April 27, 2011

reefer sadness

Last year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival, which now looks a lot like a warm-up for this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival, showed a retrospective of British films of the 1960s and 1970s. After the first couple, the trick to avoiding depression was to go and look at the posters for Four Lions or Black Death outside, and dream of a world where they were now the rule rather than the exceptions.

Another exception was Mr. Nice, which popped up in the festival proper and proved once more that the industry is in better shape if director Bernard Rose is happy and healthy and employed. Its timid opening in New York gives me the excuse to review it again for Critic’s Notebook, and point out that no one hires Philip Glass if they’re not engaged in a spot of world-building, or casts Chloë Sevigny if they’re not aiming for mild disorientation in the male mind.


Films


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survival of the shiftiest The trick to being a good troublemaker is to lob your brick and then vanish, so it’s entirely fitting that Richard Stanley had made his two
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