Sweat lacquered, brow furrowing, thirsty dudes are on the hunt to destroy everyone’s careers, even their own, in Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s 1948 classic, The Red Shoes.
With last year’s Going Out EP, St. Paul, Minnesota’s Strange Relations created the perfect narrative of faded neon signs and corkscrewed cigarette smoke. Casey Sowa’s lyrics poured over compositions that played like eerie reveries.
Of Ennui’s melodic discord channels My Bloody Valentine’s speaker eviscerating distortion, all while adding layers of viscous dread. There’s a defiant sense of peril, aggression, and intangible comfort throughout the record’s hypnotic running time.
The incredibly funny, insightful, and steampunk-loathing tandem of Jamie Loftus and Caitlin Durante formed The Bechdel Cast in November of 2016. The show’s premise is to explore the disparity of roles played by women in cinema.
To describe Olivier Assayas’ slate, often times inscrutable Personal Shopper would be to hack into the growth rings of a perfectly opaque mystery.
Writer and director Julia Ducournau’s sticky, blood-flecked Raw doesn’t necessarily fall into the grisly chambers of body horror even though the film’s carmine color palette screams out to the genre.
It’s difficult to process the debilitating sensation of horror in everyday life. Pockets of birds are still perched on tree limbs. Cats tumble on floorboards and chase flowing articles of clothing.
Whatever you do, please don’t be the guy mansplaining the merits of an aughts Kasabian record. It’s cool to like a band, but you don’t need to cradle their vinyl in your hands as if you’re giving a lecture at a museum of photographic arts.
MacLaine burrows into the minutia of Stuart Ross Fink’s limp script, attempting to elevate poorly written dialogue with everything she has (although there’s not much you can do when you’re required to shout “all up in your business” in a suggestive lilt).
As the night progresses into a face-swatting, tunnel-crawling kaleidoscope of misanthropic immaturity, the screenplay devolves into the same carousel of drama: “What will Donald do to upset Pete this time?”