Welcome back to Suburban Metal Dad, Popdose’s resident webcomic. Read a new one every Monday and Friday. Click the pic to enlarge. Ever had that happen to you?! Tell us in the comments section!
Steven Spielberg has made defining movies about the Civil War (Lincoln) and World War II (Saving Private Ryan and Schindler’s List) but the Cold War eludes his grasp in Bridge of Spies, his fourth film to star Tom Hanks. Structured around the construction of the Berlin Wall, Bridge of Spies ends, metaphorically and too easily, with its fall. Lacking the urgency of Munich (2005) and its forward-thinking topicality, the film is more of a museum piece, closer in effect to Amistad (1997). It is, to be sure, a very handsome exhibit. Cinematographer Janusz Kaminski’s preferred blown-out style of lighting transforms actual locations and the fabrications by Adam Stockhausen (The Grand Budapest Hotel) into splendid period sets, a chess board for spy games that begin in 1957 Brooklyn. Spielberg’s command of
Balancing art and commerce at the New York Film Festival.
Benicio Del Toro and Emily Blunt enter no man’s land.
A mountain of trouble.
A deal with a devilish Johnny Depp.
Blu-rays for dog days.
Lily Tomlin, Evel Knievel, and other tough cookies.
Saddle up for Criterion Collection Blu-rays including The Black Stallion>.
Mr. Holmes, Woody Allen, and some of my favorite movies of the year now on home video.
A bumpy ride through Jurassic World.
The ultimate thrill ride.
Arnold walks with a zombie.
One last ride.
Let’s crack this thing wide open.
From Zero Theorem to 101 Dalmatians on Blu-ray and DVD.
Six shots at Oscar gold.
Jeepers creepers, Tim Burton’s focused on some really large peepers.
The tank stops here. Have the terrorists won?
Helen Mirren serves up Criterions and killer shrews, with a side of Ghibli, on home video.
Maleficent, Macbeth, and monsters for Halloween.
With co-writer Bob Gale as my wingman.
Murder, mayhem, and Whiplash in New York.
A Marvel-ous week for new releases.
Contemplating an “instant masterpiece.”
Fab Four and more as B&N’s Criterion sale ends today.
Clint Eastwood makes Frankie Valli’s day.
X marks the spot this Memorial Day weekend.
It is the summer of 1983. I sit in the River Oaks Theaters with my dad. I watch R2D2 get blasted by a stormtrooper, and I gasp. It’s the summer of 1993. I sit alone in the theater at Chicago Ridge Mall. I watch a Tyrannosaurus Rex attempt to eat an obnoxiously precocious child, and I gasp. It’s 2003. I sit at the AMC Lowes Streets of Woodfield with my fiancé. I watch Laurence Fishburn fight an albino on top of a moving semi truck, and I gasp. It’s 2013. My Father’s Day present is a ticket to watch Kirk and Spock once again attempt to save the galaxy. At some point, I probably gasp. (apologies to Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons) I can’t let go of summer movies. It’s still a near-perfect form of escape. Writing about them lets me escape too, a kind of critical nostalgia that lets me pretend I’m participating in a conversation that actually ended decades ago. All those summer afternoons and evenings, escaping into the chilly coccoon of an …