Though it’s a 2015 film, it’s the best one I’ve seen this year. Never been more freaked out by news media…or how hard it is to get a job.

What someone else said about the film:

None of us expected to enjoy this one, and we ended up talking about it for days. A neo-noir thriller starring Jake Gyllenhall as a sociopathic freelance cameraman who starts manipulating crime scenes for better ratings, “Nightcrawler” is a mesmerizing critique of the news industry as well as a subversive tale of How To Succeed at Business by Really, Really Trying. This film will please conservatives, who will find the lamestream media indicted here, as well as liberals who condemn predatory capitalism for having no boundaries, and no morals. The teenager liked it because it was honest about the difficulties of getting a decent job in a crap economy, while de-glamorizing the media.


“Nightcrawler” begins with Gyllenhaal’s Louis Bloom scraping by as a literal scavenger, selling stolen scrap metal for cash, before chancing into his new metier as a scavenger of human suffering, armed with a camcorder and police radio scanner. After a handful of amusingly botched first efforts (in which he turns his camera upon such mundane sights as a DUI breathalyzer test), quick-study Louis soon figures out that “if it bleeds, it leads” — words Gilroy can’t help from inserting into the mouth of an older, more seasoned cameraman (Bill Paxton, who also has the misfortune of having to declaim the movie’s title).

Somebody’s jealous of the love.


[“BLA and GB Gabbler” (really just a pen name – singular) are the Editor and Narrator behind THE AUTOMATION, vol. 1 of the Circo del Herrero series. They are on facebook, twitter, tumblr, goodreads, and Vulcan’s shit list.]

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GABBLER RECOMMENDS: “Entry 6: I rolled my eyes so hard at The Revenant” by Amy Nicholson

“I rolled my eyes so hard at The Revenant that I hallucinated I was sitting next to Mad Max’s Imperator Furiosa, who’d take one glance at these goofballs and sneer, “You wanna get through this? Do as I say.”

…I’m the goofball who didn’t adore Carol. You’re all bear wrestling over who’s the biggest fan, but I merely admired it, though I worshiped Todd Haynes’ previous feature, the slippery and cerebral Bob Dylan anti-biopic I’m Not There. Yet, to me Carol felt airless. It was all chilly good taste, as impeccable as Cate Blanchett’s closet. Dana, which outfit was your fave? I’d trade my whole wardrobe for her steel-blue suit with salmon scarf and fur coat, even though I’d look like a real weirdo at the grocery store.

The problem could just be that I feel like Rooney Mara hasn’t shaken off the shackles of David Fincher. He gave her a great cameo as a normal, real world girl in The Social Network. And then he bleached her eyebrows, pierced her nipples, and drained her blood for The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. His unrecognizable creation slouched across red carpets like a goth Barbie doll, and ever since she’s conflated acting with dressing up and looking blank.

For my money, she’s out-acted by Kristen Stewart and Jesse Eisenberg in any scene in American Ultra, another movie about true love in a treacherous world. (Ducks to avoid David’s spitball.) Their stoner CIA action-comedy shouldn’t work. It’s the tonal opposite of Carol: bright, messy, sweaty, and loud. Stewart and Eisenberg are surrounded by chaos. They’re hunted, gassed, strangled, stabbed, and stun gunned. But their romance radiates off the screen, especially in the quiet moments where Stewart curls next to Eisenberg in bed like they’ve spooned for a thousand nights. Even better, they’re dimensional characters who accept each other’s weaknesses. Stewart knows he’s self-sabotaging and lazy, and she still wants to fight for their future. So did I. David dismissed it as “Pineapple Express without the laughs and The Bourne Ultimatum without the thrills.” I think it’s a love story first, and I’ll flat-out say it’s the best love story of the year.

Since I hear the schick-schick of David sharpening his knives—c’mon, at least cook me first!—let’s keep talking about the best use of violence.

This year’s most ghastly deaths weren’t in The Hateful Eight. They were in PG-13 blockbusters like Jurassic World, which murdered a babysitter for a punch line. We’re supposed to laugh when she’s swallowed by a mosasaur, because her character is a pain. In The Avengers: Age of Ultron, armies of aliens are laser-blasted for thrills. No wonder Ultron concludes that the best way to save the planet is eliminate all the humans. “Yippee!” we hoot when Iron Man and Hulk smash up a city center. But what about the civilians cowering in the shrapnel? The drivers of the cars that get flung around like Nerf footballs? Hollywood seems to shrug, “No blood, no foul,” but death isn’t a romp. Bloodless CGI casualties are numbing, and that mentality is starting to feel increasingly dangerous.

At least when Quentin Tarantino cold-cocks Jennifer Jason Leigh, he wants us to squirm. His bruises hurt. Mark and David are right to argue that Tarantino has a conscience. I’d even say that extends to his use of the N-word in Django Unchainedand The Hateful Eight. A Civil War–era movie where white racists didn’t use the word would be as sanitized as a Marvel massacre. Like his physical blows, Tarantino means us to feel it.

Of course, I get the skepticism. Tarantino’s been obsessed with that word for two decades, often incorrectly. Remember in Pulp Fiction when the character he played groaned that his house wasn’t “dead [N-word] storage,” a bad line made worse because he said it himself? He’s grown up since then, and I’d rather give him the space to bushwhack through America’s racial angst—and maybe even make mistakes—than reward tidy, safe spectacles that simply pretend that everything’s fine.

Read the rest. [Boldface and photo curation mine]

[“BLA and GB Gabbler” (really just a pen name – singular) are the Editor and Narrator behind THE AUTOMATION, vol. 1 of the Circo del Herrero series. They are on facebook, twitter, tumblr, goodreads, and Vulcan’s shit list.]

all yellowB&N | Amazon | Etc.