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To be a great writer is to be a great listener and viewer. Since beginning my career as a screenwriter and film journalist, my view of daily life has shifted. A mundane interaction could be the seed for a new scene. Even the most quotidian experience could reveal that next feature story. It isn't simply a matter of watching films but of living life, fully and deeply. Inspiration is out there and I intend to pay attention.
Let's face it, it is no easy task to sleep when we are sick. Whether we are dealing with a cold, flu, or stomach problems, it can be so hard to close our eyes and drift off to dreamland. While proper sleep is always important, it is even more important we are sick.
Firefighters with sleep disorders and mental health conditions are more likely to burn out, a new study finds. What's more, firefighters who reported a lack of sleep also showed signs of depersonalization (feeling disconnected from one's body and thoughts) and a lack of initiative.
Sleep-disordered breathing, such as obstructive sleep apnea, may lead to an acceleration in aging, a new study says. The researchers found that subjects who struggled with disordered breathing increased their biological age by as much as 321 days. In addition, the effects of sleep disorders were greater in female subjects when compared with male subjects.
A new study found that being thanked during the day could have a positive effect on our overall health and sleep quality. Business and psychology researchers from Portland State University and Clemson University found that nurses who receive expressions of gratitude throughout the day reported better sleep quality and healthier eating habits.
Walking into an Austin, Texas, karaoke bar for our scheduled interview, I have a preconceived idea of what kind of filmmaker Jonah Hill is. During the Q & A following our screening of Mid90s, I had watched Hill speak about his unofficial film schooling where, as an actor, he watched modern masters like Gus Van Zant and Martin Scorsese practice their craft.
Dusting 'Em Off is a rotating, free-form feature that revisits a classic album, film, or moment in pop-culture history. This week, Marten Carlson celebrates the 30th anniversary of Michael Mann's stylish, neo-noir crime thriller Manhunter. Will Graham ( William L. Petersen) watches as his wife strolls down the boardwalk, long-legged and without a care.
During the modern blockbuster season, moviegoers are treated to battling robots, dazzling celestial bodies, and swinging superheroes. These often visually assaulting images are created, for the most part, in a computer. While these scenes of science-fiction bombast can excite and titillate, they are but cold 1s and 0s.
"Spoon!" Members of the audience chuck fistfuls of plastic spoons at the silver screen. They have just seen another framed picture of a spoon. They chant "Go, go, go!" as the camera slowly pans across the Golden Gate Bridge. They sing "Everywhere you look" as they see the Full House domicile.
"Take him to Detroit." This is the punishment bestowed on an unlucky henchman in John Landis' ridiculous Kentucky Fried Movie. In the film, this is seen as a fate worse than torture or beheading. I guess it's pretty funny. For forty years, Detroit has served as a backdrop, narrative tool, and occasional punchline.
"Tell me your nightmare and that will be your truth." A large tree-like creature holds a young boy in a King Kong grip - part Tolkien Ent and part Swamp Thing, the monster is a terror to behold. Red eyes burn from within his wooden, vine-covered face and a deep, gravelly voice echoes from his jagged maw.
"Wait one second." Ti West's attention turns from our interview to the deep bass rumbling from the nearby theater. We are sitting on the brightly carpeted floor in a corner of the Zach Theater's lobby in Austin, Texas.
There was a time when the release of a new Terrence Malick film was the event of the season. Audiences and critics had waited ages, sometimes as long as twenty years, for another cinematic masterpiece from the reclusive filmmaker. Each film promised a cinematic exploration of the spirit, cosmos, and God.
Upside-down palm trees move across the screen, bathed in a purplish half-light, as if night is about to fall on this tropical clime. Slowly, the camera tilts down to reveal a quiet LA street at dusk. A girl waits in her car. Waits for her night to begin.
In the 1990s, the term "indie comedy" described a mode of production. Unlike bigger-budget Hollywood productions, the indie comedy was more humble. The stars were smaller, the shooting schedules tighter. This level of filmmaking was perfect for up-and-coming directors like David O. Russell, Richard Linklater, and Wes Anderson to cut their teeth and carve out a recognizable style.
Don Coscarelli can't remember a time when he wasn't a horror fan. "It was an early love," the 62-year-old writer and filmmaker recalls. "It was just an innate thing. One day, [my parents and I] walked by the theater and the movie was some tribute to '50s movies with flying saucers, and I practically grabbed them.
You can tell a lot about a man by looking at his face. The roads he's walked, the heartache; all is communicated without him speaking a single word. Such is the case with Ashley, Andre Royo's lead character in the quiet and powerful Hunter Gatherer.
It was 1979, and the New Hollywood was winding down. After the huge success of the miniscule-budgeted Easy Rider, the studio system had opened the doors to young, hungry filmmakers and put aside its obsession with Biblical and historical epics. For the entirety of the 1970s, it was a cinematic gold rush for up-and-coming cineastes.
Walking down the aisles of a '90s video store, a horror bound kid would invariably see a few things. First, there were a number of big-boxed VHS tapes that would warrant a look, a laugh, and a return to the shelf. Second, Jason and Freddy would be present in cardboard cutout form, standing silent over their domain.
Karyn Kusama loves a challenge. Lensing her last two features for major studios, she is now making a return to the indie trenches with . Her latest exhibits all the earmarks of indie genre filmmaking. Limited budget? Check. Tight schedule? Uh huh. One location? Yep.
I had the misfortune of waiting on a particularly miserable couple the other night. Being a waiter, I sometimes have to deal with tables that come in angry. I try to put them in a good mood, but some people are just immune to my Burt Reynolds-esque charm.
Throughout the history of the Western genre, the drunk has often been the source of comic relief. He usually stumbles through the film, cracking wise and lightening the mood. He's a distraction from the narrative, offering the audience a break from the high-plains action. He is often a buffoon, and rarely has a major story arc.
There is a moment while watching a great film or reading a wonderful piece of literature when it appears the screen between the filmmaker and audience member has fallen. On these rare occasions (rarer still in the current Hollywood climate), a true connection is made between artist and consumer.
Dissociative Identity Disorder (D.I.D), a more politically and scientifically correct way of saying "multiple personalities," has been employed in genre filmmaking for decades. From Psycho to Dressed to Kill to High Tension, the disorder has been used as a twist, a plot device, or simply as an opportunity to showcase the talents of a film's lead actor.
Every '80s and '90s child lost a little of their innocence the moment they realized that their heroes, four rambunctious mutated turtles, were just one toy with different colored masks. In that instance, the realities of commerce began to sink in.
How do you tell the story of a man? Is it in the details, the events of his daily life? Or is it somewhere deeper; somewhere closer to the soul? Robert Budreau, director of the new Chet Baker "anti-biopic" Born to Be Blue , starring Ethan Hawke, finds a man not in the specifics, but through lyrical, cinematic rumination.