I’ve always loved this still from Sarah Polley’s STORIES WE TELL because there’s a cat asleep beside the television on what looks like a phonebook; its squinty eyes matching Polley’s. 

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A Novel of the “Post-Wounded Woman”

"Lacey has written a postmodern existential novel, featuring what Leslie Jamison, in her recent essay collection, “The Empathy Exams,” terms a “post-wounded woman”—one with a brain on overdrive and emotions that are slow to form, if not quite stalled. These are women, Jamison explains, who “are wary of melodrama so they stay numb or clever instead. Post-wounded women make jokes about being wounded or get impatient with women who hurt too much.” In this sense, the novel is very contemporary, I suppose, but it is also classical in its delineation of the youthful impulse to define oneself…"

Daphne Merkin on Catherine Lacey’s Nobody is Ever Missing 

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"I do think that your subconscious is mining territory that you’re not ready to mine yet." 

-Sarah Polley’s Fresh Air interview for Stories We Tell is an ideal weekend morning listen

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"Pop stars traffic in symbology, so when white girls like Miley, Katy, and Lily Allen hide behind the claim that they just didn’t know any better, it seems insufficient. Maybe they didn’t, but somebody around them at some point should have. Which is why it felt tone-deaf when Taylor Swift put out a music video for her new single that featured a couple of scenes in which she used black dancers as props to offset her own clueless whiteness."


"Into this humid cultural climate strolls Nicki Minaj, whose new video for “Anaconda” isn’t technically a response video to “Shake It Off,” but might as well be. The “Anaconda” video is an extremely self-aware deconstruction of twerking as a trend. Nicki inverts the Miley paradigm, putting her own body front-and-center and surrounding herself with dancers of all races. “Anaconda” turns Nicki’s butt into a literal force of nature, causing earthquakes in a jungle setting. After parodying the idea of exoticism by opening on a jungle scene, she shifts into a workout setup with comically small weights. All of these setups make the same point: Nicki’s body is the modern ideal. And because Nicki is spitting rapid-fire jokes the whole time she is onscreen, it’s impossible to feel like she’s been reduced to a mere body."

Molly’s Nicki piece x Ayesha’s Nicki tweets

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The Miracle Of Love Streams

Both husband and wife were bound by a beautiful agitation and an outlier quality that compelled their work but on the surface could be perceived as cagey or “mysterious… even, perhaps especially,” Ventura notes, “to each other.” It’s no secret they had a “volatile” relationship. That’s how Rowlands described their marriage to People magazine in 1984, adding: “If you think a marriage isn’t going to be like that, you’ve got trouble.”


The couple’s simpatico, when they had it, was founded on one main principle: neither Cassavetes nor Rowlands believed that someone should be written off because he or she is seen as “crazy.” As she puts it in both Ventura’s book and the documentary, “I don’t think anyone is crazy who isn’t cruel. To me, cruelty is crazy.” That conviction was what kept John and Gena both together and in Hollywood’s margins. “John has a great affinity for characters that are perceived by the world as cuckoo, or whacko, or at least eccentric,” she says. “But we don’t see it that way… It’s just that [some people] have a different dream——a different thing that they wanted out of life. And they’re confused as to why it doesn’t happen, and how they found themselves in this position where they’re marching out of step to everyone else.”

On Love Streams for Adult Mag HERE

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"In Sarah’s marriage we see only the divorce, beginning at the end with lawyers, papers, and her husband and daughter’s retreat. Her retreat in kind brings to mind Barbara Loden’s Wanda, if for no other reason than that both films are about women whose wants are on nobody’s radar, especially not their own. In each her way, Sarah and Wanda are accumulations of withdrawal, calm-seekers beset by a ceaseless whirring. We hear it in the sedate musicality of Sarah’s speech, or how she’ll wind up her words like a pitcher on the mound, saying “uhhhhh-lot!” instead of “a lot.” We see it in how perpetually Sarah finds herself on the floor (she falls, collapses, lays down languidly) or how crucially she clutches the receiver on a rotary phone. Has anyone ever held a phone the way Gena Rowlands holds a phone? Her hands: an elegant vise. Rowlands inhabits spaces so intensely that she alters their original context, transforming the kitchen, for instance, into a home’s doomed core.


As Sarah, she has more thinking faces than she has speaking faces: an arsenal of grimaces, a glassy vacant stare, a wariness that resides on her temple right where she places the palm of her hand when she’s considering her next move. Sometimes, she’ll furrow her brow and pucker her lips like an amateur gumshoe solving a mystery. When Sarah narrows her eyes, she means it.”

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