Link Lasso

• Time Timothée Chalamet profile
• EW first look at Scream 5 - Neve Campbell and Courtney Cox both return
• Pop Culture Happy Hour insightful piece on the black lady therapist on TV with Ted Lasso, White Lotus, and In Treatment all arriving at that crowded trope party
• AV Club 5 reasons to be optimistic about season three of Ted Lasso

More after the jump including Dave Chapelle's controversial comedy show, Disney-related deaths, new projects for Jake Gyllenhaal, and MCU journeys for Kumail Nanjiani and Will Poulter...

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Showbiz History: Bill Murray on David Letterman, Janet Jackson at the Superbowl

6 random things that happend on this day, February 1st, in showbiz history

1929 One of the earliest movie musicals Broadway Melody premieres in Los Angeles. The following year it would win Best Picture at the 2nd annual Oscars, the first sound film to do so...

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Review: Sofia Coppola's "On the Rocks"

By Lynn Lee

What happens to a poor little rich girl when she grows up?

That question has fueled Sofia Coppola’s career, both to her benefit and to her dismissal by those who find her voice out of tune with the times.  I’m not one of the latter, so I sometimes feel oddly defensive about enjoying her films.  Although she’s far from the only writer or director to focus on the interior lives of wealthy white people, there’s something about her work that provokes a particularly insidious disdain in a way that Downton Abbey or Wes Anderson, say, does not.  Gender is an obvious factor in that difference, plus the shadow of her father and the advantages she’s assumed to have derived from him, as well as the limitations on her perspective of her own privilege.  Impatient viewers chafe at her characters’ seeming lack of chafing or rattling of the bars of their gilded cages, which Coppola presents less like cages than delicately tinted soap bubbles, their inhabitants’ discontents and subversions more often internalized than explicitly articulated.

Coppola’s latest feature, On the Rocks, plays in many ways like a wryly self-aware response to her critics...

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The French Dispatch, Wes Anderson's latest

by Murtada Elfadl

Wes Anderson’s new movie, The French Dispatch, is about a fictional weekly magazine that was inspired by The New Yorker. That’s big news for this writer who got their subscription while still a teenager, and used to look at the “goings on about town” and imagine living in New York, while being so far away in Khartoum. Immediately the film shoots to the top of my most anticipated for the year...

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Review: The Dead Don't Die

by Chris Feil

A few years back, Jim Jarmusch brought fresh life to the oft-revisited vampire genre with the sexy Only Lovers Left Alive. This summer, he attempts to do the same with the tropes of the zombie film in The Dead Don’t Die, drolly taking on our mindnumbed obsessions in the modern dissociative era. Should he take on another monster genre soon - who better to find the poetic ennui of a werewolf, truth be told - then he should hope it results in something more akin to his look at bloodsuckers than that of his flesheaters. The Dead Don’t Die is a smug stinker.

The film is set in Centerville, “A very nice place to live!”, a town small enough to house a single diner for restaurant options and with its gas station pulling double duty as its comic shop. News reports that the Earth has spun off its axis due to polar fracking is met by the townspeople with the mildest sense of alarm, at least as much as they can muster for a world outside that they just cain’t understand. But that small town malaise is devoured once the local cemetery starts sprouting the reanimated dead.

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