You won’t catch me in seats for “ The Avengers 45: Electric Boogaloo” unless Kylie Minogue starts singing “Who Are We?” or something

That Adam Driver in Marriage Story, Every day I wake up and Marvel hires an actor I like to try to get me to watch their silly little 40 hour movies. Well, nice try Mr. Kevin Feige! Nice try! I won’t give in that easily! I have strength, will, self-respect (not really), and, most of all, I am stubborn, which I get from my Irish Catholic mother, and she and I haven’t had a pleasant conversation since 2017, and at this point, I can’t remember why.

Michelle Yeoh. Rachel Weisz. Elizabeth Olsen. Marisa Tomei. Tessa Thompson. Linda Cardellini. Michelle Pfeiffer…

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On broken hearts and lost time in Sondheim’s “Follies”

In Sally’s eyes, as played by Imelda Staunton in the 2017 National Theatre revival of James Goldman and Stephen Sondheim’s musical Follies directed by Dominick Cooke, you can see madness, pain, a dream slipping through her fingers, curdling into nightmare. It’s Sally’s folly in the back part of the show, the ghosts of the past not so much stalking her, her pathetic and unfaithful husband Buddy, her former best friend Phyllis, and the object of her desire Ben, so much as creating a phantasmagoric vaudevillian performance space which forces them to confront their ills. This is “Loveland”, as the hoofers…


Give me a Baumbachian dramedy about Bossk, you cowards!

With the announcement of the new Obi-Wan Kenobi show’s production beginning, as well as its new cast comprising such luminaries as that lady from that cult, one of the brothers from Good Time, and stand up comedian Kumail Nanjiani’s tethered, I thought to myself, I’m so glad that they got the star of Little Italy Hayden Christensten to join the cast! I also thought about other Star Wars shows I would rather watch than one with Ewan McGregor being dragged back into a galaxy everyone gave him Hell for.

(Also, I watched the Star Wars movies stoned recently — so…


The kind of sexual racism that many of us have experienced is embedded in the kind of queer life that’s been designed for us to follow without a ton of alternatives, or the space to create those alternatives. And online spaces like Grindr take advantage of that, monetize it, build an infrastructure around it. Of course, you have places like Bubble Tea and Papi Juice, spaces that were borne out of a need to exist outside of a white gaze. And, my own identity, I have felt ambivalent about for a long time, because I am adopted, my parents were…


The pizza from “Mystic Pizza,” the Furby from “Uncut Gems,” and the Greeting Card from “Easy A” tell their side of the story

The part of the late winter, that time just as the winter’s frost gives its final kisses to the ground goodbye, is perhaps my favorite to return southern Connecticut: to the aquarium my mother took me to, splashed in homosexual blues, lesbian purples, and bisexual penguins; to the bookstore nearby, the Book Barn, lovingly named for the area on the farm where my queer ancestors squirreled away to discuss Judy at Carnegie Hall and have orgies scored to Maria Callas; and, of course, the pizza joint from that cult Vincent D’Onofrio movie from the 1980s co-written by the guy who…


Seeing “Company” with my best friend Juan

When I talk about Company, which I am wont to do, I have a spiel, a semi-lucid reverie that, at this point, I know by heart. I make sure to mention its highly industrialized, mechanized New York world; its pleasantly conceptual presentation, making Bobby more of an idea of a person than a person; its abstraction of marriage and monogamy and relationships, giving it an outsider looking in feeling; that its queerness comes down to that abstraction of heteronormativity. …


On the new Britney Spears documentary and the fame monster

At a fairly pithy 74-minutes, The New York Times Presents: Framing Britney Spears articulates its desire to be about control even in its runtime. It hurriedly attempts to establish the authorship the pop star had in her early career, even within the confines of a misogynistic industry (“industry” here can mean so much), and the ways in which it was wrenched from her in a litany of ways and from a myriad of sources, interpersonal and institutional. Even the documentary’s title bristles with its thematizing, the star wavering between the agency of self-assured diva and object beneath public, and private…


Two new films, one a theatrical two-hander and the other a documentary on social media both want/don’t want engagement

There is so much bait in Sam Levinson’s Malcolm & Marie (on Netflix) that every moment is an arch rachis, a streak of fakery on an angler, barely hiding the dull hook. As the film prods its characters to prod its audience, the aggressive and argumentative film continually vyes for your attention and interrogation, invites you, and then shies away, resentful, when you’re ready to joust. Its hook is rusty, dull, and so inelegant I’m surprised as many people took the bait as they did. …


On the ending of “Promising Young Woman”, and the community focused justice of “Lady Vengeance”

(CW: discussions of rape and sexual assault.)

I don’t think it’s an accident that Anthony Willis’ string arrangement of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” sounds like a swarm of bees, the angry and volatile kind, conjuring a venom dipped revamp of the classic Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov composition. It’s the most dramatic attempt in Emerald Fennell’s film Promising Young Woman to (supposedly) invert the sugar sweet, pretty pop aesthetic into something darker and more poisonous, from its pop songs (Charli XCX’s “Boys”, Paris Hilton’s “Stars Are Blind”, etc.) to its romantic comedy tropes. (For the record, “Toxic” was always, I think, a two pronged…


“Search Party” and the accountability game

Spoilers ahead.

The whites of Alia Shawkat’s eyes, despite their size, blind and flood the screen, in contrast with the actress’s olive skin tone, painted Seurat-esque with freckles, her head cut and her body dusted in soot. Her eyes, they’re cream-colored, a blank canvas, white enough that if you were to look into them, you would be staring into the other side. And you do, the blackened lungs of Shawkat’s character, Dory, expelling fear and self-loathing, the smoke and bilious parts of herself boiling over. I can still hear her.

Alone in a trunk, alone in a room, alone with…

Kyle Turner

Snarkoleptic. Queer monster. Amateur critic. Professional snob. Freelancer. I am relieved to know that I am not a golem.

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