleasure of the film is coming to appreciate the worldview that is summed up by the titular phrase.

Lynch was a painter first and a filmmaker second and the visual aspect of the film is built around showcasing his work, with the present and archival footage feeling more like context than content. Here again, the filmmakers make connections between the stories he tells and the surreal scenes he depicts with a textured, mixed-media approach. But what’s exciting about that is the way in which art becomes a vehicle for processing the world, a way of seeing and thinking and being present. And having that obliquely laid out by this odd, kind of gnomish guy with a uniquely nasal voice and a wry, iconoclastic sense of humor is compelling and inspiring.

There are a handful of documentaries I turn to when I’m in a creative rut–Todd Haynes’s The Velvet Underground, or Wild Combinations: A Portrait of Arthur Russell. There is a fundamental stimulation in listening to artists I respect engage with their process. That’s what I come to this movie for, and it delivers on that level. There is a kind of insular, isolated quality to it, and it is rather light on biographical facts in a way that I could see being unsatisfying for some. But also, that’s who David Lynch was, and if you’re inclined to watch a documentary about him in the first place, you can probably appreciate that.
Film Collection: Night Shift

October 21st, 2026

Directed by Ron Howard
Written by Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel
1982 | 106 minutes | English
DVD

Henry Winkler, Michael Keaton, Shelley Long, Gina Hecht, Pat Corley, Bobby DiCicco, Nita Talbot, Basil Hoffman, Tim Rossovich, Clint Howard, Joe Spinell, Richard Belzer, Kevin Costner, Shannen Doherty

What it’s about: Chuck Lumley (Winkler) is a meek dude: he hides from his neighbor’s dog, is browbeaten by his neurotic fiance Charlotte (Hecht), and retreated from a successful career in finance to work in the city morgue. But his ordered world is disrupted when he’s put on night shift with Bill Blazejowski (Keaton), a loose-hanging, motormouthed “idea guy” determined to get Chuck to let his hair down. Chuck also meets Belinda (Long), a sex-worker who happens to be his neighbor and comes to the morgue after the murder of her pimp. Without him, she and her colleagues are working without representation and, at Bill’s urging, he and Chuck become their business managers, operating out of the unsupervised morgue at night. And wouldn’t you know, through the ensuing hijinks, Chuck learns to grab life a little more by the horns.

Reflections: I wouldn’t exactly call this movie sensitive in its portrayal of… well, anything, really–there are moments that have not aged well. And there are funnier comedies from the period, certainly, but there’s something about this movie that is just irrepressibly charming. Some of that is Ron Howard beginning to find his voice as a director–this was his big break, his second theatrical film and his stepping out from under Roger Corman’s wings and the crucible of TV work. Its success set him up for Splash, and the rest is history. That voice is difficult to define, but it’s kind of an earnestness that elevates the material–this is a film that could have been very crass very easily, occasionally even still drifts there. But there is a heart and humanness to it that shines through and overcomes that without being cloying about it.

Another part of the film’s charm are the three leads. Winkler had been in a couple of movies, but was still playing The Fonz at this point and brings an entirely different energy to Chuck, all wryly-frustrated patience and explosive anxiety. Keaton is breaking out of the film (his first speaking film role, landed after a sitcom with Jim Belushi), both in performance and career-wise; his Bill rides the line between obnoxious and likeable and a lot of that is down to the sharply timed, often childlike (in a good way) and physical energy he gives off. And Long (who had just landed Cheers) carries the emotional weight of the movie with an assured ease and gives maybe the best performance of the three. Plus Kevin Costner shows up as a frat boy, Richard Belzer is a murderous henchman, and Shannen Doherty is a girl scout that beats Chuck up, so that’s pretty fun too.

It’s a knowingly silly movie with a lot of heart, in that kind of quintessentially ’80s comedy way, before the cynicism, irony, and post-modernity of the ’90s and what followed. It’s also an intersection of the beginning of several big and interesting careers. It’s a little bit sexy (if almost blushingly so) and it has Michael Keaton singing The Rolling Stones and diving off a balcony in a loincloth. It’s not gonna blow anyone’s mind, but it’s very fun and that’s more than enough.
Film Collection: The Wizard of Oz

October 18th, 2026

Directed by Victor Fleming
Written by Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson, and Edgar Allan Woolf
1939 | 119 minutes | English
VHS

Judy Garland, Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger, Bert Lahr, Jack Haley, Billie Burke, Margaret Hamilton, Charley Grapewin, Pat Walshe, Clara Blandick, Charlie Becker, Mickey Carroll, Billy Curtis

What it’s about: Based on roughly the first half of L. Frank Baum’s 1900 novel, the movie begins as Toto, the dog of Kansas farmgirl Dorothy Gale (Garland) has bitten snooty bigshot Almira Gulch (Hamilton), who demands the dog be taken away and dealt with. To avoid this, Dorothy runs away and is convinced to go back by a marooned circus performer (Morgan), but a tornado strikes and Dorothy is conked on the head and whisked to the magical (and technicolor) land of Oz. She is set off by the Good Witch Glinda (Burke) along the Yellow Brick Road to see if the Wizard of Oz (Morgan again) can send her home. Along the way, she picks up fellow travelers, The Scarecrow (Bolger), The Tin Man (Haley) and The Cowardly Lion (Lahr), and has to tangle with the Wicked Witch of the West (Hamilton again), who has her eye on a particular bit of footwear.

Reflections: Gee, what do I say about one of the most widely-seen and referenced, most beloved, and most heavily analyzed and chronicled films ever made? I don’t need to say this movie is great–of course it is. The songs are mostly great, and choreographed with wild, colorful spectacle. The old-timey practical effects aren’t exactly convincing, but they still look good, full of theatrical creativity. The set and design work is almost psychedelic. The plot is thin, but it’s fine. And there is just a palpable sense of spectacle and whimsy about all of it that it still resonates, nearly a century later.

It’s sort of heartbreaking watching Judy Garland (sixteen or seventeen here), knowing some of what she was being put through behind the scenes, but she brings a kind of bright, intense energy to Dorothy that is a big part of what keeps the film together. And, y’know, girl could sing. Frank Morgan seems to be having fun in his multiple roles–“Well bust my buttons!” has lived rent-free in my consciousness since childhood. Hamilton is gloriously chewing the scenery and her death scene is one for the ages. Lahr is going the biggest of the trio of companions–a lot of scenes focus on his antics, like his comical run and dive through a window in fear of the wizard–and it’s very over the top from a modern sensibility, but it’s charming also. Haley (replacing Buddy Ebsen, famously made ill by the makeup) gives the Tin Man a kind of mincing quality; Bolger’s charm is more restrained (especially given they cut his wildest dance number).

If you’re even reading this, odds are good you’ve seen this movie, but on the chance you haven’t, it’s definitely of its time and a bit weird, but it holds up. If you haven’t seen it in a while, it’s worth revisiting. Appreciate it for the classic songs and elaborate dance sequences. Enjoy it for the balls-out color, uncanny backdrops, and wild performances. Enjoy it for a story that started as an allegory for the politics of grange farming (or something, it’s been a while since I read the book) but has been distilled down to its most innocent, imaginative essence. Enjoy it because it’s strange and fantastical and does sync up surprisingly well with Dark Side of the Moon (for the first half or so at least). But it’s part of the culture, embedded so deep in the collective unconscious, it is a thing you should know.
Film Collection: Fear

October 17th, 2026

Directed by James Foley
Written by Christopher Crowe
1996 | 97 minutes | English
DVD

Mark Wahlberg, Reese Witherspoon, William Petersen, Alyssa Milano, Amy Brenneman, Todd Caldecott, Tracy Fraim, Jason Christopher, Jed Rees, Gary John Riley

What it’s about: Nicole (Witherspoon) is sixteen and has spent the last year living with her dad Steve (Petersen), and step-mom Laura (Brenneman) outside Seattle. Their relationship is awkward and her once-estranged father wants to give her space, which she uses to go out to cafes and clubs with her friend Margo (Milano). On these outings, she catches the eye of David (Wahlberg), a guy in his 20s with a murky background who sweeps her off her feet. Everyone is charmed except Steve, who just can’t shake a bad feeling, and even as Nicole begins to see the cracks in David’s romantic facade, her father’s escalating interventions catch her between a rock and a hard place. Eventually, however, David goes too far and the family must come together as his obsession with Nicole descends into all-out violence.

Reflections: I haven’t seen this in quite a few years and I remember it being sort of mid, an impression its reviews seem to back up. But taken in the context of unhinged ’90s thrillers–a subgenre I have a fondness for, I admit–there’s a lot to enjoy here. The plot is certainly not invested in subtlety, but when it does veer into the ridiculous–the tattoo scene leaps to mind–it’s both funny and uncomfortable. Wahlberg–in his third film and first starring role–is a little wooden as David, who is written as essentially a cypher anyway, but he brings a kind of thick malevolence that works for a movie that’s less about following through on logical details than rolling along through big, dumb emotions. And there are moments when it works well; the rollercoaster scene is objectively silly, but captures that adolescent feeling of sexual awakening in an almost fantastical way.

The biggest problem, I think, is that the movie is pulling in two directions: one where it’s Nicole’s story, a coming-of-age romantic thriller; and one where it’s Steve’s story, about paternal anxiety and the primal instinct to defend one’s family awakening an unknown vitality. It’d be great if they met in the middle, but they don’t, quite. By the end, Nicole feels a little sidelined, and neither of them are fleshed out as much as they should be. Both actors are bringing what they can, though. Petersen leans into the unsympathetic aspects of his character, going for kind of a suppressed, midlife-crisis edginess, like the smug satisfaction of telling David off at the door. And Witherspoon is selling what she has, pulling a fine line between burgeoning independence and total naivete from a script that doesn’t seem to relate to her quite as much.

This came out the same year as Scream, so it barely predates the teen-slasher resurgence, but it’s tapping into the same cultural moment–the top billing of two hot young stars early in what would be major careers, the of-the-moment soundtrack (Bush, The Sundays’ cover of “Wild Horses”), the way the questionably-sexy first half transforms into a home-invasion film by the final act–it’s just trying to modernize psychological horror, rather than gore. Seen through that lens, it’s different enough to be interesting. Even if there is definitely a far more interesting movie in what it only gestures at, there’s a lot it does well, and while it’s very silly, it is also genuinely unsettling at times and I had a good time watching it.
Film Collection: Fantasia 2000

October 11th, 2026

Directed by Don Hahn, Pixote Hunt, Hendel Butoy, Eric Goldberg, James Algar, Francies Glebas, Paul Brizzi & Gaëtan Brizzi
2000 | 74 minutes | English
VHS

Steve Martin, Itzhak Perlman, Quincy Jones, Bette Midler, James Earl Jones, Penn & Teller, James Levine, Angela Lansbury

What it’s about: As this film points out, the original concept for Fantasia (1940) was that it would be an evolving project, featuring new animations inspired by and set to classic works of music. While that didn’t happen for the original film, this attempts to continue that spirit by reprising “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” sequence from the original, and setting it among several new segments. Abstract butterflies float to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5, soaring whales cavort to Respighi’s Pines of Rome, downtrodden characters find room to dream on the streets of New York to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, Andersen’s “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” is imagined to Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No. 2, Allegro, Opus 102, a flamingo with a yo-yo causes chaos to Saint-Saëns’s The Carnival of the Animals, Donald Duck stars in the story of Noah’s Ark to Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance Marches 1-4, and spirits of life and destruction clash to Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite.

Reflections: Although I’ve seen the original Fantasia several times growing up, I was out of the Disney pipeline by the point this came out and this was a first-time watch for me. Like the first film, this is a project that requires a certain headspace, and it’s one that leaves the mind prone to wandering, making it kind of difficult to focus on the film itself, especially in a first viewing. I can say that my overall impression was that it’s a little underwhelming by comparison to its predecessor–a point driven home by the inclusion of the “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” sequence–and some segments are more captivating than others, but it’s overall worthwhile.

The Rhapsody in Blue sequence, rendered in the style of Al Hirschfeld caricatures, and bobbing and weaving between its four principles and several background characters with the piece’s restless energy, is the standout. The Firebird sequence ends the collection on a strong note, with a sweeping, mythological feel to it. And the Carnival of the Animals is a brief, fun, energetic sequence. The flying whales are hypnotic, but the icy color palate gets a little too hypnotic and soporific after a while. The Noah’s Ark sequence is odd, both in subject and choice of music, but gets a surprisingly engaging tension out of Donald and Daisy believing they’ve lost the other. The butterflies are an interestingly abstract introduction, but don’t stick out in my mind. And the problem with the Tin Soldier sequence is that Bette Midler’s introduction pitches two unused ideas that sound much more interesting than what we got, which is fine, but does show the edges of its computer animation a bit, 26 years later.

This, like the original, isn’t a movie you put on when you want to watch a movie, exactly. There’s no story to keep track of or anything. It’s more of a vibes thing–something to kind of space out to, let one’s imagination wander, or have as a background. It was never going to be the landmark film the original was, but there is a charm to the awkwardness of some of the celebrity introductions (why are Penn & Teller there?) and some fascinating animation and great music. It does what it needs to do.
Film Collection: The Fisher King

October 11th, 2026

Directed by Terry Gilliam
Written by Richard LaGravenese
1991 | 138 minutes | English
Criterion Blu-Ray

Jeff Bridges, Robin Williams, Mercedes Ruehl, Amanda Plummer, Christian Clemenson, Michael Jeter, David Hyde Pierce, Lara Harris, Harry Shearer, Kathy Najimy, John de Lanice, Tom Waits

What it’s about: Three years ago, Jack Lucas (Jeff Bridges) was a narcissistic radio shock-jock, poised to land a starring role on a soon-to-be hit sitcom. But his careless, on-air comments to unstable caller Edwin Malnek (Clemenson) inspired the man to murder several people in a nightclub. Now fallen from grace, Jack is living with his girlfriend Anne Napolitano (Ruehl), working in her video store, and drinking himself into a self-pitying mess. Wandering the park one night on the verge of suicide, he is rescued from assault by Parry (Williams), a homeless man with a pathological obsession with finding the Holy Grail, which he believes is in an Upper East Side mansion. Circumstance, guilt, and curiosity pull the cynical Jack further into Parry’s world and quest, and his attempts to reach this warm-hearted energetic, odd self-proclaimed knight begin to open something more noble and present in himself that he’s been missing.

Reflections: The shining draw of this movie and the keystone to its (considerable) magic is Robin Williams. His performance as Parry is pitched at a perfect balance between the zaniness of his comic persona and the sensitivity underneath and it got him his third Oscar nomination (which he could have won if he’d been nominated for Supporting Actor like this role should have been–one of many Oscars bugbears). The rest of the cast is amazing too, though. Mercedes Ruehl (who did win an Oscar for this) is tough and smart and surprisingly patient. Jeff Bridges is doing underrated work keeping his mopey character just likeable enough and absorbing most of Williams’s energy. This is a great use of Amanda Plummer’s intense vibe. Tom Waits is just there for a moment, being… Tom Waits. Kathy Najimy has one scene, but it’s hilarious. All cylinders are firing here.

It is definitely a Terry Gilliam movie. You can feel it in the trashy mis-en-scene, full of debris and machines and shot at strange angles, in the wild visions of the Black Knight that haunt Parry; the movie has a lot of little hallucinatory edges. But while “restraint” is not a word I’d usually associate with Gilliam, this is probably the most grounded, accessible film he ever made–it was the first he directed without being involved in the script and he seems to want to stay out of its way, to the film’s benefit. And his best instincts–the rich colors and textures, the surreal air bathing the action–give the actors and characters a perfect crucible in which to shine.

It’s not a perfect movie. It’s long, veers sometimes toward mawkishness, it’s a little clumsy about its engagement with mental illness, and the stylization of it could be offputting to some. But it’s a movie I’ve always had kind of a soft spot for–I remember my mother telling me about watching it when it came out on video (I wasn’t yet allowed to) and that it moved her. It’s a little weird and of its time, but it’s also some of the best work by multiple talents involved and it was a pleasure to watch it for the third or fourth time.
Film Collection: Phantom of the Opera

October 6th, 2026

Directed by Arthur Lubin
Written by Samuel Hoffenstein & Eric Taylor
1943 | 89 minutes | English
DVD

Nelson Eddy, Susanna Foster, Claude Rains, Edgar Barrier, Leo Carillo, Jane Farrar, J. Edward Bromberg, Fritz Feld, Hume Cronyn, Frank Puglia, Fritz Leber, Steven Geray, Barbara Everest

What it’s about: In this loose adaptation of Gaston Leroux’s 1910 novel, Erique Claudin (Rains) has been a violinist for the Paris Opera for twenty years, but he’s losing his ability to play and is let go. He’s broke because he’s been spending his money anonymously funding voice lessons for Christine DuBois (Foster), a soprano in the opera for whom he has developed a quiet devotion. He’s hinging his prospects on a concerto he’s written, but when he mistakenly believes a publisher is trying to steal it, he murders the man, gets acid thrown in his face, and retreats to the sewers, becoming the Phantom. Meanwhile, Christine is being courted by both Anatole Garron (Eddy), one of the opera’s stars, and police inspector Raoul Dubert (Barrier), both of whom try to protect her while apprehending Claudin for both his initial murder and those he goes on to commit to advance her prospects.

Reflections: When this movie came out, a lot of critics compared it unfavorably to the 1925 silent version with Lon Chaney, and I get it. Even accounting for the pacing of the time period, it kind of plods along, and it very much shies away from the spookier, gothier side of the story, playing it more like a criminal melodrama (a cousin to something like Scarlet Street). The edition I have is part of a Universal Horror collection, but I feel like that sets an unfair expectation for what this actually is, and with that adjustment of expectations… well, it’s still kind of slow and strangely muted, but there are some charms to what’s going on here.

For one, the overall production design is extravagant and expressionist–I’m thinking in particular of an early street scene in which Claudin walks between the opera and his lodgings, or the cavern below the theater where the Phantom meets his fate. But every set design has a kind of grandiosity to it, and the costumes and decor are doing a lot with creating a thick, rich, period atmosphere through almost excessive texture and color (despite the cover image above, the film is in color) and space. Of the cast, Rains is the standout–even when threatening murder as the Phantom, his Claudin has a kind of meekness about him, but also a believable desperation that dances on the line between faith and delusion. Foster is interesting as the ingenue figure–always accommodating but kind of centrally evasive, an object of projection, but also kind of working it. And Eddy and Barrier, who have been giving off distinct flavors of romantic hero throughout, have a fascinating moment with her at the end that seems to nod at a very sexually progressive subtext and, were I still in grad school, I could absolutely spin a paper out of that.

As an adaptation of Phantom, musical or otherwise, this definitely isn’t the best or most representative one. But if you’re already familiar with the story, this seems to be trying to do something different with it. And taken on its own merits as an eccentric ’40s psychological thriller, it’s weird enough that it’s interesting despite its flaws. I would say this is probably not for the casual viewer, but if you’re really into the source material or the period, it’s worth checking out–it’s pretty short. There are multiple extended opera sequences, though, so buckle up for that, but Franz Liszt pops up as a character, so that’s kinda fun.
Film Collection: Saraband

October 5th, 2026

Directed by Ingmar Bergman
Written by Ingmar Bergman
2003 | 111 minutes | Swedish
Criterion Blu-Ray

Liv Ullmann, Erland Josephson, Börje Ahlstedt, Julia Dufvenius, Gunnel Fred

What it’s about: Marianne (Ullmann) is a successful, semi-retired lawyer in her ’60s when she gets an instinctual urge to seek out Johan (Josephson), her ex-husband, twenty-or-so years older, whom she hasn’t spoken to for three decades. Johan, a womanizing former professor, inherited a fortune and retired to a remote family cottage with a lake house and now lives out his days in cantankerous contemplation of his life. His estranged son Henrik (Ahlstedt)–from a relationship prior to Marianne and nearly her age–has moved into the cottage’s lake house, but the two bear a deep animosity and rarely speak. Heinrik, also an academic as well as an organist and cellist, is tutoring his nineteen-year-old daughter Karin (Dufvenius) in cello, with plans to get her into a prestigious conservatory, as they each separately mourn her mother Anna’s death two years prior. The film–whose title refers to a slow and formal dance–is divided into ten scenes, each a conversation between two of these four characters, as well as a prologue and epilogue in which Marianne addresses the audience.

Reflections: Bergman is one of those titans of cinema that’s difficult to talk about because he’s been talked about so much. My experience with him has been that his films are often fairly minimal, but explosively intense narratively and often oriented around a powerful dramatic image. This was his final film and I’ve never seen it before, and it strikes me as a very composed way to go out. This is “just” ten conversations between two people, mostly in ordinary rooms. The one scene that takes place in a church (with Bach being played on the organ) feels grandiose in scale by comparison. And there’s no visual intensity here–nothing like the specter of death in The Seventh Seal or the spider vision in Through a Glass Darkly or the opulent theater environment in Fanny & Alexander. There are a few shots that break out, but mostly this is just faces. Bodies. Talking. And it is captivating.

It’s the work of an older person, one who has accepted a certain irresolvable quality of the human spirit. Marianne can’t explain to Johan why she came until after she sees a side of him she doesn’t know, and then she won’t. Henrik is jovial and good-natured until his mind turns to his father or the loss of his daughter and he becomes a different person. What plot there is centers around Karin’s future as a cellist and Henrik’s complex relationships with a hostile father contemptuous of him and a daughter whom he never got to know, but who frightens him with her talent and the echo of her mother. All four performers (there is one fifth, non-speaking role in the last scene) are firing at the levels a Bergman film requires, but despite the focus on the performances and the long monologues, it never feels stagey–the camera-eye is purposeful, even just lingering on one of their faces. And with Liv Ullmann in particualr, whose character is the outside perspective on the triangle of the other three, there is a feeling of saying goodbye to a friend.

This doesn’t have the artistic daring of a legendary director’s classic work–it feels like a small film. But that also makes it feel focused and intimate, and while there is very little spectacle to it, it’s never less than interesting. And while it is unsparing–he was not an artist known for his warmth–there is a gentleness to it, a regret but also a peacemaking. The character’s aren’t exactly happy, but they find what they need–even in the most extreme catharsis–and there is some satisfaction in following the experience of that as an artistic emotional journey. This is a movie that could wash over you if you’re not in the right moment in life, but if and when it hits, it will hit hard.
Film Collection: Titus

October 3rd, 2026

Directed by Julie Taymor
Written by Julie Taymor
1999 | 162 minutes | English
DVD

Anthony Hopkins, Jessica Lange, Alan Cumming, Colm Feore, James Frain, Laura Fraser, Harry Lenix, Angus Macfayden, Matthew Rhys, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Osheen Jones

What it’s about: An adaptation of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus (c.1594), this begins with Roman general Titus Andronicus (Hopkins) returning to Rome with Tamora, Queen of the Goths (Lange) and her sons as his prisoners. He sacrifices the eldest to the gods for his own losses, leaving the spoiled and violent Demetrius (Rhys) and Chiron (Meyers) alive. He is then offered the chance by the senate to replace the recently deceased emperor, but declines and gives it to the previous emperor’s elder son Saturninus (Cumming), who has been competing with his younger brother Bassianus (Frain) for the title. Saturninus is a dick, though, and decides to take his brother’s lover, Lavinia (Fraser)–also Titus’s daughter– for his own bride out of spite. Bassianus spirits Lavinia away with the help of her brothers, including Lucius (Macfayden). The rigid Titus is dishonored by the actions of his children, and Saturninus decides to marry Tamora instead, who has definitely not forgotten the whole eldest son thing. All of these tensions spiral out of control, egged on by Tamora’s lover and attendant, the moor Aaron (Lenix), who seethes with hate for all of them and seeks to sow chaos.

Reflections: Shakespeare’s craziest play, being interpreted by a director whose whole thing is going wildly OTT, and running within spitting distance of three hours, this movie is a lot. The play itself leans into depravity; rape, murder, torture, mutilation, and cannibalism all factor into a story that deals with sibling relationships, the roots and inheritance of violence, the passing of the torch into a “less civilized” age, and the disruptive, retributive power exercised by those marginalized by race and sex. Onto this, Taymor weaves a relentless melange of styles and time periods–the scene will move from a dark and eerie Roman ruin to an industrial lounge with a pool table and arcade cabinets; Saturninus rides a Nazi-esque parade through the streets, while Demetrius and Chiron devolve into glammed-out future-punks. The costume and set designs are elaborate and insane–the metallic wolf’s head that rises over the throne room, or the… indescribable getups Tamora and her boys wear to drive Titus mad.

It’s all extremely theatrical, both in the aggressive stylization of it and in its stagebound roots. But Taymor and cinematographer Luciano Tovoli work the camera too, with dramatic swings, odd angles, rapid moments and bizarre fantastical sequences. The cast is equally dialed-up and all serving: Hopkins is giving the classic Shakespearian gravitas in the midst of the absurdity around him, every word coming out of Lange’s mouth could eat through sheet metal, Rhys and Meyers are feral and borderline incestuous, Lenix switches from jovially dark to seething yet thoughtful in a heartbeat, and Cumming is effete, pathetic, and dangerous. Almost everyone is horny and obsessed and violent and unpleasant–Feore’s Marcus being kind of a calm, grounding point–and despite its length, the movie whips through its escalating, labyrinthine plot with the force of a rollercoaster.

Ultimately, I think mileage with this movie is gonna depend on how much of a theater kid you have in you. I’m not familiar enough with this play in a scholarly way to comment on the adaptation, but it’s a movie full of texture and drama and expressive ideas, and the spectacle of it is thrilling. But it is also a lot of Shakespearean dialogue, often coming at you fast while the rest of the movie is beating you over the head with things to look at and digest–it takes a lot of effort to take in. And it is a dark story that leaves one unsettled, feeling a sense of loss and disgust at the pettiness of man. This is not a movie to put on for a chill time, this is something to strap in for. But if you’re up for that, it’s quite the ride with a lot of wild, interesting stuff to chew on.