Over & Overs: "Murder on the Orient Express" (1974)

by Cláudio Alves

To celebrate the Sidney Lumet centennial, I reflected on the director's filmography and tried to surmise which of his films had the biggest impact on me. In retrospect, I wish that exercise led to one of his many masterpieces. Yet, to choose something like Dog Day Afternoon or Network would be dishonest. As much as I adore those pictures, they're not works I tend to revisit that often. Certainly not to the point where music cues, editing choices, singular line deliveries, and shot compositions are so ingrained in my mind that re-watching them is a jolt of muscle memory. You could call my relationship with the film what some folk feel for their favorite comfort foods.

When the mood is blue and the soul needs a pick-me-up, Lumet's 1974 adaptation of Murder on the Orient Express is a reliable treat, just frivolous and hearty enough to appease the spirit with whodunnit shenanigans. Or it could be a warm blanket of a movie, the soothing embrace of an old friend. Is it great cinema? Not really, but I wouldn't trade it for the world…

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In Memoriam: Donald Sutherland in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"

by Nick Taylor

It has been so heartwarming to see the outpouring of love for Donald Sutherlnd in the wake of his death. Co-stars, crew members from his films, folks whose connections to the actor seem almost random until you read how Sutherland’s kindness, generosity, politics, and talent left a lasting impression on the person commemorating him. The write-up from our own Cláudio Alves is among the most touching and thorough I’ve seen. I wanted to add my own tribute, and chose to write about his central, film-enabling performance in Philip Kaufman’s 1978 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers . . . .

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Nicole Kidman Tribute: Rabbit Hole (2010)

by Cláudio Alves

For a while, I thought that loss would lead to tears, a general sadness that consumes you whole and leaves behind a husk. Much art and media made it seem so to my adolescent self. The piteous melodrama that the mainstream loves to sell was a convincing lie, and so were the beatific visions of bereavement from which a person learns and grows stronger. But life doesn't obey narrative rules, nor does it seek to satisfy in the ways a Hollywood producer might. The tears do come - and they did - but there was more to it. More that wasn't aligned with ideas of beautiful suffering or an education of the soul. When I found grief, I found anger, too.

Why must it hurt so much? Why must it isolate so strongly? Why does it seem like no one understands? Why must joy prevail in the world? It's obscene, it feels wrong, and it stokes the fires of fury inside. Yet, there's no clear target for the flame. You find yourself full of emotion, wanting to wield it like a weapon and hurt something, anything, maybe yourself, or maybe nothing at all. There is no reason in grief and nowhere to go from there. Often, one finds no path out or through, no answers whatsoever. In this solipsism, recognition may lead the way. If not in the company of others, then in the mirror of the screen – in works like that of Nicole Kidman in Rabbit Hole…

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Donald Sutherland (1935-2024)

by Cláudio Alves

THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE (2013) Francis Lawrence

Yesterday, Kiefer Sutherland came to social media with a devastating announcement. His father, who he rightfully described as "one of the most important actors in the history of film," had passed away. Donald Sutherland was 88, and he leaves behind an enviable legacy. His career is the stuff of legend, spanning nearly two hundred screen credits over six decades and many a landmark in American cinema. Moreover, his kindness and political activism earned him admiration as a human being, not just an artist.

Speaking only for myself, Donald Sutherland was one of my favorite thespians of the silver screen, a man of varied talents who could as effortlessly embody fatherly warmth as the darkest impulses within us all. His absence is inconceivable, yet one must contend with it. And what better way to do it than to celebrate his well-lived life? Let's start at the beginning…

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Nicole Kidman Tribute: Margot at the Wedding (2007)

by Eric Blume

With Margot at the Wedding, writer-director Noah Baumbach makes an Éric Rohmer film.  The character’s names are French, it’s lit like a French movie, cut like a French movie, and has the rhythms and languorousness of, specifically, a Rohmer movie.  But, and this may be a hot take:  Rohmer never made a film as textured and exquisite as the one Baumbach makes here.  Rohmer’s films often deal with an indecisive man-child choosing between two women:  there’s a lovely wistfulness about them, but they’re repetitive and limited in depth. 

Baumbach captures the Rohmer melancholia, but he fleshes out all the relationships in the film so they are deeply lived-in and layered. The film is all frayed edges, with unpredictable touches and uncomfortable complexities…

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