Joyful Noise: Anna Kohler’s “Immense Joy” Brings the Works of Clarice Lispector to Vivacious Life

The specter of Brazilian author Clarice Lispector pervades the stage at Immense Joy, a new production devised and directed by Anna Kohler, and presented by The Tank NYC. At the height of her fame, Lispector’s name (originally Chaya Pinkhasivna Lispector at birth) almost always conjured an air of mystery―not just because of her curious Ukrainian origins, but also because of the abstract way she wrote. And it is abstraction that finds its way into Kohler’s production through a series of vignettes, narrated through the use of innovative multimedia projections by Massimilliano DiMartino. The result is one of, well… immense joy itself.

In the course of nine novels and 85 short stories, Lispector’s work traversed varied human perspectives―most notably, perhaps, are her intimate portrayals of the inner lives of women. That it would be a woman who would eventually stage her work says a lot about Lispector’s ability to communicate through her seemingly unintelligible stream-of-consciousness prose. Having discovered Lispector through her then-student, now-fellow-actor Natalia de Campos, Kohler found herself immediately taken with the author’s words, which drape themselves all over the production like a diaphanous curtain. “Her unusual use of language and the visceral quality of her writing make it so that one feels ‘in it’,” Kohler says, “and from then on, I really, really wanted to create a show about this woman and her writing. I really ‘got’ Clarice Lispector.”

Such a body of work from a female perspective naturally calls for one onstage: here, in the form of Kohler as Olga Borelli, Lispector’s assistant and close confidant whom, according to biographer Benjamin Moser, “would become a key figure in the last years of Clarice’s life and whose tireless dedication and intellectual affinity facilitated the creation of Clarice’s great final works.” In the role of Olga, Kohler cuts just as much of a mysterious figure as Lispector herself as she recites passages of the author’s work. As Lispector once famously notated:

“How does one start at the beginning, if things happen before they actually happen? If before the pre-history there already existed apocalyptic monsters?”

From there, we are launched into the Lispector’s heady world of women—starting with de Campos’ Macabea, a lonely, troubled soul lost among the existential chaos that is part-and-parcel of a Lispector story. In one scene early on in the show, Macabea is practicing to be a bride; in another, she desperately clings to a man she’s only just met but claims as her boyfriend. As Macabea, de Campos is all at once hopeful and forlorn, assured and confused.

Interspersed among the vignettes of Joy, Macabea’s journey represents that of the many Brazilian women Lispector herself knew and observed (particularly, those from the Northeast where the author briefly had grown up). Their stories range from the lyrical to the strange, to even the dangerous: a circle of women singing “Eu Sou Pobre”; three animal-headed figures pick hydrangeas in a field, much to the chagrin of a pale visage at a window; a woman devises a plan to avoid getting raped on a train. These elliptical tales, “apocalyptic monsters” and all, don’t seem to provide a moral neatly tied together at the end so much as ruminate on the complexities of human existence. Indeed, as the woman on the train escapes her doom, only to realize that she secretly wished to be raped, certainly incites some thorny emotions from the perspective of our post-#MeToo landscape.

While it is the women who take center stage, the men which make up the rest of Kohler’s ensemble also make an impact here, gamely taking on the personages of Lispector’s imagination. From re-enacting a Coca-Cola commercial to having an open discussion about poverty with Kohler—actors Fabio Tavares and Justin Gordon impress with their ability to jump, dance, and sing across the stage, breathing life into each story as they go. As for John Hagan, who narrates as well as portrays Lispector in the final scene, he brings with him a grounded reality in his performance.

Taken together, the stories of Immense Joy stir up a world of emotional depth, leaving one with more questions than when one first set foot in the theater. But such is the immortal work of Clarice Lispector. After all, as she once wrote: “So long as I have questions to which there are no answers, I will keep on writing.”

Images courtesy of Theo Cote. Immense Joy runs until September 18, 2022 at The Tank (312 W 36th Street, 1st Floor, New York NY 10018). Tickets (starting at $15, with pay-what-you-can ticket tiers) can be purchased here.


Show Girl Showstopper: Andrea Bell Wolff Dazzles as She Recalls her ‘Adventures in Vegas’

There’s nothing like a pandemic to make you a little nostalgic. At least, that was definitely the case for performer Andrea Bell Wolff, who opens her show Adventures in Vegas with a scene at a pandemic-era birthday gathering. From there, Wolff dusts off from the pages of her diary memories of Las Vegas and suddenly we are transported. The year was 1970, when the Rat Pack still ruled the strip. A nineteen-year-old Wolff, fresh off a run playing Ermengarde and understudying Minnie Faye for the national tour of Hello, Dolly!, sets her sights on ambitious roles on Broadway and film. Passed over for the likes of E.J. Peaker and Georgia Engel instead, Wolff seizes the opportunity for a part in the cast of Bottoms Up!, a comedic burlesque revue playing in the famed Caesar’s Palace. The successful revue takes her from Vegas to Sydney and back, proving to be one–if not the most–formative experience in Wolff’s life.

When I previously wrote regarding solo shows, I mentioned that it takes “a certain kind of physical stamina” to fill a stage on your own. Luckily, Wolff (who cuts a tiny-but-mighty figure onstage) manages to deliver a punchy performance with the help of fellow actor Elliott Litherland, who fills the roles of various people in Wolff’s life. Together, they make a vivacious pair, bringing the Las Vegas of 1970 into clear, vibrant focus. As a whole, Adventures in Vegas is a smooth ride down a glittering memory lane, with each stop along the way punctuated by musical selections from such varied artists as Sara Barielles, Whitney Houston, and Tom Waits. (Thrown in for good measure are actual numbers from Wolff’s past, originally performed by Grant Smith and Rusty Warren.) Under the musical direction of Jude Obermüller, each piece felt timeless, perfectly underscoring each memory so that it felt as if the songs were written especially for the show.

All in all, Adventures in Vegas provides the perfect escape into a simpler time.

‘Adventures in Vegas’ is running at the AMT Theater (354 W 45th Street) until August 24th. For tickets, go here.


Girls Aloud: What I Watched, September-October 2020

As I wrote earlier this year:

“The role of third-wave feminism certainly took its hold in the cinema of the 2010s. Women in the 21st century are allowed, more than ever, to be imperfectly perfect creatures: kind and compassionate, cold and calculating, badass…or just plain bad.”

Nowhere has this been more evident than in film and television of the past decade—from the Hunger Games trilogy to Orphan Black, and everything in between.   As we head into a new, uncertain one, it is at least comforting to know that women are still getting their due (and then some) on screens both big and small.  This trio of Netflix selections I’ve had the pleasure to watch the past couple of months are but just a few indications that the badassery is only just getting started.

Enola Holmes (2020, Netflix)

A very fun and entertaining adaptation of Nancy Springer’s series about the fictional younger sister of one Sherlock Holmes (yes, that Sherlock Holmes).  I’m not familiar with Springer’s novels, but as someone who has seen similar attempts at creating a teen Holmesian sleuth elsewhere in the Young Adult universe and been more than a little disappointed at what I found, I am happy to report that this particular rendition did not leave me feeling at all bereft.  Quite the opposite: screenwriter and playwright Jack Thorne’s characterization, along with actress Millie Bobbie Brown’s shining, charismatic performance in the titular role, finally brings to the screen a satisfyingly formidable (in both brains and brawn) female lead worthy of the Holmes name.  

Equally satisfying is Adam Bosman’s masterful editing under the direction of Harry Bradbeer—rife with clever jump-cuts and wonderful animation, punctuating the film with both humor and heart.  The only qualms I really have is that I would have liked more on the themes of progressive change of the time period (particularly the suffrage movement), and more on Henry Cavill’s er…much buffier take on the legendary detective.  (Though, as someone else on Letterboxd already said: this movie wasn’t about him, anyway.)  

And as it should be.  Best to leave it to the girls, Sherl.

The Queen’s Gambit (2020, Netflix)

Much like the game around which the series itself is centered, Netflix’s The Queen’s Gambit is a compelling dive into the insular world of competitive chess.  All of the show’s moving parts—from its production and costume design to its stellar ensemble cast—each intricately act in accordance with one another, never competing for attention but instead creating the perfect sequence of events that will keep even those least interested in the game in its thrall.  

With the character Beth Harmon, Anya Taylor-Joy (as well as young Isla Johnston, who plays her nine-year-old counterpart) showcases some prodigious talent of her own.  Some of the most intelligent actors on screen, I’ve observed, always have that “certain something” going on behind the eyes that no amount of cleverly-worded dialogue could ever express or communicate, and which Taylor-Joy displays here in multitudes. 

If there is any strategy to her performance, it appears as effortless as one of her character’s moves on the board—one blink, and you might just miss it.  Supporting her is a round of equally strong players, including actress-director Marielle Heller and the great character actor Bill Camp.  (Other standout performances include Moses Ingram as Beth’s childhood friend, Jolene; and Harry Melling as fellow competitor Harry Beltik.)

All in all, The Queen’s Gambit is one series you’ll not want to resign yourself from.

Blackpink: Light Up the Sky (2020, Netflix)

Since their début in 2016, Korean girl group Blackpink’s collective star has gradually risen to meteoric heights, hitting its international apex when they were invited as the first K-Pop act ever to perform at Coachella last April.  Since then, they’ve gone on a world tour; filmed a new ‘reality’-based web series, dubbed 24/365 (in addition to their previous Blackpink Diaries and Blackpink House, all of which made easily accessible on Youtube to Blinks and non-Blinks alike); as well as filmed for this, their very own documentary (presumably, in secret), exclusively for Netflix.

Light Up the Sky not only chronicles the group’s stratospheric trajectory as pop stars but also delves a little deeper into the mystery often surrounding the training circuit within the K-Pop industry.  Under Caroline Suh’s direction, the film shows the four girls in a new light, and often in unexpected ways.  (Another nice bonus here is perhaps the group’s most unsung hero, Teddy Park, who humbly relegates his own contribution to the girls’ success by instead shining the spotlight on each girl’s own strengths.)

Definitely worth a watch for even the most casual of K-Pop stans.

All images courtesy of Netflix.

Festival Notes

Festival Notes: ‘For the Love of Docs’ 2020

It takes a certain kind of person to imagine a different world than the present one they’re living in.  Such seems to be the running theme found in the line-up of DEADLINE’s recent For the Love of Docs Film Festival—or, at the very least, in the couple of films this writer was able to catch.  An online festival celebrating the art of the documentary which ran from October 13 to December 15, its selection covers a wide-ranging breadth of captivating subjects—from a young teenage girl navigating the world with mentally-challenged parents (Wildflower), to the ever-changing, fast-paced world of artificial intelligence in (iHuman).  Two documentaries, House of Cardin and We Are the Radical Monarchs!, seem at first glance to be of two very disparate milieus: that of the glamorous, international stage of haute couture in the former and that of post-#BlackLivesMatter, intersectional-feminist-activism-by-way-of-Girl-Scout-Honor in the latter; both of which, through an intimate lens, focus on proactive visionaries eager to change the world around them in innovative ways.

House of Cardin (2019)

From the very beginning, the story of Pierre Cardin has been that of a visionary.  With a famous name attached to everything—from eyewear to menswear, to even retro-futuristic fashion and furniture and avant-garde theatre—the French-Italian designer defined modernity in an era that struggled with breaking from its past.  With House of Cardin, filmmakers P. David Ebersole and Todd Hughes sought to shed new light on the man behind the once-ubiquitous, eponymously-named brand.  Using a fun and snappy editing style, the film charts Cardin’s career trajectory from his early days at the House of Dior as one of many young up-and-comers learning the trade, to striking out as the creative director and head couturier of his own soon-to-be global brand.  The documentary succeeds not only in peeling back the layers behind the legendary designer’s creative processes, but also provides insight into his personal life, including his famous love affairs with Jeanne Moreau and André Oliver.  Ultimately, his greatest love was that of all kinds of art—that which caught the eye and touched the soul.

We Are The Radical Monarchs (2019)

Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, a group of young girls from Oakland is making their own mark, enacting social change in their community and beyond.  Dubbing themselves the Radical Monarchs, the titular organization’s mission to educate and galvanize the next generation through activism bursts across the screen with a fervor to rival that of the many protests we see them participate in.  Directed by Linda Goldstein Knowlton, We Are The Radical Monarchs taps into the possibilities of a better and brighter future through the young, hopeful eyes of a new generation.

Images courtesy of and We Are The Radical Monarchs’ official Facebook page.


Netflix’s ‘Rebecca’ Resurrects the Gothic Romance for a New Generation

“Last night, I dreamt  I went to Manderley again…”

As someone once said: you can’t go home again—but with a new adaptation of Rebecca, now streaming on Netflix, it seems that once again finds itself within our cinematic purview in the form of Manderley.  And if the walls of this modern take on the grand manor could talk, one might find them in agreement.  In some ways, one wouldn’t go so far as to proclaim the gothic romance dead.  On the one hand, director Ben Wheatley’s take on the genre is at once sleek and lusciously rendered, bringing the grandeur of author Daphne Du Maurier’s 1938 novel into a fully technicolor world.  However, in appealing to 21st-century tastes, this re-telling falls short in truly showing Manderley and its titular mistress, flaws and all, in a truly new light.

Du Maurier’s story, now considered a classic of the genre, is chock-full of all the familiar trappings found in other gothic romances of its ilk (such as Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Northanger Abbey, and the like): a young ingénue, usually a woman; an imposing, stately manse; and a family with a dark secret.  This Rebecca is no different, telling once again the tale of a young woman working as a lady’s companion (Lily James), who is suddenly whisked into a whirlwind romance with a dashing aristocrat by the name of Maxim de Winter (Armie Hammer), only to subsequently find herself navigating the world of England’s landed gentry.  It is at Manderley—Maxim’s ancestral home—where the new Mrs. de Winter becomes increasingly haunted by the seemingly ever-constant memory of her predecessor, the first Mrs. de Winter, who mysteriously perished at sea.

Naturally, because of this, oceanic imagery pervades throughout the film; and much like those mercurial waters, the looming specter of both Manderley and its beloved former mistress first make their presence known with an almost calm, if unsettling, stillness.  A delicate piece of diaphanous lingerie.  The faint mist of perfume.  The heavily blotted ink of a single initial.  The rustle of a curtain.  The creaking of a decrepit boathouse.  But, most of all, it is the house’s omnipresent housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Dame Kristin Scott Thomas) through whom the late Mrs. de Winter’s spirit truly lingers, creeping around every corner with an ever-watchful eye.  “Still waters run deep,” as one character from Alfred Hitchcock’s own 1940 adaptation of the novel famously observes—and soon enough, Manderley reveals its own tempestuous temperaments bubbling just beneath its gilded surface.

Just like its protagonist, Rebecca strives to set itself apart from its own cinematic predecessor, albeit to mixed effect.  From the outset, we can see that this isn’t, as they say, your grandmother’s Rebecca—but rather, one intended for a new generation.  It can’t be easy to follow in the Master of Suspense’s footsteps, and director Wheatley (whose past work has comprised those within the horror genre) attempts to imbue his Rebecca with all the aesthetic sensibilities of a modern psychological thriller: from the inclusion of a sensual love scene in its early Monte Carlo sequence to the interesting juxtaposition of Pentangle’s 1968 recording of traditional folk ballad “The Sprig o’ Thyme”/ “Let No Man Steal Your Thyme”; to the grand-scale detail found in its production design and costumes, all the way to the film’s casting.  Yet, for all its pretty dressing, the film’s disparate elements never seem to quite coalesce in order to serve its story.  Though Wheatley does his best to carefully build tension throughout the first two acts, much of the expectant payoff is lost by the film’s denouement.  

The true revelation, instead, lies in Scott Thomas’ Mrs. Danvers—who cuts a more stylish and domineering figure in comparison to that of Judith Anderson’s mousy, more reticent servant in Hitchcock’s 1940 version.  Whereas Anderson is unassuming at first glance, radiating a sense of unease in just a single look or gesture, Scott Thomas brilliantly chooses to go the opposite direction; the latter slowly revealing the stirrings of a maddened mind behind a steely exterior, with a deftness that only a veteran actress could effortlessly bring to a role.  With just one devious, upturned curlique of her burgundy lips, she could bring down the whole house—literally.

Images courtesy of Netflix. ‘Rebecca’ is now streaming on Netflix.

Review, Uncategorized

Just Press Play: Hulu’s ‘High Fidelity’ (2020) is One Infinitely Good Playlist

“Making a playlist is a delicate art.  It’s like writing a love letter, but better, in a way.  You get to say what you wanna say without actually saying it.  You get to use someone else’s poetry to express how you feel. And then there are the rules: It’s gotta be entertaining.  You gotta tell a story. You can’t be too obvious, but you can’t be too obscure, either. Anyway, a good compilation, like all things in life, is hard to do.”

As stated above, any good playlist has to be able to tell a story — and just like a good playlist, High Fidelity (based upon the eponymously-titled novel and film, both written and adapted by author Nick Hornby), is one story that steadily and satisfyingly builds over time.  While the series continues to cover the familiar rom-com territory its earlier iterations were built upon (it does display “fidelity” in its title, after all), it also works to further expand and update the mid-90s, early-2000s worlds of its source material with references to our post-Millennial present — all while told mainly through the point-of-view of record shop proprietor Robyn “Rob” Brooks, now in the form of a woman on the cusp of her thirties (Zoë Kravitz). 

Still nursing a broken heart after having split from her former fiancé, Russell “Mac” McCormack (Kingsley Ben-Adir) just the year before, Rob soothes her sorrows the only way she knows how: through flashbacks and awkward reunions over the course of ten half-hour episodes, she takes us down the list of her Desert Island Top Five Heartbreaks.  Her personal “tracklist” becomes the embodiment of music’s inextricable link with one’s memory: the way it could take you back to a time and place when a song or mixtape seemed to define a moment or alter the course of your life.  A great example of this is a bottle episode — and mid-season highlight — in which Rob’s former-lover, current-best-friend Simon (David H. Holmes) rehashes his own Desert Island Top Five. 

Bumping up the nostalgia factor in Fidelity is its production value — shot in a dreamy, hazy Brooklyn replete with neon-lit old-timey hipster dive bars and specialty shops clash with the sterile, Millennial-Pink we associate with Crown Heights these days.  The show’s own tracklist, which ranges from vintage bonafides like Prince and Blondie to modern indie favorites such as Hot Chip and TV on the Radio, proves just as satisfyingly genre-bending and nostalgia-inducing as the show itself — resultant of the collaborative efforts of music supervisors Manish Raval, Tom Wolfe, and Alison Rosenfeld; as well as executive producer Kravitz and special consultant Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson.  (Yes, that Questlove).

Fidelity‘s famously signature thesis (that it’s not what we are like, but what we like, that ultimately matters) is put to the test throughout the season.  As Rob says at one point: “Half of the neighborhood thinks we’re washed-up relics. The other half think we’re nostalgic hipsters. They’re both kind of right.”  Championship Vinyl is, after all, the very embodiment of all things once culturally cherished, the last bastion of a time when things were good — where the influencers were the people standing on the other side of the register.  Indeed, in one telling scene features Championship employee — and Rob’s other bestie — Cherise (scene-stealer Da’Vine Joy Randolph) confronts a customer mindlessly Shazaam-ing a song playing in the store, while completely ignoring the fact that she’s standing right in front of him. 

It’s this very confrontation of our current latte-guzzling, Instagram-Selfie culture that makes High Fidelity an interesting remix of the original — one you’ll want to replay over and over again.

Images courtesy of Phillip Caruso/Hulu. High Fidelity is now streaming on Hulu.

Review, Uncategorized

On the Rise: Jessie Buckley’s Star-Making Turn in ‘Wild Rose’

There are star-making turns, and then there are star-making turns. And as much as I loved Lady Gaga in that other movie, nothing beats Jessie Buckley’s unforgettable, BAFTA Scotland-winning performance as Rose-Lynn Harlan in the Tom Harper-helmed Wild Rose (2018).  A decade into a post-Millennial boom in movie-musicals (one which arguably started with Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge! in 2001 and peaked with John Carney’s Once in 2007, both Oscar-winners), the 2010s saw a more varied approach to merging music with film.   

(Moulin Rouge! has since been adapted for the stage and is now enjoying a Broadway run in New York; while a staged production of Carney’s heart-warming 2016 film Sing Street, is currently seeing an off-Broadway run of at the New York Theatre Workshop and heading to Broadway this coming spring.*) 

A new wave of movie-musicals from the UK and elsewhere have since popped onto the scene, and most notably dancing (and singing) to the beat of their own drum are those hailing from Scotland, such as the offbeat God Help the Girl (2014) and Anna and the Apocalypse (2017).  While perhaps not as lushly produced as a Luhrmann extravaganza, nor as unabashedly romantic as a Carney piece, Harper’s film still very much earns its place in the wider canon of movie-musicals.  In comparison, Wild Rose achieves a storytelling aesthetic that falls somewhere down the middle, though the film itself is anything but middle-of-the-road.

One might even venture to call it a rare flower among films of the genre, in that—much like the main character herself—it unapologetically delights in its own rags-to-riches tropes.  This might have something to do with the film’s excellent country-inflected soundtrack (featuring the likes of Wynonna Judd, Emmylou Harris, Chris Stapleton, Patty Griffin, and the late John Prine; as well as original songs co-written by actress Mary Steenburgen), which not only helps buoy Rose-Lynn’s story throughout without the use of the usual sung-through elements of a traditional musical but also keeps it grounded in the working-class roots of its own musical traditions.  

With additional standout performances by the always excellent Julie Walters and Sophie Okonedo (in supporting roles as Rose-Lynn’s mother and employer, respectively), this is one Rose everyone should stop and pay attention to.

Images courtesy of Neon.

*Portions of this review were written before the shutdown of Broadway as a result of COVID-19/Coronavirus measures.  The shutdown of all Broadway shows has since been extended to early June.  


Best of the Decade: Darren Aronofsky’s ‘Black Swan’ (2010)

 What gave Black Swan its most enduring legacy (aside from the seemingly endless font of memes it inspired that year) was its unique twist on the psychological thriller.  A nod to the Michael Powell-Emeric Pressburger classic, The Red Shoes, Darren Aronofsky’s film tells the story of Nina Sayres, a corps dancer who dreams of becoming a prima ballerina.  As Nina, Natalie Portman skillfully displayed a range of emotions not before seen in previous roles: vacillating between fear and elation, anger and obsession — all in the time it takes to flutter one’s imaginary wings.  What results is a mesmerizing psychological breakdown that has Nina sacrificing the most important thing of all: herself.

Read my write-up for The Resident Artist here.

Watch now | See the full list on Letterboxd

Images courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures.

This post contains affiliate links, and as a result, I may receive a commission for purchases made through them.  Posts are not sponsored and any brand partnerships in future will always be disclosed.


Best of the Decade: Mark Romanek’s ‘Never Let Me Go’ (2010)

In great contrast to fellow best-of entrant Inception and others of its ilk released the same year, Mark Romanek’s Never Let Me Go, his adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro’s eponymous novel, subverts the usual expectations of a science-fiction narrative, taking the dystopian plot from its usual dreamscape futurama and placing it into a time more familiar to us (in the book, early- to mid-1990s; the film, late-1980s to early-1990s).  The alternate universe in question is a world where disease and illness have decreased and life expectancy has increased, all made possible through advances in clone technology. Here, clones are groomed to donate their vital organs once they reach a certain age — until, ultimately, they achieve “completion.” 

As the clones themselves, the film introduced then still-rising stars Carey Mulligan and Andrew Garfield, with beautifully-pitched performances as Cathy H and Tommy, two clones who have known and loved one another since childhood.  Alongside them, the already well-established Keira Knightley also delivers a memorable, performance as their morally ambiguous childhood friend, Ruth, who reunites them later on in life.  With Alex Garland’s adapted screenplay, combined with Alex Kimmel’s artful cinematography, all under Romanek’s sensitive direction, Never Let Me Go deftly straddles the thematic elements Ishiguro put into play in the original source material: mainly, the ethics of cloning technology — as well as the intricacies of humanity, and the tenuous grasp we humans have at understanding it.

 Watch Now | See the full list on Letterboxd

Images courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures and

This post contains affiliate links, and as a result, I may receive a commission for purchases made through them.  Posts are not sponsored and any brand partnerships in future will always be disclosed.


Best of the Decade: David Fincher’s ‘The Social Network’ (2010)

“Creation myths need a devil.”

At the risk of subsequently praising nearly every film released that year (and sounding like a cheap imitation of a sommelier), it must be said that, yes, 2010 was a very good year for film.  Kicking off the decade in a major way was none other than David Fincher’s The Social Network (2010).  The film marked the first collaboration between Fincher and another titan of screen and stage, writer Aaron Sorkin, merging the former’s unique visual storytelling with the latter’s signature rapid-fire dialogue.  

The result is akin to what many of my fellow Letterboxd mates would term as a “chef’s kiss” of a film.  Along with the excellent direction and writing are the dynamic cinematography by
Jeff Cronenweth, expert editing by both Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall, and remarkable performances by the young, star-studded cast; each element of Social Network — visually, sonically, and otherwise — all perfectly coalescing into one, albeit fast-paced, cohesive unit.         

Watch Now | See the Full List on Letterboxd

This post contains an affiliate link, and as a result, I may receive a commission for purchases made through them.  Posts are not sponsored and any brand partnerships will always be disclosed.