MCN Curated Headlines Archive for December, 2016

NY Times

“I said, ‘Gee, this is all outdoor scenery.’ I said, ‘Gee, I’m a landscape painter!’”
Margalit Fox‘s Splendid Survey Of The Life Of Tyrus Wong, 106, Key Artist Of Bambi Among Other Achievements

“Without moderators or fancy algorithms, they are prone to anarchy. Too often they devolve into racist, misogynistic maelstroms where the loudest, most offensive, and stupidest opinions get pushed to the top.”
VICE Chucks Comments

NY Times

“A similar progression — from the basic to the rhapsodic, the material to the transcendent — happens in Paterson as days pass, details accumulate, and words turn into poetry, one line at a time.”
Manohla Dargis Gets Jim Jarmusch Just Right

hollywoodreporter.com

“Every line of attack the forces of political correctness try on me fails pathetically. I’m more powerful, more influential and more fabulous than ever before, and this book is the moment Milo goes mainstream. Social justice warriors should be scared — very scared.”
CBS’ Simon & Schuster Invests Quarter-Mil Advance Book Deal With White Nationalist Banned From Twitter

NY Times

“Ms. Reynolds was, as they say, a trouper. So she did what came naturally to her: She trouped.”
Wesley Morris On “The Unsinkable Debbie Reynolds”
And – “The reason I got into filmmaking was super naïve: to change the world, you know? To really make the voices that we don’t get to hear heard, and the images and the stories that we don’t get to see seen. I would like to normalize that.”
Morris Checks In With Director Melina Matsoukas In A Year Of “Formation” And “Insecure”

You know, I’m still kind of a Luddite. I carry around a notebook. I write my scripts by hand. But then my films are edited on digital equipment. Why can’t I have both? It’s one big ocean.”
Jim Jarmusch And Gabe Klinger Talk Director Tech

MCN Curated Headlines

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“I was 15 when I first watched Sally Hardesty escape into the back of a pickup truck, covered in blood and cackling like a goddamn witch. All of her friends were dead. She had been kidnapped, tortured and even forced to feed her own blood to her cannibalistic captors’ impossibly shriveled patriarch. Being new to the horror genre, I was sure she was going to die. It had been a few months since I survived a violent sexual assault, where I subsequently ran from my assailant, tripped, fell and fought like hell. I crawled home with bloody knees, makeup-stained cheeks and a new void in both my mind and heart. My sense of safety, my ability to trust others, my willingness to form new relationships and my love of spending time with people I cared about were all taken from me. It wasn’t until I found the original The Texas Chain Saw Massacre that something clicked. It was Sally’s strength, and her resilience. It was watching her survive blows to the head from a hammer. It was watching her break free from her bonds and burst through a glass window. It was watching her get back up after she’d been stabbed. It was watching her crawl into the back of a truck, laughing as it drove away from Leatherface. She was the last one to confront the killer, and live. I remember sitting in front of the TV and thinking, There I am. That’s me.”
~ Lauren Milici On “The Final Girl”

“‘Thriller’ enforced its own reality principle; it was there, part of the every commute, a serenade to every errand, a referent to every purchase, a fact of every life. You didn’t have to like it, you only had to acknowledge it. By July 6, 1984, when the Jacksons played the first show of their ‘Victory’ tour, in Kansas City, Missouri, Jacksonism had produced a system of commodification so complete that whatever and whoever was admitted to it instantly became a new commodity. People were no longer comsuming commodities as such things are conventionally understood (records, videos, posters, books, magazines, key rings, earrings necklaces pins buttons wigs voice-altering devices Pepsis t-shirts underwear hats scarves gloves jackets – and why were there no jeans called Bille Jeans?); they were consuming their own gestures of consumption. That is, they were consuming not a Tayloristic Michael Jackson, or any licensed facsimile, but themselves. Riding a Mobius strip of pure capitalism, that was the transubstantiation.”
~ Greil Marcus On Michael Jackson