TRADING CARDS :: That's a BINGO!

A few months back I tried out a new flea market in Londonderry, New Hampshire -- ever since my favorite one folded a few years back I've been on the hunt for a worthy successor. This was not that, but I still managed to walk away with a loot that justified the trip. And within that loot was a serendipitous assortment of mixed media that managed to bring about its own theme. 

Every flea market is populated with tables of junk, and most of those tables have no rhyme or reason within the boundaries of that specific junk. At the Londonderry Flea Market, one man was selling what had to be at least 100 swords of every kind (samurai, medieval, pirate, machete, and whatever other kinds there are) and also a plastic bin containing roughly 100 packs of Pacific Bingo! Trading Cards based on the 1991 TriStar movie. I noted the ironic unevenness of the stuff this guy was selling and I moved on down the aisle - about fifty feet, when I checked out another table that had its own odd assortment: military fatigues, history books (about the military), and an array of VHS tapes - many of which were documentaries (about the military) and one of which was the 1991 movie Bingo!.

I'd never seen Bingo!. (Yes, the exclamation point is part of the title.) All I remembered about its existence was from when I used to watch the Prevue Guide channel for hours at a time and they'd loop the same twelve trailers for the movies premiering on cable that week over and over again - and for a while Bingo! was one of those trailers. Even still, all I remember from that is that at one point someone holds a gun to the dog's head, and that Bingo is also served a subpoena. Needless to say I didn't seek out the actual feature on whatever channel it was airing during its run, and I don't think I've ever heard it brought up in any Pop Culture arenas in the past 35 years. But what I found at the flea market that day in the span of just a couple minutes felt like an opportunity to experience a movie in a fashion similar to the way I experienced them as a kid: see the film, collect the cards. So, I bought the video, then went back to the sword man and bought 6 packs of Bingo! trading cards. 

I let however many weeks go by before I committed an early evening to this whole immersive Bingo! adventure - but I may've been three and a half decades too late. I don't know how much I would've enjoyed this movie when it came out, but that's an almost impossible assessment; on the surface, I could say that I didn't really like these kindsa movies at any age, but now that I've seen it, I can say that there aren't really a lotta movies like Bingo!. Everything considered, I was expecting a tone along the lines of Homeward Bound or Beethoven, or maybe even Free Willy or Flipper, and it's pretty probable that that's what they were aiming for, but the whole thing is also an attempt to satirize that subgenre with a lotta weird and sometimes gross humor, generating an awkwardness that places it closer to something like Mac & Me or maybe even the Garbage Pail Kids Movie; when it tries to be funny it's distressing, and when it tries to be touching it's unnerving. 

Not surprisingly, the overall mood of the movie didn't really translate into the trading cards; opening up all six packs presented an attitude that more closely resembled the one I thought the movie was selling before I saw it: a daring journey, childhood nostalgia, lighthearted hijinks. But now I knew better as I was hip to the sordid subtext of each card. Obviously I didn't accumulate the entire set, but from these packs I pulled five singles that we can use to sorta outline some of the main events of the film - because if you've read this far, why the hell not?

- Paul

#26 "CPR Jump start"

Chuckie lies face down in a river after his older brother has left him there to die. Fortunately runaway circus dog Bingo shows up, pulls Chuckie out of the river, and manages to perform chest compressions until he regains consciousness. Bingo then strips the boy nude to dry his clothes before a bear sends them up a tree where they spend the night. Meanwhile, Chuckie's parents intentionally disregard his absence from home to teach him a lesson about being too attention-starved. 

#54 "The Duke of Franks"

Part of the setup is that Chuckie and his family are moving from Colorado to Wisconsin but they've left Bingo behind, so Bingo is following their trail across states by the scent of Chuckie's urine. En route, the family visits a truck stop restaurant where it's discovered that the chef (Glenn Shadix) is making his hotdogs out of actual dogs. Of course, Bingo eventually shows up and frees all the canines, and then drives a truck into the restaurant with a decidedly unspectacular crash. 

#66 "Saved By The Summons"

Bingo is taken in by a new family after he rescues them from a hostage situation. Because of his involvement, the dog is subpoenaed to testify in court against the kidnappers. I really just had to include this one because it's that one part I remember most from the trailer. I feel like a circle's been closed. 

#73 "Here Comes The Guard"

During the trial, the defense lawyer finds a loophole that incriminates Bingo, and so he's sent to jail. People jail. He has a little prison uniform and everything. This isn't just a quick visual gag, this actually ends up being a main trajectory in the scope of the whole plot. Typically I would applaud such a mix of bravery and madness, but it just comes across as dumb and dull.

#105 "Hoping For The Best"

This is a moment from the last scene of the movie, so spoiler I guess. Every character from the entire film is gathered in a hospital room in a dazed, gleeful anticipation for the reunion of Chuckie and Bingo. It plays out like either a dream sequence, or this is heaven and they're all dead. At any rate, we end on an announcement from Dad that Bingo is to be neutered, because this movie is entirely preoccupied with anything below the waist. 

I SAW IT ON TAPE - Doc Hollywood

I'll use the fact that this innocuous Rom Com was released (theatrically) 35 years ago today as an excuse to talk about videotape, playback heads, and VCRs (or, as people now call them, "VHS Players").

Doc Hollywood wasn't necessarily a movie I personally would've sought out and rented for myself, but that's probably true of 90% of the movies I saw on tape in the 80s and 90s, so I'm thankful to've been surrounded by a network of people who knew better (or were just more flexible when it came to rental options). In those days it wasn't uncommon to watch a New Release at home, and then see it again several more times in other people's homes over the course of the next couple weeks - back then, we knew what was "trending" by counting the number of aunts you watched burst into tears at the end of Ghost. When Doc Hollywood came out on video (closer to the end of 1991) I'm pretty sure I saw it three times in three different households, and I'm pretty sure the first time I saw it was in the most chaotic environment of the three; kids playing in one room, adults talking in another room, a stereo playing Mariah Carey somewhere, and on a tiny TV in a darkened bedroom, a fuzzy, nearly indiscernible Doc Hollywood with serious tracking issues played to an audience of me (because nothing held my interest more than movies, even when they were visually compromised by shit VCRs).

I don't know how much this memory would've stood out to me had it not been for the brief sense of nudity that I knew I was missing. There's a scene early on in the film where Julie Warner emerges naked from a lake after skinny-dipping, and I knew this because no amount of TV static could distort the presence of boobs from the keen eyes of an 8-year-old. The scene is definitely meant to shock (in a giggly playful way) and even with the impediment of tracking fuzz, just the implication was a surprise in a PG-13 Michael J. Fox movie. And yes, in the coming weeks I would actually see the movie two more times, on different tapes in better VCRs, and (uncomfortably) with different relatives. (I had to wait for HBO to finally experience it privately and unblemished). 

Today I have Doc Hollywood on Blu-ray in all its 2K or 4K or WhateverK clarity, and so I'm reminded of a time when picture quality was compromised and inconsistent, and yet we often pressed on through entire features, undeterred by technical difficulties. Nowadays I find myself abandoning HD Streaming Content 5 minutes in because it suuucks. That reality references a lotta talking points, but mostly I'm just pointing out how committed we used to be to a Video Rental; "This is my plan for this evening and I paid $3.95 for it and I only get one goddamn Friday night a week!" Home Video felt more celebratory and ritualistic even, as opposed to the convenient novocaine of digital platforms. Let's normalize planning on what we're watching tonight far in advance, getting excited about it, and then seeing it through to the end. Also, let's normalize bullying people who say "VHS Player".

- Paul

Summer Starter Pack 2026

 

It might be brash to make any big (or even medium sized) plans for the season, given our time-consuming, spirit-crushing employment status. But if we do get a chance to come up for air, we don't wanna waste a second on trying to decide what to do -- when leisure strikes, you gotta be ready (which is why the Starter Pack exists in the first place).

For the newbies, let's do the damn preamble: at the beginning of each Summer we compile a list of stuff we wanna do/eat/experience over the course of the next couple months. Some are big commitments, some might kill an afternoon. Some might be forgettable endeavors, some might forever define The Summer of '26 in our memory. Ultimately the reason we share it with you is that we hope you'll join in - either with the same activities or with your own agenda. Whatever you choose to do, just remember: if it takes longer than 15 minutes it counts as a break, so be sure to punch out. 

- Paul

The Sensual World of Black Emanuelle

This year's Starter Pack is all about "chill", though this could be a little more on the stimulating side. Back in 2023 Severin released a 24 film box set of the "Black Emanuelle" sub-sub-subgenre of movies, and I've just been sleeping on it, keeping it warm, waiting for it to hatch. If I was to embark on a two dozen Eurosex movie marathon, the circumstances had to be just right. 

I'd always been aware of a Black Emanuelle "spinoff" (bold quotation marks) but I had no idea of the expanse of this very specific franchise, as well as the talents involved; Joe D'Amato is behind the camera much of the time, and the set also comes with some soundtrack compilation CDs, featuring my boy Nico Zombie Holocaust Fidenco(!). It will no doubt be a strange, erotic journey. 

And then, all at once, there's Maude!

Most Summers we try to pick some old show (either contained in a flimsy box of discs or streaming somewhere for some finite amount of time) and try to stick to it -- binge it over the course of the season. Sometimes that works, sometimes that falls apart after one or two episodes - usually due entirely to an oversaturated market of content. But these? These leave us nowhere else to go...

Found at a sorta indoor flea market / consignment warehouse, mixed in with all the usual One True Things and Air Force Ones was a taped-offa-TV VHS of episodes of the 1970s sitcom Maude. After some more digging there was another. Then another. Clearly these were all meticulously recorded by some mega Maude fan, and since I can't imagine anyone with this much dedication just selling these cassettes off to strangers, I can only fear the worst. I only bought them in the hopes of seeing some old commercials, but now I have a quest to carry on this anonymous person's fandom (at least for the duration of my down time this Summer). 

Cinema Sewer

If I've never made it obvious, I'll plainly state that I've never been huge into comic books. I used to collect them for the art and the ads contained within, but the writing and the stories didn't interest me. But when you add the modifier of "Underground" to "Comic Books" then you might have something. Case in point: Robin Bougie's Cinema Sewer, "The Only Guide to History's Sickest and Sexiest Movies".

Published from 1997 to 2021, the comics were nearly entirely Film Theory and Film Criticism, with topics ranging from "The Best of Cannon Films", to a retrospective on Lisa De Leeuw, to a rundown of "Best Parking Garage Scenes", to the merits of Fart Porn. It's filthy, it's funny, it's sincere, and it's completely compatible to Bennett Media's interests and standards. FAB Press has compiled the best bits of every issue and consolidated them into 8 dense volumes of grimy musings and dirty drawings; I'm currently somewhere in the midst of Volume 3, and given the weight of every single page, it definitely qualifies as a voyage. 

Relaxo Music

Work can be stressful. So can cars, bills, health, relationships, identity theft, the gathering darkness, etc. Point is, it doesn't all stop for sunny weather, and a lotta the time we may be too tired, or too bitchy, or even too frightened to rock 'n roll all night -- most of the time it's important for us to keep calm, so that we may indeed carry on. One way to do that would be to have no auditory distractions at all, but that goes against our celebratory instincts (and also could come across as ominous). No, we need something cheerful, soothing, optimistic, comforting, and maybe even a little flirty. Luckily, Smooth Electronic Jazz from the 1990s checks all of these boxes. 

Most years we'll commit to an album or band or even a genre to be the soundtrack of That Summer, and most years we stray from that commitment. Not This Year. Honestly I turn to this music often, particularly when I need a gentle reminder that everything will be alright if I allow it to be. I've dug around for years trying to amass my own curated collection of this very specific vibe, and for those of you wanting to play along, go out and obtain (or at least sample) the works of Davol, Trammell Starks, and especially Fowler & Branca. I'm pretty sure all of them contributed to the sounds of The Weather Channel (if that gives you some frame of reference) but these moody melodies inspire a lot of imagery: a desert road trip, a short lived sitcom, a romantic daydream, a quiet neighborhood, a childhood memory -- just an abstract nostalgia for idealized visions of life. It's addictive. 

One Disappointment After Another: The Unexpected Struggle of Personal Taste

Nobody ever asks me what my favorite movie is anymore. I mean that's partly because everybody knows what it is, but even people I've just met don't seem to place any relevance or interest on that question nowadays. Did they ever? I feel like when I was younger that it was a common ingredient in gettin'-to-know-you rhetoric, alongside favorite color and food. But maybe that's just the thing - maybe it's an entirely juvenile trait to have a favorite movie, or a "favorite" anything really. Come to think of it I barely know anyone else's favorite movie, and when I ask it's usually proclaimed without any passion - or, at the very least, it's said with embarrassment. Then again maybe it was just me - people always asked my opinions on movies because I was the "movie kid", but outside of that bubble I wonder if anybody actually gave a shit as much as I did (and do). Much of my youth was spent cataloging and ranking and defining and refining my thoughts & feelings on all the films I was watching, learning about genres and eras and finding my own fun ways to categorize them into esoteric commonalities. But I always asserted that I never had a favorite movie, just a Top 50 (and eventually Top 100) that all deserved the same amount of my love & admiration. I gave it plenty of thought and there were strong candidates throughout the decade (Edward Scissorhands, Silence of the Lambs, Pulp Fiction, Saving Private Ryan) but none of them embodied all the abstract components I was looking for in a singular film. Frankly I didn't really know exactly what I was looking for until I found it. 

I won't trouble you with yet another bloated Magnolia analysis (I included a pretty lengthy one as a lead in to a now-outdated Top 100), but given even more distance from its release it might be a rewarding exercise to explore some of the things I love about it, and why it has yet to be dethroned from my #1 spot. Of course, that might be writing a check I can't cash; I've never been able to completely explain everything I like about it - partly because I've never felt the urge to justify it, but also because a lotta math & science kinda sterilizes the experience. In discussing his own favorite films, Paul Thomas Anderson himself said it best: "I'm one of those people that would prefer to not talk about them. It's enough to say, like, 'Yeah it's fucking great, you should see it!'" One big point that's worth revisiting is how I thought it was the prefect movie for me "at that age" and "at that time in my life", but really that would only suggest that at 16 years old I was most receptive to wordy, character-driven Melodramas about coincidence and cancer. But it never really was about any of that; it wasn't some badge of maturity that I was suddenly more interested in deathbed soliloquies than stylized shootouts because the subject matter never really mattered that much to me. After all, the stories and characters that make up the entirety of P. T. Anderson's career have only ever been thinly veiled excuses to set a stage for great actors, and to do neat stuff with the camera. Anyone who's ever looked for anything more from his movies is missing the point (and for my taste, missing the point of movies as an art form). 

It was the prefect movie for me at that age because it was around that time that stuff like plot and acting really started to fade into the background in terms of what I found exciting, and instead I began focusing more on the optical elements of Cinema. Magnolia certainly has some fine performances and sparkling writing that all creates a heartfelt emotional rollercoaster, but I didn't care about any of that shit. Not because I was an insensitive teenager, but because my scrutiny had gradually shifted away from the Theatre elements of Film and I was now more focused on the visual artistry of the medium - in terms of identifying what I liked, and how that's achieved. Before I began collecting the digital formats of physical media, I collected videotapes in the same way: shelves of colorful boxes made up of all the movies I liked. And similarly to today, there were sometimes the options to upgrade; around the mid 1990s I began to notice that studios were releasing a select handful of their films on Widescreen VHS(!). Maybe you had to be there (and maybe you were), but in my tiny world populated only by me, this was one of the greatest things to ever happen; before DVDs began to normalize the Widescreen format, I'd been living in a square world, modified to fit my 4:3 screen. Unless I'd seen it in a theater, I was being deprived of huge portions of hundreds of movies by watching them on TV, and as I began to rebuild my video library with various "Special Letterbox Edition" tapes, I suddenly became acutely aware of what I'd been missing. 

I was definitely conscious of stuff getting lost in the transition from movie theater to Home Video - Hey, how come I can't see that thing on the other side of the screen anymore? But with things I hadn't previously seen in the theater, seeing them uncropped was like watching them for the first time - which also taught me a great deal about aspect ratio; films like Reservoir Dogs and The Usual Suspects suddenly became twice as big and beautiful because of their sprawling 2.35:1 Cinemascope frame, and that sleek and sexy rectangle was probably one of the first aesthetic hallmarks of movies that landed on my list of "preferences". I love the way vertical elements populate the screen and the way closeups need to be forced into its narrow window; it's perhaps the most basic way to get a tangible idea of how Directors and Cinematographers utilize (and sometimes waste) the canvas with which they have to work. I remember Frederick Elmes talking on the Blue Velvet DVD Extras about how 2.35 is such a "fun shape" to play with, and considering the way that particular movie rose a whole letter grade for me once I saw it in its entire scope, his comments only furthered my attraction to that super wide frame. 

The two most significant (and attractive) Widescreen VHS tapes I owned were Casino and Boogie Nights - significant because neither of those movies should be forced to compromise their compositions, but also because of how stylistically similar these two films are. When Boogie Nights was new in theaters there were a lotta comparisons being made to Goodfellas and Pulp Fiction, but I didn't get as much of a sense of either of those as I did with Casino (and I'm sure I wasn't alone on that). A handful of shots and cuts and music cues and even entire sequences are nearly identical to Casino, and while they're not that hard to miss, they're even more evident when you're able to view them in their entire layout. Incidentally, those traits that those two movies share are the elements that I began appreciating and craving and looking for in all Cinema - and it's all the same stuff I listed the last time I discussed this, and it's still all the same things today: dolly shots, whip pans, extreme closeups, a few expertly used pop songs, and some "visible" editing that doesn't stumble over itself. Is that too much to ask? 

I went to see Bringing Out the Dead in November of 1999 fully expecting the same amount of innovation and vibrancy that I'd gotten used to with Marty's stellar mid 90s run (Cape Fear, Age of Innocence, Casino, Kundun). I famously fell in love with the soundtrack, and felt that soundtrack was expertly used throughout the film, but otherwise I found the movie to be kinda hammy and inflated; there are some flimsy performances that only manage to amplify the hokey writing, and its singular inescapable theme is already annoying 30 minutes in. But who cares? I was here for kung fu camera moves and breakneck editing, and while the movie has a juicy single serving size of those things, it mostly paled in comparison to what I'd thought was an ongoing escalation in Scorsese's talents. I didn't really have the tools to articulate it to myself back then but I think the Robert Richardson glow was unreasonably heavy-handed and that Thelma was exploring what would've been labeled at the time as an "MTV Style" of cutting. I wasn't able to explain why any of this was "right" or "wrong" when I was 16 but that's because I didn't yet understand how's that's such a pedestrian way of processing movies (or any art). Clearly I'd been getting a sense of what my preferences were when it came to how things looked, but as conceptual as that idea was I knew that Marty's entry in the groundbreaking assemblage of "1999 Cinema" didn't meet my standards (whatever those were). 

We all know the legend of 1999 and its cavalcade of great movies - those of us who lived it can attest to its worth. But lots of years had lots of good movies (some even had more in my opinion) - the more remarkable thing about the films of '99 was the variety; top earners ranged from computer generated galaxies to the shot-on-video woods of Maryland, and for better or worse, a lotta things were feeling experimental. How was I to build up any specific leanings or partiality to any singular style when I was faced with such a wide spectrum of creativity? But again that's kinda the point: I had no desire or need to be firm with my standards because movies, at that time, were still full of surprises. In hindsight, the entirety of the 1990s felt that way, and that final year of the decade just went hardest. 

It was a long journey of taut anticipation between the first time I saw Boogie Nights and the first time I saw Magnolia. And again, I've recounted that voyage once before in great detail, but the biggest takeaway anyone should retain from reading about it is that never had I been that excited to see a new movie, and then the movie managed to surpass those almost unrealistic expectations. It took me some time to recognize that one of the main reasons that it clicked so comfortably for me was because I did indeed have "preferences" or "standards" or "tastes" that were unique to me, and after this film checked every box, it squeezed some extra credit into the margins. It gave me all my closeups and push ins and detailed compositions and rich colors and anamorphic lenses, but it also employed a handful of tricks and techniques that felt entirely new to me -- a feeling that I've not felt in a long time, but something that was actually commonplace during that era, so it took some distance to fully appreciate its extra specialness. But not much distance. 

I went back to theater as many times as possible to experience it in its biggest, loudest format, sitting closer and closer to the screen with each subsequent viewing until I just started watching it from the front row - something I've never intentionally done before or since; I'd grasped a good sense of the frame, now I just wanted to be in the movie. The camera floats and rolls and spins around enough that immersing my eyes and ears at such a close proximity gave more of a sense of adrenaline and weightlessness than the IMAX presentation of One Battle After Another. Sitting that close to the movie also forced me to fixate on some of the smaller details, mostly in the set design -- and boy did they design the shit outta those sets! 

I'd always took notice of the handwritten "Exodus" sign being held up in the audience of the game show, but I didn't give it extra thought; there was definitely a trend around that time of linking Bible verses to sporting events, and so I thought that was the extent of the gag. But I also always noticed the ropes on the roof of Sydney's Barringer's apartment building that formed an "82", and it wasn't until I brought a friend with me to the theater and for her to whisper, "Why's there an 82 there?" that I began to generate some mild curiosity. And it was after that fourth or fifth viewing that I had my father pull out an old Bible to find the passage, though even before we started flipping through the pages he informed me that the book of Exodus dealt largely with plagues, and that it was most likely a reference to the frogs...

These were pre-internet times -- I mean, they were for me at least, I didn't own a computer and it wasn't really part of the school system yet. My point is that once I figured out the Exodus thing it only compounded my craving for repeat viewings; there was no online list of clues that were readily available to me, and so the movie had suddenly become a kinda game I could play. Much like the "Paul is dead" puzzles put forth by The Beatles, this added layer of subtext was as fun as it was impressive - suddenly I demanded that every artwork utilize this Leonardo da Vinci style of inventiveness; anything that didn't involve little clues to a larger meaning felt lazy and ineffectual. 

Obviously as I grew older I placed less value on the usage of decorative afterthoughts as profound symbolism, but I do think it was that little added component of creativity and effort that managed to excite and inspire me more than any other movie had -- or, more to the point, has. Yes, believe it or not this meandering chronicle has an approaching purpose - and I don't even need any cataclysmic metaphors to lay it down. After nearly a decade of being asked what my favorite movie was, I finally had a comfortably honest answer that I was secure in allowing it to define me (at least in that area of interest). But it wasn't just to fulfill the purpose of having a response to that mostly routine question - I truly believed it, for all the vague reasons given here plus all the intangible stuff I can't describe (or don't care to).

I'm trying to think of post-90s instances that had me excited or even mildly hopeful for the immediate future of mainstream movies. There were definitely a lotta stylistically ambitious films at the beginning of this century: Traffic, Requiem For a Dream, City of God, Memento. Charlie Kaufman had proven to be a wealth of fertile ground for filmmaking experimentation: Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Adaptation, Eternal Sunshine. Between Mulholland Drive and INLAND EMPIRE David Lynch certainly wasn't mellowing. Franchises gradually but aggressively reigned supreme, but even that avenue had potential when the world of Batman landed in the hands of a true and talented auteur. Iñárritu further fine-tuned the popular art of nonlinear storytelling with Amores perros and 21 Grams. Cloverfield was built from the ground up and had the potential to become what the Halloween franchise could not. Quentin was given much bigger budgets and he only ever knew how to spend them wisely - up to and including Grindhouse which showed us yet another new format for presenting films that had the potential to become a trend. (It did not.)

There have been a bunch of movies from this century that I've liked and even loved. And obviously during this time I've seen even more movies from before the new millennium that I've also admired. And Magnolia continues to be my favorite. Why? ...That's not a lead in, it's a question I'm asking. I'm asking you that. A more objective person might suggest that it's just some kinda familiar nostalgia thing - a "comfort movie" that merely serves the purpose of reminding me how happy and excited I was when it first came out. Of course that could be grounds for an argument that the merits of all movies, from Gigi to Anora, can only be measured by whatever naive sensibilities we possessed the first time we saw it. So that's a silly take, obviously. Could it be that I've yet to see a movie exactly like it? I mean it's not like Magnolia is some surreal, abstract mindfuck that's so impalpable that it couldn't possibly be replicated -- it's literally just closeups of people's heads for three hours, talking and yelling and crying. Though when it's reduced to those terms, it becomes obvious that there's a million movies like that. Actually, most of them are just exactly that. 

One Battle After Another was actually the first movie I've seen in an IMAX Theater. I honestly found the experience kinda obnoxious and gimmicky; any mild stirring of action caused my seat to buzz like my table was ready, and the screen wasn't any bigger than those times I simply chose to sit closer. Mostly it distracted me from most of the nerdy things I try to pay attention to when I watch a movie, but whatever, I got to view it on my TV in what felt like a week after its theater run, and I definitely got a better and more intimate sense of it. (Obviously I still champion the theater experience but when they flirt with carnival ride tricks then it's no longer the thing I liked.) Anyways, my point is that I liked the movie - it's easily his funniest film, and it's also the farthest he's moved away from whatever I'd consider his "usual" material to be in terms of scale and genre. Did I think it was his best? No. Did I like it more than Magnolia? No. Okay, so, moving on then? Like, seriously, what am I supposed to do? Where do I go from here? Is this the price one pays for having a "favorite movie"? In the 26 years since I first saw it I obviously came to realize that all movies are different in terms of budget, style, era, aim, and many other nuances that separate Wild Strawberries from Jackass Forever, so at some point it feels kinda narrow-minded to compare. But really that's the situation only part of the time - ultimately, most movies are the same, and they're gradually getting samer. 

I'm not going to spiral into some rant about how Cinema is getting "worse", nor am I condemning the future to death so we can match the past because, logically, movies peaked for me at one point and so everything that came after and before simply lost some luster. It's frustrating because I'm still chasing that vibe that, on paper, is so technically simple, but there are obviously more specific circumstances that made that particular movie work so well for me. Having a young, ambitious filmmaker with a clear vision and fresh trauma at the helm are definitely some big factors. He also had a lot to prove after coming off a big critical darling like Boogie Nights, and was free of studio interference because of it. And honestly it's a lotta that same energy that makes Hard Eight, Boogie Nights, and Magnolia a sorta Divine Trilogy of power and panache that, sadly, has continued to feel glaringly absent to me ever since. Agree or not, it seems to be obvious to everyone that there's definitely a "before and after" mile marker around the Punch-Drunk Love/There Will Be Blood shift, and there definitely is a consensus that he only began to "find his voice" in the 21st Century. I will say he's gotten weirder and braver and smarter, but I think there was a reckless egomania that drove those first three films, and from that came a lotta flash and pizazz that would eventually calm down into more subtle shades of artistry. Or, I'm just so lowbrow that I prefer gambling and pornography and CGI action sequences over haute couture and religious cults. 

1999 was also the year of my favorite Michael Mann movie (The Insider) as well as my favorite Steven Soderbergh movie (The Limey). So by that measure, everything they've done since has been a failure...? I'd never frame it in such a crude way but at its center that really is how I feel deep down; and I just have to deal with it and go on living. The new stuff's not better, it's just different. What a drag. I mean am I doing it wrong? Is it a mistake to prefer and even promote the things that came before, or the way they used to be? For my money it seems that the best we can only ever hope for now is to imitate The Beatles because we're left with no other direction to go -- that's obviously not a unanimous sentiment but you get what I'm trying to say. This is basically just Sick Boy's "theory" in Trainspotting - that artists peak and then gradually they're no longer as good as they were at their best. I mean most of this is very subjective, but for all the "great" stuff that's been released in the new millennium, I don't think I've heard anybody over the age of 25 say "This has been the best that movies have ever been, or at the very least, way better than the 90s. Or 80s. Or 70s etc". But again this isn't about the entirety of Film, but the dull ache that one is forced to live with once they've chosen a favorite selection from an ongoing art form with a (stalled or not) forward momentum. Canterbury Tales could be your favorite piece of 14th Century Literature but that's fine because The Renaissance is over, so you can make your choice from a distance and move on and not be disappointed in all the new Geoffrey Chaucer books. I intermittently and only every briefly entertain the idea that I've aged out of the medium; it was the lovely Samuel Johnson who once said, "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life", but in my heart of hearts I don't believe I'm so curmudgeon and conservative that I'm just unable to appreciate all the bold, fresh, innovative directions that Cinema is clearly following. Shaky sarcasm aside, I like to think I didn't become fully desensitized to The Magic of Movies before the age of 20, and that some kinda shift actually did occur. Because let's be real, it's the children who are wrong. 

In his review of Hard Eight, Gene Siskel said of P. T., "...he makes tension out of somebody handing somebody something". If you've seen it you know what he's talking about. Actually if you've seen any well-crafted movies you know what he's talking about: the ingenuity to compose melodies with the camera, and the ambition and ability to follow through. I miss that. I don't mean that I miss nuance illustrated thought the use of closeups, but I miss seeing it done in a way I like. I miss seeing an edit or a move or a lighting trick or a stunt or a visual effect that makes me gasp, that inspires me, that makes me ask, "How'd they do that? How'd they think of doing that?" Most of the great filmmakers with great resumes have slipped and fallen into the muddy puddles of the modern tools that are making everything we watch look and feel like a commercial for antidepressants; nowadays I'm just attentive to those who still film with film and light with lights, and Paul Thomas Anderson holds strong at the top of that short list. And yes, once in a while I will still spot a sense of technique that gets me giddy, or at least forces one of those Jeremiah Johnson nods outta me, but I still long for the days when it was commonplace for an entire feature to not just meet my standards, but surpass them in such a way that makes me forget about the way things were, and to be excited for what's to come. 

- Paul