Robert Altman @ 100: "That Cold Day in the Park"

by Cláudio Alves

One hundred years ago today, Robert Altman came into this world. A WWII veteran who got his start in industrial films, he'd become one of the most important figures in American cinema during the heyday of New Hollywood. His career is a sprawling tale of transformations, genre experiments, broad murals of humanity. Sometimes, his work could be claustrophobic, zero-ing on individual psyches, but it often reached for epic proportions and giant ensembles, juxtaposed dialogue galore. Over the next few days, various The Film Experience writers will say their piece about Altman, exploring his films from swinging sixties origins to 21st-century late works.

For our jumping-off point, let's go back to 1969, after Altman had moved from industrial shorts to theater to TV and then to feature cinema. Around the decade's twilight, the director kickstarted an unofficial trilogy about mad women that would later lead to Images and the glory of 3 Women. Yet, before those examinations of the feminine grotesque, it began That Cold Day in the Park…

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Oscar Volleys: Best Makeup & Hairstyling is a tale of many Horrors

The Oscar Volleys are back for some post-nomination talks. First up, Cláudio Alves and Eurocheese tackle Best Makeup & Hairstyling...

EMILIA PÉREZ | © Netflix

CLÁUDIO ALVES: Neurofibromatosis melting off someone's face, rapid aging into chimeric flesh, immortal rot, green women, and brownface - this year's Best Makeup & Hairstyling race has it all. Looking at the state of the race, we seem to have a runaway winner but one can never be sure of these things. Especially when that likely winner belongs to the Academy's most hated genre - horror. Indeed, we have two horror films competing this year, a rarity in itself, plus a dark comedy that sometimes flirts with the cinematic idioms of horror and a movie musical that's a horror to witness. And then there's Wicked, which I can see pull an upset if it overperforms on Oscar night. What do you make of this year's race?

EUROCHEESE: I'm amused that you included Emilia Pérez in the mix as one of our "horrors," and given Karla Sofía Gáscon's title character would be a focal point of the nomination, Netflix can't avoid her here. We're in unprecedented territory when it comes to the ripple effects of the scandal, but even on nomination morning, this nomination felt like a mild surprise.

I'd safely rank it least likely to win…

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Almost There: Margaret Qualley in "The Substance"

by Cláudio Alves

In an awards season full of co-leads pretending to be supporting players, nepo babies, and festival hits, it's a wonder Margaret Qualley didn't get a nomination for her work in The Substance. Coralie Fargeat's film is up for five Oscars, being the current frontrunner in Actress and Makeup, a major triumph for a picture such as this, where body horror elements are remixed and reimagined for a made-in-France Hollywood satire. It's gross, like few star vehicles in the Academy's history, so outré as to be off-putting and bold as all hell. In that regard, its closest Oscar relative is Black Swan, whose Mila Kunis, like Qualley, got major precursor and critical support but failed to secure the AMPAS' seal of approval…

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Split Decision: “Nosferatu”

Split Decision returns to TFE. In this series two of our writers face off on a movie one loves and the other doesn't. - Editor

NICK TAYLOR: Alright gayboy. Enough sucking dicks we gotta suck some BLOOD!

CLÁUDIO ALVES: Why not both? Eggers' Orlok switched from neck to tiddies, so we might as well take things further south. Let's suck dick and blood at the same time, get really kinky with it. Sure, this new Nosferatu is more carnal than its previous iterations, but its sexual neurosis is fittingly contained within a historical context and its particular hang-ups. Queerness is only suggested in sublimated terms. A bit like Bram Stoker's original work and Murnau's copyright-evading spin on it. Though this bat man's origins are rooted in the imaginations of queer men, that dimension seldom comes to the surface, remaining subtext at best. I guess it's appropriate, then, for this latest film to be discussed by two members of the alphabet mafia, such as ourselves...

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Indie Spirit Revue: "The Piano Lesson"

by Nick Taylor

A very good movie, frustratingly close to being a great one if not for one problem at its absolute center. John David Washington drags down this new adaptation of August Wilson's The Piano Lesson to an inordinate degree, baldly imitating his dad's Troy Maxson and leaving Boy Willie out to dry as a result. Unburdened from even a shred of Denzel's charisma, we get a Boy Willie who's unambiguously trying to sell you a used car even when he's supposed to be bonding with his niece or drinking with a friend. His disastrous turn skews the text even more toward Berniece than it already was - imagine what Stephan James could've done with the role instead. Imagine Stephan James being nurtured by Hollywood after his heartbreaking performance in If Beale Street Could Talk…

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