Movies should have a sort of unreal edge to them.
I present to you: The Cult of Poppy
A whole lot of effort:
Roger Moore, the reason why I became a filmmaker, has died. An era that began with me first watching him parachute a Union Jack over Baffin island to the Monty Norman Orchestra dig-digalee-doo and blow my tiny half-formed mind forever… Has ended. Genius, god, performing legend, he’s responsible for one of the greatest smut lines […]
… are not unconnected. THIS: AND THIS:
I write one thing, the actors write another thing, together we make a play.
Totally completely David Lynch deep dark batshit insane. All the way to the final sentence: https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/tony-alamo-apocalyptic-minister-convicted-of-abusing-underage-girls-dies-at-82/2017/05/04/21b382e8-30dd-11e7-9534-00e4656c22aa_story.html
If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about the answers.
This is all it’s about. This all it’s ever been about. This is all it will ever be about. This is how you understand Trump’s presidency with crystal clarity, it’s the Rosetta stone that decodes everything he does, has done and will do: It’s all about the fuckin money.
From an interesting Rolling Stone interview with Trump impersonator and President Show creator, Anthony Antamanuik. Putting aside politics and the specifics of caricature, it’s an interesting, and honest, description of something timeless about performance & creation: We must find that thing inside ourselves that connects us to the work. That will give it the soul […]