Wanda (1970)

Hello and welcome back for another round of the Criterion Challenge. We're bringing the month of March to a close with our second feature for Women's History Month: Barbara Loden's directorial debut, Wanda.

As I said last time, this is a break from the previous two entries in that, unfortunately, there is no larger directorial body of work from Loden. Within a decade of the movie's release, which was limited but acclaimed, she had died of breast cancer.

I'm saying this up front partly to clarify what I said last time, and partly because I wanted to get that out of the way early so I wouldn't dwell on it. Because it is a shame – Wanda is one Hell of a first film.

Besides the 'what could have been' aspect of Loden's larger career, the single biggest thing that caught my attention was its central character. This is by design – the movie's entire arc hinges on its study of the titular Wanda Goronski (played by Loden) as she makes her way through numerous scenarios.

Loosely based on a mix of other stories of women and aspects of her own life, Loden presents Wanda as a character who, by her nature, has lived her life by the lead of whatever man she happens to be with. This causes her to come across at points as disaffected and detached – such as in the beginning of the movie when she yields custody of her children to her ex husband with no contest – and ultimately adrift as she crosses paths with several men who use and discard her to their own ends.

The bulk of the movie is born out of one of these particular encounters, when a chance run-in puts her in the company of a fugitive named Norman (Michael Higgins), who is at first evasive, then ultimately enlists Wanda as a partner in his life of crime.

Within the larger scope of Wanda's character, her dynamic with Norman is interesting both in its similarities and its differences. There are numerous aspects where we see Norman treating Wanda with the similar sort of callousness of other men in the movie, ordering her on errands and in one sequence telling her in extensive detail what to and what not to wear.

At the same time, there is also a sense of trust Norman shows Wanda that is lacking in other interaction she has with men in the film. This isn't to say it makes their relationship an especially healthy one, as he is still clearly controlling in many ways. Still, it is striking how the fact he puts trust in her to accomplish things causes her to become more engaged and alert than we see her at any other time in the movie.

It's arguably the healthiest relationship she has in this movie.
And damn, that is bleak to think about.

It's also part of what makes the ending of this movie, for me at least, genuinely haunting (for lack of a better word.) Without giving too much away, things with Norman go awry and Wanda is left on her own again. After another bad encounter, the movie ends with Wanda sitting in a bar, looking detached as she appears to wait for the next person to come along and give her direction.

It's an arc that's both depressing and compelling in many ways. Even more when one hears Loden talk about the inspirations for her character. Incidentally, the Criterion release does include some archival interviews she gave promoting the movie that are worth watching, both for her inspirations and just the steps taken to get the film made on the budget she had.

When this first came out, the reaction to Wanda herself was decidedly mixed. I can see why – to some, her passive nature could be seen as less than engaging. Personally, I think it's part of what caught me – like a lot of films lately, this is one where I could see the more conventional story that could be told here, and the fact it instead went with following this character who just keeps trying to find someone to give her a purpose made for a different and compelling narrative.

I told myself going in that I wouldn't just make this dwelling on what Loden could have done as a filmmaker had she not died, but it's hard not to wonder. Even more with those above mentioned interviews – there is really a sense she could have gone on to make more great work.

Alas, we only got the one feature, albeit one that is still very good in its own right.

And so, we bring the month to a close.

Speaking of directorial careers, we're going a slightly different theme for next month. In honor of the man's birthday, as well as my partner, who is a fan of his work, we're venturing into the weird and wacky world of John Waters next month.

Till then.

One Sings, The Other Doesn't (1977)

Welcome back for another round of the Criterion Backlog Challenge.

By now, you have a good idea of the breakdown. New month, new theme. As it’s Women's History Month, the films are all movies directed by women.

I'm kicking this one off with a director whose work I have been meaning to get around to prior to this, and feel honestly a bit surprised it took me this long to get to.

That said, as a first taste of the films of acclaimed director Agnes Varda, One Sings, the Other Doesn't made for a very welcome introduction to her prolific career.

As aspects that stand out go, I think if I had to pick one, it's the overall structure and scale of the movie. The movie manages the unique balancing act of feeling both expansive and ambitious but also intimate and character-focused in how far it's willing to reach just in tracing the lives of its two protagonists.

It's also interesting in that the film doesn't start with their first encounter. We are first introduced to Pauline (Valérie Mairesse) through her meeting with Suzanne's lover. We learn from that she had previously met Suzanne (Thérèse Liotard) in passing, but it isn't until the events that start the movie, where Pauline makes arrangements to help Suzanne covertly afford an abortion, that their friendship truly forms.

This becomes the first of several points during which the two women's lives intersect. It's one of the interesting aspects of the movie for me because while the two do have several scenes together (and Mairesse and Liotard do play that camaraderie well), much of the movie is them living their lives separately, communicating in brief correspondence and meeting up when and where they can throughout.

This is one of those touches about the movie that really sticks with me the more I think about it. The nature of the friendship is crucial to the film, but it's not a driving piece of the plot as it would be in a more traditional take on this sort of story. The friendship serves as a means for Suzanne and Pauline (later Pomme) to verbalize their thoughts about their own personal journeys.

Additionally, as someone who hadn't really had any prior
knowledge of France's own politicial history with regards
to abortion, the movie provides a notable snapshot therein.

I keep coming back to the number of ways a movie like this could have gone the more conventional route with its storytelling and structure. They wouldn't make it a bad movie, but if anything, it makes the balancing act Varda accomplishes between the scope of time and the intimate nature of her two leads' personal journeys all the more impressive. Again, this is a first time for me with Varda, but if this level of nuance and characterization is consistent with her overall filmography, I am very much looking forward to seeing more of her work.

Two for two now on this project introducing me to directors who have made strong first impressions. This is part of what I was hoping for in this project, and will be keeping an eye out for an opportunity to see more of Varda's films from here.

Till then

Black Girl (1966)

 
Welcome back for another round in the Criterion Collection Backlog Challenge (we're still shopping names around.)

This marks a small, but special road marker for me on this project – this marks the first movie on this list that I had not seen before. With that said, Black Girl made a very strong first impression on me.

First off, just reading up on the backstory of this movie is worth it. I don't mean in the sense you get often now of a larger in-film lore, rather the life of the movie's director, Ousmane Sembène, and the role this film has in the larger history of African cinema. In the case of the former, Sembène had already lived a pretty storied life even before he took up film, making a prominent mark as a writer and activist before deciding on film as the best medium to reach people. This movie, meanwhile came in part as a result of changes following Senegal's independence from France (stick a pin in this, we'll be coming back to it.) The Senegalese, largely blocked from making film by law before that point, were finally given an opportunity to make their mark on film history.

Black Girl is largely considered to be, perhaps not the first in general, but certainly the first movie of this movement to really make an international impression. A well earned distinction, given how hard Sembène had to fight to get it made in the first place (I'd highly recommend reading the essay for the film on the Criterion website for this, rather than have me unload all of that here.)

Like the films that led this project last month, this movie is by no means diminished by the history around it. Quite the opposite, for clocking in at only a little shy of an hour, Black Girl leaves one Hell of an impact, one that's even stronger when you know the larger context it was made in.

This is the first, and certainly won't be the last film
on this project where it's gonna be tricky for me to get
cheeky with the captions.

So in the meantime, the link to the above-mentioned essay:
https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/4402-black-girl-self-possessed

Part of why this film proved such an uphill battle (I promised myself I wouldn't just rehash, but I'm going somewhere with this) is because Sembène did NOT want to make a happy film out of his country's independence. He was certainly glad to not be under French rule, but he also recognized that they were still not completely free of France's influence.

In that regard, the movie is a perfect microcosm of that sentiment – the titular girl, Diouana (Mbissine Thérèse Diop, giving this movie's emotional core a lot of its resonance) agrees to a job with a white family in France. Initially excited by the offer, she soon realizes the situation is far from what was promised, finding herself effectively a prisoner in the apartment she works in, treated in equal parts with disdain, disinterest, and fascination as an oddity. The last is captured in especially uncomfortable nature in a dinner party where Diouana serves the guests, while treated to all manner of commentary about her from them along the way.

As you can likely tell, this falls under
'fascination' in a genuinely unsettling way.

Throughout the film, we're treated to flashbacks of Diouana's life back in Dakar, first from the day she got the job offer and expanding beyond that from there. The contrast, not surprisingly, is stark - the open, welcome life she has at home compared to the close confines (in every sense) of her life in France. The only shared symbol between the two worlds for Diouana is a mask she buys from a local boy to give to her new employer, where that piece of her culture is rendered purely decoration with no meaning behind it.

I know I did this last week, but once again, if anyone wants to avoid spoilers, I'm gonna ask you to skip ahead to the end (to make this easier, do a CTRL-F to 'SPOILER END'), cause this is another film where I want to discuss the ending in terms of impact.

Okay?

Moving on.

There's a lot to recommend in this film, and a lot of things that will stick with you. One of the biggest examples of this is the film's final scenes. Diouana, having come to terms with the fact she was lied to repeatedly by her employers as they tried to control aspects of her life tries to fight back, ultimately in vain. Realizing she is in a no-win situation with them, she concludes the only way out is to commit suicide.

The act isn't played for high drama. In fact, the reveal is fairly stoic, paired with a news clipping that doesn't even mention her by name. The heavy hit, instead, comes in the aftermath of the suicide, when the man who hired her (Robert Fontaine) returns to Dakar to give Diouana's family her possessions and try to offer the money she was promised to her family. They decline, and as he leaves, he finds himself followed by a young boy, wearing the mask and watching him every step of the way to the boat.

The end result is considerably more resonant than a full
hour of "Screw you!"s could have been.
Albeit that would still be pretty damn cathartic.

It's a powerful message in the larger post-colonial context of the movie. Of the two employers, the man is presented as the 'lesser evil' (one would be hard pressed to call him good, but compared to the crueler demeanor of his wife, he is far more passive and indifferent toward Diouana). Despite his not being overtly antagonistic, he nevertheless stands by and watches everything happen, doing nothing to stop it. When he attempts to make it 'right' by offering money, he is justifiably rebuked. Simply watching oppression might be argued as being better than actively oppressing, but it still can't be taken as good, and one can't pretend their hands are clean for the act either.

SPOILER END.

If I had to describe Black Girl in a single word, it's probably 'angry.' Not in the sense of full-throated rage or hyperbole. Rather, the anger in the film is quiet and intense. It doesn't scream its message at you, but Sembène still makes what he's saying incredibly clear in a controlled, effective manner. He doesn't wish for the days of French rule back, but doesn't think they've magically vanished into thin air either.

As a first impression, both as a movie, and as a director, this landed for me. So much so that, earlier this week, a Criterion flash sale led me to put in an order for Sembène's later Mandabi. I'm looking forward to seeing more of the man's work and, even independent of this project, reading up on his life and career in general.

That makes for a strong note to end our second month on. Next time we're shifting gears again for March with Women's History Month. As you can imagine, that will mean exploring some films directed by women, starting off with a name that's been a cinematic blind spot for me for a while. A blind spot I look forward to correcting.

Till then.

Do The Right Thing (1989) – The More Things Change...

Well, the first theme month has officially come and gone.

To that end, as we established last time, we're now moving into a look at black filmmakers in the Criterion Collection for Black History Month.

Before we get into this first entry, a small disclaimer – this was gonna be a lean month. I knew that going in one part because of our own selection, and also because, independent of what's on hand, Criterion has had something of a blind spot where POC filmmakers have been concerned. This has been brought up before, and last year they did respond saying more of an effort will be made to focus on this in the future, so we'll see what comes of it.

Just wanted to get that disclaimer out there up front was all, because this was enough of a discussion to get them to sound off was all.

So, with that said, let's start this theme with Spike Lee's classic Do the Right Thing.

In terms of what struck me about this, two things come to mind, both of which can be summed up as being about how well this movie has aged. This is, as some of you may be guessing, both a good thing and a bad thing.

First, the good – this was and still is, an incredibly well made film on several levels. Lee does a great job of setting up all of his players and their disparate plot lines throughout the day and slowly drawing them all together for the film's explosive finale. Further, Lee's script, as well as his cast, present a cross section of people with an impressive level of nuance. No one is presented as a complete saint or a two-dimensional villain, and as the heat rises on the day, no one manages to stay completely above the rising tension.

That nuance being a key part of what makes the tension in the movie work. Race is certainly not a new topic in film and not unique to this one movie, but this is a movie that gets a good handle on how to present it, with everyone presented as having both their humanizing moments as well as their biases and bigotries, presented in a fashion that doesn't feel forced.

Samuel L Jackson's Mr. Senor Love Daddy is probably the
closest to being above the growing tension and chaos,
and even that is largely a result of his job keeping him
separated from everything unfolding on the streets -
a voice trying to keep the peace to increasingly diminished effect.

I realize I'm painting in broad strokes. Admittedly, that's because every time I start to focus on a particular player or storyline, I feel like it will have to lead into going into at least four or five others as well. The movie's cohesive nature is both a blessing and a curse in that regard here, and has me honestly wanting to come back to this independent of this project and try to give it a more in depth going over.

...suffice it to say, I am wholeheartedly recommending this.

So what is the bad side of this?

As I said, this movie has aged incredibly well. Unfortunately, this isn't just a reflection on how the craft of the movie still holds up well over thirty years later. The other side of this is, thematically, much of this movie feels uncomfortably all too familiar.

Okay, I WILL concede the relaxed attitude of the police
early on feels a bit dated now. That said, not exactly scoring
a point for things in the 2020s by acknowledging that.

I'm gonna say now, if you haven't seen this, this is probably the best time to step out (or go to the bottom of the page for the next installment teaser image) cause to really go into this, I will need to drop a spoiler.

Okay? All clear?

Good. Moving on.

On this rewatch, there was already that sense of familiarity in how some of the racial tensions were still there. That wasn't too shocking on its own. The part that really hit home with this regard was in the movie's finale, most notably the death of Bill Nunn's character, Radio Raheem, put into a lethal choke hold by the police.

Raheem's death in the film isn't meant to be read as simply a fictional hypothetical by Lee. In fact, even within the confines of the film, parallels to what happens to Raheem are drawn by other characters using real life examples of other black people killed as a result of police brutality.

This was before Rodney King. Before Tamir Rice. Before Eric Garner. Before George Floyd. Before Breonna Taylor. Those are just off the top of my head. Again, if I tried to comprehensively list every incident since this movie's release, we'd be here a while. The fact that that is only scratching the surface says a lot right there.

Further adding to the 'then and now' factor on this -
Watching and remembering discussing this in film school,
wherein the professor pointed out how some audiences at the time
completely missed the point of this ending and questioned the property
damage.
...Yeah, watching this in 2021 is a LOT.

It's a grim feeling, and one that honestly calls to mind the ending of Lee's later film BlackKklansman – as much as it may be comforting in other films to act as though this sort of thing is in the past and over with, it hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten worse with time, to the point where reminding one's self this movie was made in '89 does little to dispel how contemporary much of what one sees in this feels.

...Okay. Those of you who walked out for spoilers, it's okay to come back in. Once again, standing by the recommendation on this one.

Hopefully if you've not seen this one, that will change soon.

In the meantime, back next week with the next entry for this month's theme.

Till then.

Cronos (1993) - No. Really. Who the Hell wants to live forever?

Welcome back for another round with the Criterion backlog!

This marks our second, and for this month, final entry for January's theme of famous firsts. Following our kick-off with the Coen Bros' Blood Simple, this time we're looking at the feature debut of Guillermo del Toro – Cronos.

Like our previous entry, besides being the director's debut, this also marks the beginning of several creative relationships that will continue through del Toro's later career. First off, lead Federico Luppi will return to work with del Toro again on The Devil's Backbone and Pan's Labyrinth (both of which we'll touch on later.) Next, his director of photography, Guillermo Navarro, will work with del Toro on many of his subsequent features – and given the strong visual style of much of his work, it's a creative relationship worth highlighting. Finally, it marks the beginning of a number of collaborations (as well as a general good friendship) with actor Ron Perlman.

In terms of impressions from this watch in particular, I'll start by saying, it had been a long time since I previously watched this. Several years of long time. The result, overall, has proven a welcome revisit for a movie I was long overdue to rewatch. Taken alongside his larger body of work, I was pleased to see how much of what defines Del Toro's later filmography is on display here – the fascinating world-building he sets up around the titular Cronos device, his take on vampirism that presents it an even-handed and fairly human light, and a strong visual style, again aided by his long-term collaboration with Navarro as DP. There are several directors whose work I admire where I will admit, their first features are rough as they try to find their footing. In that regard, like the Coens before, Del Toro is one of those who found his voice early on and does a great job of making it heard here and keeping it up in his later movies.

Yeah, you won't die, so you don't have to worry
about unsanitary floors.
But again - at what cost?

Of those aspects mentioned above, the one that made the strongest impression for me this time out was the thematic handling of vampirism. The idea of a nuanced, humanizing look at the undead wasn't a particularly new one on its own at the time that this came out, so I can't say it's blazing trails there, but all the same, Del Toro's particular sentiments on the matter shine, thanks in part to how the mythology around the Cronos device lets him sidestep several of the more traditional trappings of the genre as it's generally known here. Vampirism as presented in the world of Cronos isn't sexy, or even all that sexual. It isn't about gaining new special powers, or becoming superhuman. In fact, for protagonist Jesus Gris (Luppi, showing a range from grandfatherly warmth and tenderness to energetic revitalization to exhaustion on a physical and mental level all over the space of 90 minutes) the only benefits he really notices are a bit of a fresh spark of vitality and youth, and even that is gradual rather than drastic. As the movie establishes with its opening narration, the primary driver behind the creation of the device and its appeal is purely immortality, and that at a cost.

That idea – the immortality for a price – is the central piece the movie hangs on, presenting its two sides in the afflicted Jesus and his counter in the sickly, aging Dieter (Claudio Brook), who simply desires immortality for immortality's sake, knowing what it will entail and not being deterred by that. The movie makes that more stark as we go on and see the extent of what the immortality does to Jesus, going from simply gaining new energy to (painfully) surviving several brushes with death, his human flesh literally sloughing away, revealing a 'new' Jesus, pale and ever thirsting for human blood.

I couldn't quite work it into the larger writeup in a way
I was satisfied with, but I do need to give some mention here -
I forgot how much the movie also plays into the addiction
subtext through the use of the Cronos device as its means
of conveyance.

That conflict isn't presented in a major way until the second half of the movie, but Del Toro lays the foundations for it very well in the first half. We see Jesus in his life with his wife and granddaughter, a man who has experienced losses, but ultimately still has much to love in his life and people he cares for that enrich his life. Conversely, Dieter lives in a cold, sterile room where his only family is his nephew Angel (Perlman), who he treats more as a strongarm and errand boy than family, with a sense of disdain that is more than mutual. Those relationships underpin the ideological conflict between the two old men perfectly – Jesus has those he loves in his life and the idea of becoming a vampire terrifies him for driving them away from him and his being tempted to feed on them, Dieter has no particular attachment to his nephew (or anyone) and so the idea of that rift from other humans doesn't phase him when weighed against the idea of never having to fear death.

Again, these sorts of retakes are part of why I'm looking forward to this project. Many of the films here I've not seen in some time, and I'm looking forward to looking at them with this relatively fresh perspective and having the chance to really dig into those ideas more.

There's not much more I can add in closing here except to say the fact that this isn't brought up quite as readily in terms of vampire cinema still surprises me. It's not that it's disliked (Hell, the fact it's been released by Criterion in two different editions speaks to that), it's more strange to me that it seems so readily overlooked in the general discussion of the greats of the genre is all.

Suffice it to say, if you haven't watched it, I would wholeheartedly encourage seeking it out. It's a Hell of a start to what has been a great career for Del Toro since.

That brings January to a close. Come back next month where, in recognition of Black History Month, we'll be focusing on some entries in the Criterion Collection by black filmmakers.

Till then.

Blood Simple (1984) - Breaking Up Is Hard Enough To Do Without the Psychopathic Hitman

Welcome back. Again, I'm surprised to be back here this early, but it's a good surprised.

As discussed last time, this marks the official kick-off on the Criterion backlog project (I'll need to come up with a snappier name for this in the future.)

Also, as promised, we're kicking things off with Famous Firsts, and fittingly, this pick is actually a movie of several famous firsts.

Blood Simple is, first and foremost, remembered as the directorial debut for Joel and Ethan Coen (though Joel is the only one of the two credited). Besides that, the film is also the acting debut of Frances McDormand – marking several collaborations and an eventual marriage to Joel - and the first feature film cinematography for Barry Sonnenfeld (if we're being technical, he worked on a documentary called In Our Water before this.)

With all that praise built up in its wake, one would almost worry the movie itself can't live up to what followed (and let's be clear, there has been some genuinely great work to come from these people since.) Fortunately, even watched with that legacy in mind, Blood Simple still holds up quite well, both as a first feature as well as just a general part of the larger Coen filmography.

As has become a pattern for me (and will continue with these) I'll start with an aspect of this hadn't really caught on to before (at least where rewatches are concerned.) In this case, the surprisingly lean nature of the film is something I'd never really properly take in before. A handful of principle players, a few key locales – three in particular – and a fairly grim, darkly comic tale of an affair and the Hell unleashed when the husband finds out. Granted, this is a neo-noir, so there are twists in store, but even those twists feel like logical extensions of the way the best laid plans of the movie's players all slowly go awry, rather than feeling like an arbitrary twist to keep the movie rolling.

There's still something darkly funny to me about the fact
that future couple Frances McDormand and Joel Coen first worked
together on a movie that starts from an affair then ends in a body count.

With that, I do have to give a shout-out to the players as they run through the movie's blood-soaked comedy of errors (I'll stand by this description, dammit.) Again, this was feature debut for Frances McDormand, and even before considering her later career (hello, future Oscar winner) she hits the ground running, carrying a role that could have been largely forgettable in less capable hands. As the two men making up the other sides of this movie's deadly love triangle, John Getz and Dan Hedaya likewise both shine, with Hedaya in particular straddling the line with a short fuse that can go from comic to dangerous as the scene calls for it.

As the supporting cast goes, I made it a point watching to give a shout-out to Samm-Art Williams. Besides having a great introductory scene (semi-related, this movie has left “It's the Same Old Song” stuck in my head for the past week), he takes on the relatively thankless role of being the movie's voice of reason and makes him a genuinely sympathetic, at times exasperated figure watching this drama play out from the sidelines.

Finally, yes, he needs his own paragraph, we have M. Emmet Walsh, the first in a long line of characters I have take to referring to as the Coen Brothers Nightmare Squad (without giving a full roster, I will say off the bat John Goodman in Barton Fink is part of the starting line.) Like McDormand, Walsh has a role that can fly or fall easily based on how it's played. In this case, Walsh plays the villainous Lorren with a sort of sick glee. He's definitely not going to turn down being paid for his services, but there is also a sense he is genuinely enjoying what he does even without the financial incentive. He goes from spy to assassin for Hedaya without even skipping a beat – it's a sick game to him and he is having the most fun out of anyone playing it.

One will protect you
One will stop at nothing to end your life
By the time you figure out which is which, it's already too late.

Part of why I had to give Visser his own paragraph, besides the fact that it's a Hell of a performance, is that the character is a big part of why Blood Simple stands out for me. The three leads are all well written and likable – even if I'll always first and foremost associate Getz with his later role in The Fly – but it's the dash of chaos and horror that is added by Visser that really ratchets the movie up, both from the obvious fact he is the devil on Hedaya's shoulder, as well as from the 'all bets are off' feeling that sinks in as he clearly starts running his own plans counter to those around him. That feeling marks the first of many times in the Coens' career where their filmography has flirted with horror without going full tilt into it.

With that said, I have to give a shout-out to another first here – this marks the first of a long list of collaborations composer Carter Burwell has had with the brothers, and while it's not his first movie period, his score is a great fit for the movie's slow shift into increasingly more chilling territory. While not as much of a earworm as the film's use of The Four Tops, I'd be lying if I said the piano score in this has not also stuck with me.

Honestly, the more I let this sink in, the more this really felt like the perfect pick to start this project off. It's a genuinely well made film that launched several careers, and even just within its own confines, goes well with evolving from a noir about infidelity before taking a violent turn care of a human devil in a cowboy hat.

That's as far as I can safely put it without spoiling anything, but I feel satisfied with it.

With a few days left in January, we've got another notable directorial debut on the docket for this weekend.

See you then!

2021 – New Year, New Project

I know, I'm surprised to be awake right now too.

Jokes aside, like many people, I had some time to do a lot of thinking last year while we were all stuck in various levels of quarantine. One of the things I came away from that realizing was, for all the ups and downs, I do miss working on this site on something of a semi-regular basis. The Halloween projects have been fun, but in the lead-up/follow through, I come away wondering why I don't do more.

Then, sometime late last year, an idea hit, inspired by two other events of 2020 (no, not those events.)

The first was of these was being invited by a friend to participate in a backlog challenge. This challenge, initially with regards to anime and manga, was a personal challenge to work through things in our backlogs that we hadn't gotten around to finishing previously and had on the back burner.

Still taking part in that as well, but I won't be documenting that one here, save for maybe if I find a particular title I really feel needs the extra shout out.

The other, and this was a biggie, was officially moving in with my significant other. In this case, it led to the inevitable meshing of our collected media.

In doing so, I came to the realization we have amassed as a sizable number of Criterion Collection movies between us. Not necessarily a superfan-sized collection, but enough that at a title a week, this would still take a couple of years go to through.

Subsequently, I mulled over the best way to go about this. I briefly considered doing brackets, either with voting or random draw, but after a point, it just felt like overthinking.

Then it hit me – just keep doing what I had done every October, but on a year-round basis.

So, with each month, I'll be picking a few titles (two minimum) for a theme run to work my way through the collection with.

And just to say up front (and slightly tip my hand) yes, this year this will also effect October's line-up, but this should be a fun one, so there's that.

I will also be doing what I can to work other projects in besides these, but this felt like a good way to work back into something with more regularity.

With that said, I'll be starting this off with two titles this week for January. The theme, in keeping with the kickoff, is Famous Firsts – noted directorial debuts.

Keep your eyes out for that first entry by Tuesday at latest.

Till then!

...ah, what the Hell?
I'll drop a hint for the first up.
Who knows, this might become a feature of these now.