Skip to content, or skip to search.

Skip to content, or skip to search.

Tuning Up: Back to the Old Grindhouse

The reviews have trickled to a halt while I’ve been on a delightfully movie-free vacation in Vermont and Truro except for a trip to Montreal to catch Eat, Pray, Love and get rid of the bad taste with smoked meat at Schwartz’s; to make the annual pilgrimage to the blessed Wellfleet Drive In to see The Other Guys again; and to watch on DVD Johnnie To’s Vengeance (which received no theatrical distribution, but is available as video on demand), maybe, in its fusion of style and content, the perfect B action movie, with a scorched-by-life Johnny Hallyday along as a revenger who continues to stalk the men who killed his grandchildren (with the help of Anthony Wong and other To regulars) even when his memory is gone—the revenger as ghost and child, as one who transcends culture and lost time. I have nothing to say about the ineptly staged and edited The Expendables except that Sylvester Stallone has finally, finally gotten to the point where he’ll throw the spotlight onto other stars—albeit only to exploit them in the same old hackish scenario. (Thanks to Matt Seitz for directing me to this good review of Stallone’s ossification vis a vis Eastwood’s cunning trajectory.) Anyway, I’ll be easing back into the job with lots more weekly reviews (many web-only in a relaunched Vulture) and more vigorous blogging, come hell or high water (although Pakistan suggests that the two, as the oceans rise, are not mutually exclusive).

Until then, I’ll be on my pal Colin McEnroe’s entertaining Connecticut Public Radio show on Monday, August 23 at 1 p.m. Eastern, and I believe he’ll take calls: You can still yell at me (or give me a thumbs-up) over my pan of Inception. On August 31, I’ll be interviewing my pal Michael Almereyda at BAM after a screening of his poetic, Coctau-like Dracula’s Daughter update, Nadja.

And I can’t wait to spend a couple of days at the Film Forum with Roy Ward Baker’s Inferno and my 78th viewing of William Castle’s The Tingler—I hope with my normally horror-averse 12-year-old daughter. Really, it’s time to pull her away from Miley and Miranda and Selena and Justin and see something more worthy of one's screams.