I’m a bit sporadic when it comes to writing reviews or jotting my thoughts down on a film. I often feel like if I don’t love a film, then it’s not worth writing about. As of 10/30/20, I only love 29 films. So that shouldn’t be the basis by which I deem a film worthy of further examination. So going forward, I’m going to try my best to capture my immediate thoughts on my Criterion journey (335 to go). It’ll…

One day, back in 1995, my mom picked me up from school and announced that we were going to the movies. I don’t recall how I felt about this excursion in the moment. But I remember exactly how I felt when she told me that we were going to see Mr. Holland’s Opus. The 11 year old me was not excited at all. And I’m pretty sure that I sulked all the way to the movie theater.

But something happened…

Who is this film for? And what is it looking to accomplish? 

These are the two questions that have been swirling around in my mind almost a week later after watching Green Book, Peter Farrelly's racial road movie about the classically trained pianist Don Shirley, Tony "Lip" Vallenlonga, and their 1960's journey through the deep south. I know the answer to both questions, but I don't think Peter knows and I don't think that co-writer Nick Vallenlonga knows either. But…

I’ve been wanting to jot down something about this film for a minute now. And I’m pretty sure that this film's been covered from about every angle imaginable. So let me try approaching it from this angle. Let’s talk about my pity for Sal.

When I mention a pity for Sal, I’m not referring to pity for the man himself. I’m referring to his desire to cling to whiteness, the construction of it, and the burden it places on black…