Movie Review: Colman Domingo plays an inmate with theatre in his blood at “Sing Sing”

Colman Domingo and the humanizing act of making theatre co-star in “Sing Sing,” a sometimes moving and often entertaining dramedy about prison inmates who just want to “put on a show.”

Domingo and a couple of other professional actors, and a lot of inmates, play members of various strata of New York’s Sing Sing Maximum Security inmate population society who “put in the work” to put on plays — rehearsing, doing theatrical exercises, connecting with their feelings as part of an RTA (Rehabilitation Through the Arts) project.

Divine G (Domingo) is abuzz with busyness, a man always at the keyboard, writing plays, novels and what not. There’s a note he’s penned to the bulletin board in his books-and-notebook-filled cell. “Finish two novels” while he’s inside. When another inmate asks for an autograph, he’s holding a copy of a paperback novel. Apparently John “Divine G” Whitfield is a published author.

We glimpse him on stage as Lysander in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” — “And ere a man hath power to say “Behold!” The jaws of darkness do devour it up.”

No matter what anybody else is doing with their hard time, Divine G has hurled himself into creating fiction and acting. His RTA time is his “happy place,” an oasis from the Darwinian world of The Yard and every other place in this notorious lock-up.

Divine G is known, respected for all this self-improvement and creativity. He’s not the director of the plays, but he’s an on-stage coach to help his brothers find their character, to teach them memorizing-your-lines tricks and to help them learn to act as outside consultant Brent (Paul Raci) directs.

He’s not shy at letting how hurt he is show when the group’s planning committee decides that their new play must be a comedy, and be a “new play.” But it won’t be one Divine G. has scripted.

It should have “pirates” and “cowboys” and “time travel” and “ancient Egyptians” and the like. Let’s all have share an eyeroll with Divine G. over that.

And this newest member of their company may be the toughest guy in the yard, a real “block monster.” Divine G? Meet Divine Eye (Clarence Maclin).

Divine Eye was on “the waiting list” to get into the ensemble. But he’s not shy about making his auditioners wait if he’s got some shakedown or threat he needs to carry out. Divine Eye wants to be “that Hamlet dude.” He “gets” Shakespeare’s great existential question, “To be, or not to be.”

“I’ve been playin’ a part my whole life.”

“Sing Sing” is about putting on that impossible show, the one with Hamlet and cowboys and time travel and pirates and gladiators — Did I mention the gladiators? — and Egyptians in search of their “Mummy.”

Director and co-writer Greg Kwedar — he directed and co-wrote “Transpecos” and co-wrote “Jockey” — does a decent job of balancing the “real world” these artists live in with the low stakes theater one they give themselves over to.

A lot of what we see here is perfectly predictable — drama behind the comedy they’re trying to put on, sudden death, parole hearings and the fatalism of the lifers. But Domingo (“Rustin,” “The Color Purple”) elevates everything he appears in, even the zombie TV show that gave him his big break.

Domingo creates electricity in his scenes with ex-con Maclin, a “brother” who has to be instructed that we don’t drop the N-word at rehearsal. “We use ‘Beloved.'” As in “What up, my Beloved?” Divine G. lets little of his own personal story out, just a bit here and there. But being smart and well-read, he has high hopes the parole board will consider new evidence and his helpful activities inside when they meet him again.

On stage or “in stir,” have faith in “the system,” he preaches.

“The system that’s trying to keep you in here,” Divine Eye cracks?

There’s fun in the inventiveness of the troupe as they simulate a pirate ship on stage (a laundry cart with a mast and a newspaper sail) or clouds (sheets of clear plastic, waved/undulated from the wings) and cook up the most bizarre costumes.

And there’s tension in the short-fused Divine Eye testing Divine G’s patience, power and manhood.

“Everybody thinks something about you, just because you dance.”

There are more worthy dramas, dramatic scripts and lead performances among this year’s crop of “awards contenders.” But you’ll be hard-pressed to find another movie with “And the Oscar goes to” pretensions more entertaining than the inspiring tale of inmates trying to make comedy out of utter nonsense on the stage in “Sing Sing.”

Rating: R, threats of violence, profanity

Cast: Colman Domingo, Clarence Maclin, Sean San Jose, Mosi Eagle, David Giraudy and Paul Raci

Credits: Directed by Greg Kwedar, scripted by Clint Bentley and Greg Kwedar, based on prison plays by “The Sing Sing Follies” (by John H. Richardson) and “Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code” by Brent Buell. the An A24 release.

Running time: 1:47

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Movie Review: Tragic, Scandalous and Recent History Remembered — “Nickel Boys”

In “Nickel Boys,” first-time feature director RaMell Ross almost overwhelms performance with technique.

Characters are obscured, faces hidden, glimpsed from the legs down to their shoes, passing by in the blur of memory. By the time we set our eyes on the protagonists and antagonists and their sad story, it’s almost a letdown from the breathless flickering, features-distorting extreme close-ups, archival news footage and the like that’s swept over us for so long.

The actors and the characters they’re playing eventually emerge, some warm or dangerous, most not wholly formed even after we get to know them.

But that turns out to be an ingenious approach in adapting Colton Whiteheads Civil Rights Era novel, a drama/jeremiad and mystery about racism and the long-ordained instruments of repression of white supremacist Southern culture.

It’s a non-linear memory play of childhood, a life interrupted and a dream deferred. Ross challenges the viewer to get into his film’s headspace, parse its meaning and even the characters themselves before they’re wholly seen and identified. And as he does, he forces us to face up to not the ancient past, but the recent one, and its implications for today as America leans into racism and Florida — the setting of the film — re-embraces racism, discrimination and even Naziism.

A child drifts through memories of orange trees in the yard and the adoring Nana (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) who raises him. Her guidance, and the later intervention of that one Tallahassee high school teacher that makes a difference (Jimmie Fails) hints that young Elwood (Ethan Herisse) may make more of himself than the menial, servile jobs that were all that Blacks in the 1960s American South had to look forward to.

His grandmother is a maid. Elwood has a shot at admission to a technical college.

Thanks to Martin Luther King, Jr. and other civil rights movement activists seen on TV, and heard in speeches on LPs in Mr. Hill’s class, there’s a chance Elwood will grow up in a more just America. He’s moved to pick up a picket sign himself as Bull Connor unleashes dogs and firehoses on protesters on TV, racist mobs assault bus borne “freedom riders” and segregation endures, even at the cinema showing “The Ugly American.”

But making his way to that technical college is Elwood’s undoing. He hitches a lift from the wrong Black man in a turquoise car that isn’t his. “The system” grabs Elwood and will not let him go, even though he’s a minor, even though he’s innocent.

“Nickel Academy” is where he’s bound, sentenced there by a court system deaf to Black protests, Black evidence and the idea that Black lives might matter. It’s a panhandle Florida reform “school,” as savagely segregated as the rest of the state. White offenders have it relatively easy. The Black kids are barely “taught,” with “reform” and release an elusive pipe dream, thanks to the brutish disciplinarian (Hamish Linklater) and his Black staff minions.

The kids are put to work, not just at the school, but in the community — slave labor for local whites who need a garden tended, a porch painted or what have you. The white “students” are better fed, save on those days when state “inspectors” good-ol’-boy their way through a camp tour. The Black kids’ food is often sold, under the table, to white businesses in the community.

Bullied, scorned and quickly deluded about the “justice” of this place, his plight and his chances for surviving the experience, much less “graduating” from it, Elwood lets new pal Turner (Brandon Wilson) see the notebook he’s keeping — evidence, names, dates and addresses of grifts, bribes and those committing violence.

“If everybody looks the other way, then everybody’s in on it. If I look the other way, I’m as implicated as the rest.”

Ross, using a subjective camera, conceals characters in that not-distant past, and those who live on with the trauma and survivor’s guilt who stumble into each other decades later (the 1988 Seoul Olympics is seen on TV). That blunts some of the pathos, if not the empathy the viewer feels for anybody in that spot.

Our protagonist remembers watching “The Defiant Ones” on TV, never dreaming he’d be facing that kind of “slavery lives on” Southern “justice” system in his own life. That film prefigures his own in other ways, it turns out.

What’s striking here is how Ross — he directed the documentary “Hale County, This Morning, This Evening” — generates suspense, fear and empathy almost in spite of the way he bathes his movie in uncertainty and mystery. We question little of what we see, not because of the history that backs this damning drama up, but because the storytelling so vividly mimics the way memory works.

But memory can play tricks, safeguard the mind from trauma and bury unpleasant truths.

That can happen to people who have lived through something awful, or people who chose not to remember that Southern justice wasn’t dispensed the way it was depicted in that TV show whose theme tune one incarcerated Black teen is moved to whistle at the most ironic moment.

There’s a reason there were almost no (only one) Black faces in the entire run of that staple of white Southerners’ TV comfort food diet, “The Andy Griffith Show.”

In challenging “the good ol’days” and reminding us that Sleepy Time Down South was always a myth, one in danger of returning to American culture thanks to racist erasers of history and in challenging cinematic storytelling conventions to remember this ugly (fictionalized, inspired by real events) state-sponsored crime, Ross has made that rarest of films.

“Nickel Boys” is American history, Southern history and Florida history uncovered and exposed, and a cautionary lesson to a culture backsliding into the comfort of more and more lies and delusions, all served up in one of the most artful films of 2024.

Rating: PG-13, violence, racism, smoking, profanity

Cast: Ethan Herisse, Brandon Wilson,
Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor and Hamish Linklater.

Credits: Directed by RaMell Ross, scripted by RaMell Ross and Jocelyn Barnes, based on the novel by Colton Whitehead. An Orion Pictures, Amazon/MGM release.

Running time: 2:20

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Movie Review: Awards contending “The Brutalist” punches above its weight

“The Brutalist” is a brutally smart drama for a brutally stupid age.

Brady Corbet’s American saga touches on everything from classism and racism to anti-Semitism and the Holocaust as its hero staggers along the jagged edge of American capitalism as he faces the white supremacism of the privileged rich.

The “American Dream” is as upended as the immigrant title character’s first view of the Statue of Liberty when arrives from Europe. Whatever László Tóth hopes this new world will be, whatever promise the myth of America makes to those who would come, it’s not just the “Land of Opportunity.” It’s a land that tolerates poverty and discriminates against many of the ablest and most talented, just because that’s what the rich elites desire — attitudes unchallenged, a status quo that protects them from all comers.

The central metaphor here comes from the school of architecture known as brutalism — rough, imposing forms that took the icy beauty of Bauhaus School design to a logical endgame — harsh, unvarnished reality commenting on boxy functionality and “efficiency.”

We meet László Tóth (Adrien Brody) as he is fleeing postwar Europe to America, where he doesn’t take the symbolic, jostled upside-down view (from steerage) vision of The Statue of Liberty as a warning.

He is a Hungarian Jew, “forcibly separated” from his wife by the Nazi Holocaust, eager to put the horrors of Europe behind him. A cousin (Alessandro Nivola) has sponsored him and summoned him to his Philadelphia furniture business. Attila has wisely changed his name to “Miller” for his “Miller & Sons” (there are no sons) business, married a Catholic “shiksa” and become Catholic himself.

Toth, “a trained and licensed (in Hungary) architect” will design and build furniture for Miller & Sons. He will give customers the “ugly” tables and chairs they want, which Attila makes to order. But Toth will also design sleek, minimalist bent-tube tables and chairs and play a part in launching the “mid century modern movement,” or so we gather.

The son (Joe Alwyn) of a rich client commissions a “study” makeover in entrepreneur Harrison Lee Van Buren’s (Guy Pearce) beaux art mansion on his suburban estate. Toth produces something radical and stunning and not at all appreciated by Van Buren Senior. The rich refuse to pay, as they often do.

Toth is ruined, kicked out by the cousin and forced into manual labor until that “American Dream” moment when Look Magazine does a pictorial of the mansion and Toth’s domed library creates a sensation.

Van Buren, a man who finds Toth’s aesthetic, his world weariness and cynicism “stimulating conversation,” and so he changes his life. Van Burn will “nurture one of the defining talents of our epoch.” Toth will design a vast suburban civic center honoring Van Buren’s late mother. It will be a hilltop landmark with a brutalist message for America.

We’ve heard, from the film’s beginning, the plaintive pleas of Toth’s wife (Felicity Jones), who has survived the camps and is taking care of his young niece, in (Hungarian, with subtitles) voiced-over letters. Years pass as the building project starts, and eventually the rich man commissions his Jewish lawyer to expedite Erzsébet Tóth’s immigration.

Once there, Laszlo’s indiscretions with prostitutes cease, but not the heroin injections he takes for the pain of his injuries in Europe, physical and psychic.

We’ve seen him lose any rose-colored glasses-view of America in Toth’s recognizing the poverty and racism (Isaach De Bankolé plays a single-dad he meets in a soup line) in a land of opulent wealth and selective, capricious charity by the filthy rich. Erzsébet, an Oxford-educated journalist in The Old Country, reinforces this view even as László is plainly less thrilled to see her than she is him.

The Toths will be tested as a grand, stark edifice rises on a hill in Doylestown in wealthy Bucks County in “Pennsylvania,” a state of steel and microcosm of America as a newsreel frequently-sampled in the film reminds us, “the land of decision.”

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Movie Preview: Tom Basden and Carey Mulligan sing “The Ballad of Wallis Island”

Tim Key plays an eccentric lottery winner who pays to drag his favorite singer to the literal middle of nowhere.

Basden plays the singer, Mulligan plays another famous singer who used to be his partner? Wife? Lover?

Seeing conflicting release dates for this one. Late Jan? March?

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“Brutalist” weekend, in IMAX

Late getting to this. A lot’s been going on–holidays, aged family to take care of, a dying pet, life, democracy’s end, other movies to get to.

Right.

Durham for the day it is. “Brutal”  running time.  Brutal prices, but that’s AMC for you. Here we go. There and a half hours, plus…

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Movie Review: Almodóvar Ponders Death and the Lives Preceding it from “The Room Next Door”

In his mid ’70s, it’s only natural that the great Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar should turn his attentions to reflecting on lives lived, and questions of how one wants life to end with his latest film.

But in boiling down and adapting the Sigrid Nunez novel “What Are You Going Through” into “The Room Next Door,” Almodóvar has conjured up the blithe, arid banalities of Woody Allen at his most pretentious. He squanders two Oscar winners and an Emmy winner in a drab, lifeless story in which characters recite passages from poetry and James Joyce from memory and watch Buster Keaton’s silent classic “Seven Chances” as they ponder a planned suicide and melodramatic strings drone on in the score.

All that’s missing are a few mentions of “Mahler”and you’d have yourself a companion piece to any one of a dozen later Allen films, the ones without a laugh or a light moment to recommend them.

Julianne Moore plays Ingrid, a busy, best-selling author of “fictionalized” biographies and non-fiction who learns of an old friend’s cancerous decline from a mutual acquaintance who comes to a book signing.

Martha (Tilda Swinton) was once a combat correspondant. Now she’s in a New York hospital, longing to go home. As booked-up Ingrid — not a “close” friend — sets aside bigger and bigger chunks of her days to take Martha’s calls and visit her once she comes home to her roomy Manhattan flat to recover from her latest treatment, they reminisce over their careers — especially Martha’s.

They talk about “New York in the ’80s,” Martha’s daughter, flashing back to the troubled Vietnam vet father the child never knew and joke about a “shared lover,” and chuckle as they compare “enthusiastic” notes.

Martha also lets on as to how she’s prepped herself for “the end,” and how her “experimental treatment…survival feels almost disappointing.”

When things take a turn, Ingrid is who Martha confides in. She figures that her life of fame won through risk in war zones means “I deserve a good death.” Ingrid’s involvement drifts towards “the ask.” Martha wants to take a “suicide pill.” She wants to do it in Woodstock, in a posher-than-posh AirBnB. And she wants Ingrid in “The Room Next Door” when she does it — for companionship, and for dealing with the legal complexity of what comes after.

Whatever life there was in the Nunez novel seems bleached out of this meandering, claustrophobic melodrama that that Ingrid finds herself trapped in. That “shared lover” (John Turturro) is still in her life, a friend she can confide in and get advice from.

But this extraordinary situation barely takes on the gravitas demanded. Some anecdotes do nothing to illuminate character or this predicament. And the comic possibilities — this is like asking a casual acquaintance of long standing to oh, babysit, dogsit, help you move, co-sign a loan or the like.

Why didn’t Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld ever get around to assisted suicide as an “inconvenience?”

Moore is too good an actress to not let us feel the gut-punch of this turn of events. Swinton, who takes on a cadaverous in the later acts, easily fits our mental picture of a famous female war reporter — flinty, a little butch, blunt about her success and her failings and pragmatic about her goals.

Ingrid’s last goal is to die with dignity, with a writer she trusts perhaps taking an interest in her journals and by extension, her life story. That’s cynical, but letting Ingrid (and the viewer) figure that out had all sorts of dramatic possibilities.

It’s all perfectly high-minded and polished, but all of this could have been treated with more spark than comes across here. The epilogue that comes after a disappointing third act feels like both a stunt and one last let down that a legendary filmmaker delivers in adapting a novel he was either too serious about, or that he didn’t take seriously enough.

Rating: PG-13, suicide, profanity

Cast: Julianne Moore, Tilda Swinton, Alessandro Nivola and John Turturro

Credits: Scripted and directed by Pedro Almodóvar, based on a novel by Sigrid Nunez. A Sony Pictures Classics release.

Running time: 1:43

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Movie Review: Keke and SZA live through “One of Them Days” that’s not quite “Friday”

With Moms Mabley, Tiffany Haddish and Mo’Nique as my witnesses, I swear Hollywood could’ve gotten a funnier movie out of Keke Palmer by just setting up a camera in front of her whilst she texts, tweets and blurts whatever comes into her head aloud that the dead-comedy-walking “One of Them Days” provides.

It’s a lumbering stiff “buddy picture” with a “Friday” set-up. Just Keke (“Nope,””Pimp”) and Oscar-nominated singer/songwriter (for Original Song “All the Stars” from “Black Panther”) turned overripe actress SZA playing 30ish roomies trying to cope with being broke, Black and trapped “in the cycle” of working poverty “in the hood” in L.A.

As Dreux and Alyssa, they make mistakes about men, debt, which mobsters you don’t cross and white girl privilege over the course of a single day when the rent is due.

Waitress with “business school” cred Dreux (Palmer) has a big interview and a chance to go corporate with her chain restaurant employer. But her artist and “painter…of houses, portaits…and makeup” roomie of seven years Alyssa (SZA) lets her libido get the best of her as she passes on the rent money for well-endowed lover Keshawn (Joshua David Neal) to give to the no-nonsense/no AC/”stanky water” Baldwin Village complex landlord Uche (Rizi Timane), who is African and is taking no more excuses.

“He’s an ENTREPRENEUR” is no excuse when Mr. Good-in-Bed Keshawn skips off with their money, thanks to Alyssa’s gullibility.

The clock is ticking on their last day with a (leaky) roof over their heads, and they have to cope to bad hair and little time for the complex’s gay hairdresser to save the day, a “Payday Whenever” loan scam, a crazy homeless sage (Katt Williams) who warns them away from this “lifetime” debt, Keshawn’s brawny new lover Berniece (Aziza Scott) serving up ass-whuppings, and a gang leader named Lolo (Amin Joseph) who’s lost a very pricey pair of Air Jordans, which the girls might have just sold to Lil Rel Howery.

There are funny (ish) bits here — selling their blood plasma and facing a first-time plebotomist, forced to greet the world in donation-box clothing, the “white girl” (Maude Apatow) integrating their complex and shoving the double standards on fit-for-habitation housing, police and fire response down the Black folks’s throats and that “if you have a job, an arm and a leg the system will approve you” payday lender (Keyla Monterroso Mejia) who laughs at their credit scores and barks at the two roommates for being “Too OLD to not know how credit works.”

But mostly, this is a slow-moving parade of “WTF is MY CAR?” and “Girl, I TOLD you not to park there” gags between the mismatched roomies. I’m a longtime Palmer fan, and she’s almost never been this dull. She and SZA needed an edgier script to sparkle.

This picture, whose previews, promos and TV ads promised pace, patter and potential, adds up to the first major disappointment of the new cinema year.

Rating: R, violence, profanity, sexual situations

Cast: Keke Palmer, SZA, Amin Joseph, Katt Williams, Maude Apatow, Aziza Scott and Joshua David Neal

Credits: Directed by Lawrence Lamont, scripted by Syreeta Singleton. A Columbia Pictures release.

Running time: 1:37

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Movie Review: Different century, new setting, same old “Wolf Man”

Universal futzed around with rebooting its classic werewolf horror franchise “Wolf Man” for years, and delayed releasing the latest finished film as well.

Perhaps they were hoping more time would pass and we’d all forget the many other incarnations of the man-becomes-werewolf trope. Fat chance.

We all remember how this goes, right? People find themselves in werewolf country. Somebody gets bitten. That somebody wants to bite, too.

“Saw” veteran Leigh Whannell’s “original” take on this hairy, hoary and downright moldy horror staple fails to reinvent, reboot or truly re-launch anything. Pretty sure we’ve seen the werewolf as monster-villain and werewolf as “hero” twist before.

Folding in a Native American tradition of a “hills fever” that turns one into “Face of the Wolf” introduces little that’s interesting and nothing that’s important.

The Pacific Northwest setting, where a widowed father (Sam Jaeger) lectures his young son (Zac Chandler) on the ways of the woods, and the dangers, culminating with son Blake (Christopher Abbott) returning to those woods decades later with his journalist wife (Julia Garner) and wee daughter (Matilda Firth) doesn’t alter the inevitability of it all.

“My job as Dad,” Blake tells the kid he named Ginger,” “is to keep you safe.”

Ginger’s job? “To read your mind,” to anticipate Dad’s directions for keeping her safe.

There’s your foreshadowing.

Put a troubled marriage in peril the minute the arrive in the woods of Oregon, briskly toss them into an over-the-top accident with a moving truck as they trek north to clean out Blake’s “finally declared dead” Dad’s off-the-grid farm. Have Blake slashed by the claws of the not-quite-seen “beast,” with wife Charlotte (Garner of TV’s “Ozark” and “The Assistant”) forced to cope with his injuries, his “transformation” and the threat still growling outside threat.

Try not to guess all that happens, because rare RARE mild jolts aside, this picture’s as clockwork as my Citizen watch.

Garner gives us a taste of what facing the shock of “This can’t be REAL” looks like. The child actress never gets across the requisite terror of their peril.

And Abbott, of “It Comes at night?” He’s just another guy in (CGI) hairs arms and furry face trying to maintain his humanity, his loyalty to his family in the face of attack from his “new” pack/species.

Suffice it to say that Whannell and horror producers Blumhouse are more at home with ghostly, “Insidious” horror, and tactile threats from Jigsaw than with this underwhelming, predictable, everything-but-vampires homage to Universal Studios’ horror legacy.

Rating: R, gory violence, profanity

Cast: Julia Garner, Christopher Abbott, Sam Jaeger, Matilda Firth and Ben Prendergast

Credits: Directed by Leigh Whannell, scripted by Leigh Whannell and A Universal release.

Running time: 1:43

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An Empty Cineplex Thursday Night, bad news for Werewolves, Keke et al?

My third movie this Thursday, and none of them have stirred any interest from the paying customers.

Will “Wolf Man” or “One of them Days” or any of the Oscar contenders opening wide this weekend (“The Room Next Door,” “The Brutalist,” “The Last Showgirl,” (reopening) “Sing Sing,” or “Nickel Boys” sell any popcorn? Asking for a friend. 

Every multiplex is a microcosm of the cinematic whole. I used to frequent great barometer theatres in Florida on Thursdays, but urban NC and rural Va. cinemas are “readable,” too.

I’ll know more Friday when I visit the Raleigh Durham metroplex. But this feels like a weekend that could be truly desolate.

The new films have no pop in the provinces and the holdovers are all gassed.

Let’s see what first numbers look like Friday afternoon.

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David Lynch: 1946-2025, RIP

“Eraserhead,” “The Elephant Man,” “Blue Velvet,””Wild at Heart,” “Twin Peaks,” “Mulholland Drive,” “Lost Highway,”  “The Straight Story,” an unforgettable attempt at “Dune” — nobody did weird like David Lynch.

The Maverick ‘s Maverick iconoclastic filmmaker died today. He was 78.

Many people I interviewed — Rossellini, Loggia, Watts, etc — who worked with him would share stories about his instinct for “odd. ” Kyle MacLachlan verified one of the funniest, Lynch walking into a morgue set on while filming “Twin Peaks” as the florescent lights were shorting out, flickering. 

“Aaaaahhh, leave it,” Lynch told the fretting grips trying to fix a bizarre, quirky touch that it brought to the scene.

For years, he insisted film distributors print the following in bios to the press kits for his movies

“David Lynch, Eagle Scout, Missoula, Montana.”

On brand. Pithy and perfect. An apt epitaph, too.

Watch one of his films in tribute. Another great way to remember him? This performance, the best thing in Spielberg’s “Fabelmans.”

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