I can tell you the exact date and place: October 16, 1986, at the Fine Arts Theater in downtown Chicago. I got to come of age as a moviegoer in the corporate dominated, era of the late 70’s and early 80’s. I was a child of "Jaws", "Star Wars", Indy and "Back to the Future". With occasional exceptions like "Stranger than Paradise" and "Blade Runner", American film in the early and mid 80’s felt corporate and soulless. And then I saw "Blue Velvet", and my moviegoing life was saved. Skip now to nearly four years later, to those glorious two months in the spring of 1990 when "Twin Peaks" changed everything that television was and could be. For these moments, and so many more, we use Episode 60 to pay a last tribute to Hollywood’s favorite Eagle Scout, the irreplaceable David Lynch.

What separates Lynch from almost every other filmmaker, was that whereas most great directors were filmmakers who evolved into artists, Lynch was an artist (a celebrated painter, composer) who happened to choose filmmaking as his major means of expression. And when the filmmaking money dried up after "Inland Empire"’s failure, he simply turned to other art forms to express what he wanted to say. Lynch was most certainly a surrealist, every bit as much as Dali, Magritte or De Chirico were, but he was, as one critic termed him, a “populist surrealist”. In his films, the line between dream and reality (or between reality and film in his later works) is blurred. This makes sense, since surrealism is founded on dreams and dreamlike juxtapositions. Lynch, like those great painters he so admired and emulated, was an artist of the unconscious and the uncanny. But for all the serious artistic ambition, everything he created was leavened with that art-school sense of humor, off-center and dry as a bone.

For all of his unsettling imagery and the deep questions his work raised about the nature of identity, he seemed, at least from the outside, to have led the happiest of lives. Raised mainly in Missoula, Montana, Lynch often paid tribute to the simple quotidian beauties of life in small-town America (think Twin Peaks, Lumberton, the Iowa and Wisconsin towns we see in "The Straight Story") while also, as in the opening of "Blue Velvet", reminding us of the darkness that often lies just beneath those finely-manicured lawns. For all of his artistic sophistication, he never even came close to an artsy sense of condescending irony; it’s perfect that he spent the last years of his life sending in daily weather reports to the LA public radio station for broadcast. No winks, no air quotes—just the desire to share a genuine excitement about the miracles of nature.

And for an artist who was such a unique stylist that he was one of the last to become an adjective (we all know “Lynchian” filmmaking when we see it), he was at the same time constantly paying tribute to film history; consider the endless "Wizard of Oz" references in "Wild at Heart", or casting just about all of the hot new movie stars of 1961 in the original "Twin Peaks" series. How perfectly fitting it was, then, to watch him, in his final and uncredited big screen appearance, playing a cranky John Ford in Spielberg’s "The Fablemans".

For our tribute to Lynch (which is more than they did for him at this year’s Oscars), we eschewed our usual formula and chose not to do a chronological reckoning of Lynch’s work and its impact from "Eraserhead" to "Inland Empire". This episode, like the director’s work itself, is more associative and non-linear. In the end, we conclude that David Lynch, that Man from Another Place, is someone whose absence makes the world that much poorer a spot to live in. To quote the repeated incantation from "Blue Velvet", now it’s dark.

Now that Adrien Brody has finally wrapped up his acceptance speech, we can bring you Episode 59 of Vintage Sand. And since it’s March, and the Oscars just passed, we’re right on time with our annual year-end review, which we call 2024: The Year of the Brutal.

As seems to be the case over the last few years, we came away from the year in film with mixed feelings. The interesting thing is that we did not seem to agree on any of the major films of the year. Mike and I liked "Anora" a lot, and John did not. We also both liked "Emilia Pérez", which John actively disliked. John and I liked Garland’s "Civil War", which Mike didn’t like at all. John liked "The Brutalist", and Mike and I were underwhelmed. I was alone in loving both "Nosferatu" and "The Substance". Mike and John liked "Conclave" and "A Complete Unknown", both of which I found kind of conventional despite outstanding performances. And so on. It makes it difficult to come to a consensus on the year, but it makes, as you will hear, for an excellent episode; after all, what could be more boring than when the three of us agree?

As for the Oscars themselves, we were pleasantly surprised at how good Conan was, and pleasantly not surprised how good the opening number from "Wicked" was. We were relieved at the absence of Malala vs. Cocaine Bear audience schtick (minus Adam Sandler), surprised at the politics-free nature of the evening, appalled at the James Bond “tribute”, amazed at how young Mick Jagger looks, and, as ever, disappointed in the In Memoriam section. And while we appreciated the Gene Hackman and Quincy Jones tributes, we were shocked that nothing special was done for David Lynch (something we plan to remedy in our next episode). Good on Sean Baker for winning four statuettes for "Anora", yet continuing puzzlement as to why Denis Villeneuve, among the greatest world-builders currently directing, can’t seem to get nominated for films that all seem to get nominated for Best Picture.

In considering our eternal question of which of these films will be watched by anyone in 25 years, let alone show up the Sight and Sound poll in 2032, I can only imagine that "Anora" and "Nosferatu", in the contexts of their respective directors’ careers, might make the cut. It seems slightly possible that the Dylan film, "Conclave" and "The Brutalist" might have some legs as well, but it’s less likely. For me, 2024 will always stand out as the year featuring women in films that were social commentaries in the context of the horror genre ("The Substance", "Maxxxine", and "Blink Twice" being among the best examples). It suggests that a kind of brutality, often directed at women though not exclusively, has crept into American film, as it seems to have done in American life itself. So we urge you, intrepid listeners, to support the arts and humanities, go to movies in theaters, and keep fighting the good fight.

Please see the description in Episode 57, our previous episode, as a guide for this, the latest in our Alternate Oscars series. This one focused on the films of the 1940's. Only decade left to cover is the 2010's so don't touch that dial!

Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. America and all ships at sea, and welcome to Episode 57 of Vintage Sand, our first of 2025. In this episode and the next one we return, for the penultimate time, to the source of some of our most popular episodes: Danny Peary’s hard-to-find 1993 classic "Alternative Oscars". In the past, we have used Peary’s model to approach every full decade in which the Academy has handed out Oscars except two: the 2010’s, and the topic for this two-part episode, Alternate Oscars: The 1940’s Edition.

It's interesting that the 40’s are considered to be the peak of Hollywood’s Golden Age, yet many films that were beloved and honored back then have not well withstood the passage of time. The early part of the decade’s most important development was the rise of the writer/director in Hollywood. Preston Sturges was the first, with his incredible run of films from 1940-1945, and he was followed quickly by the Billy Wilder/Charles Brackett team and, of course, that clever young fellow from the Mercury Theater. The 40’s also marked the arrival of Hitchcock to these shores, and the rise to prominence of new directorial voices like Huston, Preminger, Zinnemann and Nicholas Ray. There were also many high points in the decade for well-established directors like Ford, Capra, Hawks, Lubitsch and Wyler. We have the incredible run of films between 1942 and 1946 made by Val Lewton’s brilliant B-movie unit at RKO, and, of course, the birth of film noir, overseen predominantly by expats like Wilder, Lang, Preminger, Ulmer, Lewis and Siodmak.

The latter half of the decade, which we will cover in Episode 58 in February, saw two major developments. The end of the war saw the return to strength of many European film industries as well as studio filmmaking in Japan. In France, in the wake of 1945’s miraculous "Les Enfants du Paradis", directors as different as Cocteau, Clouzot and Bresson began or restarted their careers. This explosion of creativity was matched in the UK, with the arrival of Lean, Reed, and especially with the flowering of the Powell-Pressburger Archers team. Clearly, though, the most important such event was the rise of what today is called Italian Neo-Realism, as directors like Rossellini, De Sica, and to a lesser extent Visconti, created a brand new way to tell stories on film that is still influencing directors today. The second big change of the late 40’s was really two changes in one: the landmark Paramount court case in 1948 that ended the vertical monopoly the studios had long held as owners of theater chains as well, and the mass arrival of television. Between 1948 and 1952, Hollywood lost nearly half of its audience, bringing down the curtain on that so-called “Golden Age” of Hollywood.

In terms of the Oscars, the Academy made solid choices for Best Picture--they certainly picked better films than they did in the 1930’s! These included enduring works like "The Best Years of Our Lives", "All the King’s Men" and especially, "Casablanca". Who could argue with that? (Hint: us.) But there were plenty of head scratchers as well. Prestige choices like "How Green Was My Valley", "Mrs. Miniver" and Olivier’s "Hamlet" look a little creaky these days. Hell, we might argue that "Rebecca" was not even Hitchcock’s best film of 1940! And the less said about "Going My Way" and "Gentlemen’s Agreement", the better. So kick back, round up the usual suspects, and help us make this podcast more important than the gas in that light…

No deep insight or analysis here, Vintage Sand fans. Just a list of our favorite Christmas and Christmas-adjacent films as the season approaches. (Not counting blazingly obvious choices like “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Christmas Story”). May your days be merry and bright, may your heart grow three sizes that day, as they say in Whoville, and, may your favorite holiday films always be streaming.

Vintage Sand listeners this month will get something of a twofer, a BOGO episode. Since we really have not had the chance to do a full necrology since July, Michael takes the time to relate the accomplishments of some very bright lights in the film business that have gone out over the past four months. These include artists who leave behind a great legacy and holes that can never really be filled, including people like Dame Maggie Smith, James Earl Jones and Alain Delon.

Before we get to that point, though, we begin with a very different kind of eulogy: our reflections on Francis Ford Coppola’s summa, the egregious "Megalopolis". We felt, as we did for Scorsese in our episodes on both "The Irishman" and "Killers of the Flower Moon", that a sprawling work by one of our greatest filmmakers, in this case a film that had a gestation period of nearly fifty years, deserved to be examined both in its own right as a work of art and in context as part of its creator’s career. In hindsight, it’s risible to think that at the end of the 70’s, film fans were heatedly debating who among the heroes of the American New Wave would end up with the greater career: Scorsese or Coppola? (Let’s not even talk about some of the others around the periphery of that conversation at the time, like De Palma, Bogdanovich, Friedkin, Rafelson, Cimino, Lucas and yes, perhaps even Spielberg—although, surprisingly, Paul Schrader has been coming up with a few late-period masterpieces). Megalopolis ends that debate, and stands, as I referred to "Eyes Wide Shut" relative to Kubrick’s career in our episode devoted to that film, as a cardboard tombstone to the career of a gifted filmmaker. While the members of Team Vintage Sand, whose bottomless intrepidity was confirmed by each of us successfully wading through (a la Andy Dufresne) the 2 ½ hours of dreck that is "Megalopolis", did find the occasional positive to light on, for the most part it was an example of a work of incredible consistency, in that just about every choice Coppola makes as writer and director was the wrong one.

Perhaps the comparison with Scorsese is unfair, and certainly nothing could ever erase the impact of Coppola’s four films of the 1970’s, or even the smaller delights of his later work (Mike’s a fan of "The Cotton Club", and I’ve always thought that "Tucker" was a much better film than its reputation dictates). But for us, the truth is that between the gratuitous literary and high culture references, the sophomoric philosophizing that would make any actual 10th grader cringe, the derivative film tributes sprinkled throughout (including, unbelievably, a moment where the film appears to physically burn up in the projector—a brilliant idea had Bergman not done it 60 years ago in "Persona"), and a script that even good actors like Adam Driver and Giancarlo Esposito can’t save, "Megalopolis" was, quite unintentionally, the funniest film of the year—and given how much we love and admire its creator, the most painful. Once can only hope that this is not Coppola’s final statement, and that in future efforts he will trust his audience, not try so hard to impress us with his erudition, and remember what made him so great in the first place

Elegant. That was the adjective used by Team Vintage Sand’s own Michael Edmund to describe why the films of Joseph Losey are so important to him, and why he has been such a huge fan of Losey’s for nearly all of his film-going life. Losey’s was a name that seemed to keep popping up in a wide variety of contexts over the course of the podcast, so, after many delays, we are proud to present Episode 54—Director’s Cut: Joseph Losey. Losey’s is a unique career in the sense that it really was two distinct careers. After growing up in a life of privilege in Wisconsin (where he was a high school classmate of another pretty good director, Nicholas Ray) and an education at Harvard and Dartmouth, Losey made his way to Hollywood and directed a couple of interesting, low-budget films. Among these were the stilted but prescient "The Boy with Green Hair" (1948), and the rather senseless remake of Lang’s "M" (1951), the latter replete with awful soundtrack music and LA sunshine. One possible reason that Losey might have gotten involved with this misguided effort might have been to give actors (Luther Adler, Martin Gabel) and other creatives (screenwriter Waldo Salt), who had been or were about to be blacklisted, a shot at getting some work.

Losey himself, an unapologetic member of the Communist Party and an important creative associate of Bertolt Brecht, knew that when Brecht was called before HUAC, it was only a matter of time before he would meet the same fate. So before he could be summoned, he fled to London, and never again worked in the United States for the remaining three decades of his life. He began his English period with some low budget films, some of which, like 1954’s "The Sleeping Tiger", still hold some interest. It was during this period, however, that he met two men who were going to help him create the reputation that he still carries to this day, that of a director of great style whose films, not surprisingly given his own life experience, were always political without ever dealing directly with politics: the actor Dirk Bogarde, and the legendary playwright Harold Pinter.

Their first work together, 1963’s "The Servant", is generally regarded as Losey’s masterpiece. It is an absolute evisceration of a rotting class system that has yet to realize its time has passed and that the empire on which it was founded has disintegrated. The complex, ever-changing relationship between upper class twit Tony (the wonderful James Fox) and Barrett, the manservant Tony hires (Bogarde), is cold, chilling and surprising right to the very end. Losey continued his obsession with social class in the World War I drama "King and Country" (1964), a film with a setup similar to "Paths of Glory" that in some ways is an even more powerful anti-war statement than Kubrick’s film. Losey teamed up again, somewhat less successfully, with Pinter and Bogarde for 1967’s "Accident", and with Pinter for one more masterpiece, 1971’s "The Go-Between", a gorgeous period piece featuring pitch-perfect performances by Alan Bates, Margaret Leighton, newcomer Dominic Guard as the titular young man, and especially by the never-more-luminous Julie Christie.

There are no easy answers when it comes to Losey, but two things come to mind. As John notes in the episode, had Losey not fled persecution and stayed in America, he probably would have been nothing more than a more-talented-than-average studio hack. Exile turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to him, and it may be a direct result of his outsider status that Losey was able to cast an even sharper eye on the follies and perils of the dying English class system more effectively even than the great native British directors of the 1960’s. Whatever your thoughts on his work, in the end, it is that aforementioned elegance and intelligence that make Losey’s best films worth watching today.

For the fourth time in the history of the podcast, Team Vintage Sand returns to one of its most popular formats, the Hidden Gems episode. As we did previously in episodes 11, 30, and 40, Michael, John and I each choose one film to discuss that we feel has been unjustly neglected and overlooked by the huddled masses yearning to see anything besides a prequel, sequel, spinoff or reboot. So please enjoy Episode 53, which features three films that could not be more different from one another. Michael takes us back to the 70’s and to a John Cassavetes film that was ignored and even despised upon its (very limited) initial release but has only gained in reputation and influence across the years. I focus on a very imperfect genre film, Neill Blomkamp’s second feature, 2013’s "Elysium" that, perhaps even more powerfully and viscerally than acknowledged masterworks like "The Social Network" and "Her", predicted a desperate future that we appear to be headed for much sooner than the filmmaker anticipated. Finally, John shines the spotlight on Alice Wu, a unique filmmaker and storyteller. Her second film, The Half of It, a lovely variation on the "Cyrano de Bergerac" formula, had the misfortune of being premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival…that never took place, because it was 2020. It ended up in the undifferentiated mass of content that is Netflix, from which John will hopefully save it. Enjoy, stay cool in the heat, see great movies, and Thank You for Listening, Citizen!

The end of 1974 saw the implosion of the Director’s Company, founded just a year earlier by three of Hollywood’s hottest directors: Francis Coppola, Peter Bogdanovich, and William Friedkin. Funded by Paramount, the idea was that within a certain budget, these directors would make whatever they wanted, have final cut on their work, and split the profits on each other’s films. Its rapid collapse, amid artistic failure and hubris and egged on by corporate intrigue, signaled the beginning of the end of what later came to be known as the Hollywood New Wave. A year later, the phenomenon that was "Jaws" recentered the narrative so that blockbuster weekend box office was everyone’s sole and explicit goal. This in turn led to the return of the money people to power, and they have barely relinquished any of that power in the ensuing half-century.

It's not a coincidence that 1974 also saw "Hearts and Minds", one of the great antiwar films ever made in this country, win the Oscar for Best Feature-Length Documentary. The film was also a milestone in that it was the last film ever released by BBS, the renegade company founded by Bert Schneider, Bob Rafelson and Steve Blauner in 1969. Buoyed by the money they had made from the success of the Monkees, BBS disrupted an already-crumbling industry by releasing "Easy Rider", which grossed $60 million on a budget of $400K. The next few years saw releases from BBS like Rafelson’s "Five Easy Pieces" and "The King of Marvin Gardens", Jack Nicholson’s directorial debut in "Drive, He Said", Jaglom’s "A Safe Place" and Bogdanovich’s mainstream breakthrough, "The Last Picture Show". By the middle of the decade, however, BBS had been swallowed up by Columbia, and the writing was on the wall for the days of the creative freedom that came with this iteration of American independent film.

So while few realized it at the time, 1974 would mark the end of something unique and the beginning of something else. Come, then, and join our intrepid Team Vintage Sand as we step into the Way-Back Machine to say goodbye to Tricky Dick Nixon, spend weekend days waiting on line for gasoline, and explore that sui generis year in film. It was, of course, the year of young Vito Corleone, Jake Gittes and Harry Caul, but also a time when even many low-budget genre films ended up as classics. In the end, you very well might end up agreeing with our own John Meyer, who back in Episode 5 called 1974 the greatest year in film history.

Our Alternate Oscars episodes, based on Danny Peary’s fantastic 1992 book of the same name, have always been among our most popular. Over the course of the podcast, we’ve covered the 1930’s, 1950’s, 1970’s, 1980’s, 1990’s, and the 2000’s. Comparing what films actually won Best Picture to what we believe should have won is always a fun challenge, and it has given us a chance over the years to open or reopen some doors for our listeners to movies that are overlooked and forgotten. When we came to the 1950’s episode, in an (eerily prophetic) split decision, we chose to include only English-language works, since the sheer volume of brilliant films from around the world in that decade would overwhelm both us and you, dear listeners. As we approached the 1960’s for this episode, however, we reasoned that the relative lack of great American films from the decade suggested that this time around, we should open our tent to the entire world. We could not stand idly by, for instance while "A Man for All Seasons", lovely though it is, walked away with Best Picture in the year of films like "Persona", "Masculin/Feminin" and "Blow-Up". Our worries about the length of the episode, however, turned out to be justified and then some; therefore, we needed to split the episode into two parts. So with that, we are thrilled to present our first episode(s) since our triumphant, celebratory live recording of Episode 50 in March: thus Episodes 51A (1960-1964) and 51B (1965-1969), Alternate Oscars: The 1960’s Edition.

There were a couple of things that really hit us as we were creating this entry in the Vintage Sand catalogue. The first is that an unexpectedly high number of our choices were, in fact, American films, suggesting that while common wisdom avers that Hollywood suffered a creative decline in the 60’s, there were a lot of great things happening just below the surface that were, unwittingly perhaps, paving the way for the revolution of the American New Wave that would come in the early 1970’s. And the deeper we dove into the cinema of the 60’s, we came to really understand the fundamental difference between those works and film today. Simply put, it was a time when directors really seemed to trust their audience’s intelligence and imagination. This is most obvious in structurally elliptical puzzle films like Resnais’ "Last Year at Marienbad", Buñuel’s "The Exterminating Angel", Antonioni’s "L’Avventura" and "Blow-Up", Bergman’s "Persona" and even Kubrick’s "2001: A Space Odyssey". But in ways big and small, and in terms both of performance and filmmaking technique, there is in 60’s film a refreshing absence of rat-on-the-balcony-rail-at-the-end-of-"Departed" heavy-handedness that seems to be a common thread in the work of even our greatest directors today. So with all this in mind, strap in and join us for our odyssey through 60’s cinema. It promises to be highly irregular, Dave…