Gerald Peary
If Van Gogh had picked up an acoustic guitar, he’d be Frank.
Under relaxed house arrest, Iranian director Jafar Panahi bravely concedes that, at times during his incarceration, he’s worn down, tempted to end it all.
I like to believe that I’m not loony, that, unlike certain 78 collectors profiled by Amanda Petrusich, I have a perspective on all this.
I’m miffed that three of the greatest documentaries ever produced, all from around Boston, didn’t make the cut on the Sight & Sound list.
Like me, Phyllis Rose frets about the zillion fine books out there that nobody bothers with. Why their neglect? She reasons that it’s because no one pedigreed has championed them.
So what was so impressive about the lineup of films at the 17th Maine Fest? Catnip for me are 35mm films on the big screen..
A Coffee in Berlin is described accurately in its publicity as “a slacker comedy.”
The haughty, witty Gore Vidal, my role model, was never happier than when going against the madding American populace.
The Grand Seduction has some mawkish moments, but it’s still a very sweet movie, skillfully made and charmingly told.
What’s not to adore about this super-friendly, hedonistic, 24-hour street party, what summer resident John Waters celebrates as “a gay fishing village,” and what I might label, oxymoronically, a “queer New Orleans.”
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