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The Iron Claw 2023
Zac Efron embodies sweet, soft himbo-ism very beautifully here. Just a calcified hunk of muscle to protect a tender, born-broken heart. Pretty astonishing to see someone bulk up for something this devastating, as opposed to the hard-bodied, god-porn monolith that is Marvel/DC/name-your-six-packed-franchise.
This is not exhibitionist. This is not Brendan Fraser housing meatball subs, playing a blubbering English professor in a fat suit. It’s the body as an instrument. It’s eating ribs, stealing bacon to support the actual, hulking apparatus on screen. Physically kinetic, emotionally inert. Just how daddy made it. It’s a piece of kayfabe.
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Boogie Nights 1997
70mm @ Walter Reade. 8/22/23
A stunning print. Big and loud and relentless. Anderson is Adams/Diggler, flexing in the mirror, directing with the bravura of a swaggering alter-ego.
The dark and quiet moments stand out, here, just as much as the iconic set pieces. The colors are so deep and felt and solemn. The score croons and sparkles like a delirious carnival. The segues of lights burning, turning, shattering, exploding are downright experimental.
And then there’s the eyes. Friedkin once…
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