We need more directors willing to take risks with films like Get Out.
Lest there be any doubt that time is moving ahead with a vengeance, reflect: Ten years ago we were in the midst of the first summer of Flower Power. Hippies wore love beads and sandals, and there were daisies in their hair. The Beatles. The Rolling Stones. Pot. A new generation had been unleashed upon the Earth, and was stumbling toward Woodstock to be born. The square world was in confused retreat. Ten years ago.
And now the syndicated, columnists explain that we have entered the age of Country Chic. Jimmy Carter prepares his acceptance speech and Chicagoans (Chicagoans!) try to sound like good ol' boys on their Citizens Band radios, and the nation is caught in a frenzy of country music, and long-haul truck drivers are the last American cowboys. It is perhaps just as well Mama Cass did not live to see it.
I've just come from "A Small Town in Texas." It's an OK movie with some good chase scenes and stunt driving (I'd never seen a car plow into a pile of ice blocks before), but I had to keep assuring myself I hadn't seen it before. After "Macon County Line" and "Return to Macon County," after "Buster and Billie" and "Bobbie Jo and the Outlaw," after "Walking Tall" (both parts) and "White Trash" (Part Two) and "The Sugarland Express" and "W. W. and the Dixie Dance Kings" and "Badlands" and "Jackson County Jail" and "Ode to Billy Joe" those Southern towns may be small, but they see a lot of action.
Maybe we have a hunger for movies that are about places we don't know about at first hand. In the 1930s and 1940s, when most of America lived on farms and in small towns, there were lots of movies about the big cities. Now most of us live in big cities and spend our money on movies about backwoods rebels who get out of prison and come back home to rescue Mary Lee and little Kevin from the clutches of the evil sheriff, Duke. There's bluegrass music during every chase scene (thanks, "Bonnie and Clyde") and moonshiners and lazy ol' bloodhounds named Beauregarde and other exotic fantasies too many to count.
This message came to me from a reader named Peter Svensland. He and a fr...
At the ripe age of 89, Oscar can still be a notoriously picky fellow when it comes to what constitutes a contender fo...
The RogerEbert.com staff picks for the Oscars.