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Beloved high-concept comedy Groundhog Day turned 30 years old recently. That’s 30 real years. By some estimates, if Phil had gotten stuck in his time loop (where the same day repeats every day add infinitum) on the film’s release day,
Quentin Tarantino’s 10th and (supposedly) final film has been named: The Movie Critic. Plot details indicate that the film will likely revolve around a particular critic with an immeasurable influence over Quentin’s, and likely many other creatives’, work. Uncompromising. Brilliant.
Last week, The Writer’s Guild Association of America bestowed its highest honour on a venerable master of creatively free screenwriting, Charlie Kaufman. He dubbed that honour the “old-man-lifetime-achievement-award”, introduced by a reverent and delightfully awkward Jessie Buckley. His acceptance speech
Jack Kerouac found himself in possession of a singular voice. Spontaneous, dynamic, emblematic of the Beat generation he helped to pioneer, it’s a unique vantage from which to extol advice. It’s reasonable to assume that Kerouac wouldn’t be able to