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A monster is born, a father is made, and a legend gets a new pulse. We brought filmmaker Justin Robert Vinall into the studio to dive headfirst into Guillermo Del Toro’s Frankenstein, pulling apart what this adaptation embraces from Mary Shelley and what it boldly rewires. We start with the immediate gut checks—why the production design is breathtaking, how the exteriors can feel oddly digital, and where the Arctic bookends unlock fidelity to the novel while straining the final act’s momentum.

From there, we go deep on performances. Jacob Elordi’s creature emerges as the film’s soul: empathetic, physically mythic, and quietly devastating as he learns language, kindness, and cruelty. Oscar Isaac’s Victor is a lightning rod—baroque and volatile, thrilling for some and cartoonish for others. Mia Goth brings poise and spark but isn’t given enough runway to leave a mark beyond one standout confrontation. We parse the lecture hall resurrection, the companion request, and the rushed father-son reconciliation, asking whether the story earns its closing warmth or retreats from the abyss Shelley dared to face.

This conversation keeps one eye on awards season—production design, hair and makeup, and a potential best picture play—while tracking where the film sits in Del Toro’s body of work. Is this a companion to Crimson Peak and Nightmare Alley, or a mid-tier entry lifted by an all-timer creature performance? Along the way we explore the themes that make Frankenstein evergreen in 2025: consent, responsibility, otherness, and the cost of creating life without love. Hit play, then tell us—did the ending land, and where does this monster rank in your GDT canon?

If you enjoy the show, follow the pod, share with a friend, and leave a quick review. Your support helps more listeners find conversations where movies still matter.

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Five conversations. One weekend that proves short films can carry more than most features. We sat down at the Gig Harbor Film Festival with filmmakers who turned everyday pressure into unforgettable cinema—starting with a travel-phobe who literally becomes a shoe. That hybrid live action-animation pivot wasn’t a gimmick; it was a smart, budget-aware way to visualize dissociation, sharpened by a one-man animation army and razor-sharp improv that had audiences grinning at micro-expressions and airline absurdity.

We then move into a quiet chill that lingers: a brother and sister return home in The Graves, where delayed grief sneaks up like a reflection you’d rather not catch. Built from a deeply personal experience, the film embraces constraint as design—an Airbnb with character, a ghost born from a flashlight test, and sound that makes broad daylight feel haunted. The lesson travels beyond festivals: think audience-first, from thumbnails to retention, because distribution is a creative choice.

Around a campfire, I Hope You’re Happy maps the stages of grief onto friendship under the shadow of the opioid crisis. Tight writing, Zoom rehearsals, and a score woven from a diegetic ukulele tune create an “earned silence” when credits roll—proof that intimacy and careful sound can carry weight in minutes. Float and Fly lifts that intimacy into the sky with community-fueled aviation: first-time actors, wing-mounted cameras, and Gig Harbor vistas that remind you how place can become subtext for healing and courage.

Finally, An Old Friend delivers a cathartic twist: an imaginary friend assigned to a man at the end of his life. The crew let improvisation breathe, then sculpted time in the edit with sound design that thins the world to breath and memory. With a shelf of festival awards and an Oscar-qualification push underway, the team shares the unglamorous truth—DCPs, captions, qualifying runs, and the real costs behind a campaign—while still savoring packed rooms and new colleagues made along the way.

If you love craft talk, practical hacks, and stories that punch above their runtime, press play. Subscribe, share this with a filmmaker friend, and leave a review with the short you’d expand into a feature—we’ll read our favorites on the show.

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The landscape of Hollywood is shifting before our eyes. From massive studio consolidations to the passing of icons, Alex and Max dive deep into what these changes mean for the future of cinema.

Following a month-long hiatus, the hosts catch up on industry news that could fundamentally alter how movies reach audiences. Skydance's acquisition of Paramount and potential bid for Warner Brothers raises urgent questions: What happens when streaming giants own historic studios? Will theatrical releases survive? The conversation explores how these corporate maneuvers might impact everything from filmmaker careers to streaming libraries.

The recent passing of Robert Redford prompts a heartfelt reflection on his immeasurable contributions to American cinema. From his unforgettable performances in classics like "All the President's Men" to founding the Sundance Film Festival, Redford's legacy as actor, director, and independent film champion transcends generations. The hosts share personal connections to his work, including the rarely discussed late-career gem "All Is Lost."

With fall festival season underway, excitement builds around potential Oscar contenders. Paul Thomas Anderson's "One Battle After Another" has Hollywood buzzing, with sold-out 70mm screenings and whispers this might finally be his year for directing recognition. Meanwhile, the Gig Harbor Film Festival prepares to showcase everything from documentaries about librarians fighting censorship to films featuring local talent.

Between discussions of recent watches like "Lurker" and "Splitsville," the hosts contemplate how streaming has transformed audience relationships with media – drawing parallels to similar shifts in the music industry years earlier. Has Letterboxd's rating system changed how we evaluate films? Are we seeing the beginning of the end for certain viewing experiences?

Whether you're a film industry insider or simply love movies, this episode offers thoughtful analysis of cinema's evolving landscape from two passionate, knowledgeable voices who remind us why movies still matter.

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The magic of filmmaking often lies in that sweet spot between meticulous planning and creative spontaneity. Andrew "Ducky" Dutkiewiczz embodies this balance as he joins us to discuss his upcoming short film "Call This Land Mother" – a story about an Irish immigrant recalling his first summer in America and the mysterious girl who can speak to his dead mother.

Ducky pulls back the curtain on his crowdfunding journey through Seed&Spark, revealing both the struggles and unexpected joys of this process. "Crowdfunding alone is a career," he explains, describing the constant anxiety of outreach while still needing to function as director and maintain a day job. Yet despite these challenges, he's found a beautiful camaraderie with other filmmakers in similar positions, all "trying so hard to scrape together pennies" for their art.

What makes this conversation particularly fascinating is Ducky's exploration of how personal meaning emerged from what began as a simple creative impulse. The film, which blends realistic storytelling with magical elements, eventually connected to his experience as the child of an immigrant. "My mom's an immigrant... I started talking to her and understanding that feeling," he shares, revealing how artists often discover themselves within their work through the creative process.

Film buffs will delight in Ducky's breakdown of his top five cinematic influences for this project, ranging from Japanese animation masterpieces to indie darlings like "Submarine" and "Aftersun." These selections offer a window into his artistic vision – one that values the delicate balance between reality and magic, the power of memory, and the significance of place.

Ready to support independent filmmaking and be part of bringing this unique vision to life? Visit seedandspark.com/fund/call-this-land-mother or find Andrew on Instagram @AndrewDuckowitz. Every contribution makes a difference, and starting soon, donations will be matched until the project reaches its green light goal!

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When 17 children from the same third-grade classroom vanish into the night, a small suburban town becomes the epicenter of a nightmare that defies explanation. "Weapons," Zach Crager's sophomore directorial effort following his breakout hit "Barbarian," delivers a masterclass in atmospheric horror that will leave you checking the locks on your doors.

The film's brilliance lies in its unconventional structure, following multiple characters whose lives have been upended by the mass disappearance. We begin with Julia Garner's haunting portrayal of the children's teacher, quickly becoming the town's primary suspect as suspicion and paranoia mount. Just as we settle into her perspective, the narrative shifts to Josh Brolin's grief-stricken contractor, whose son was among the missing. Brolin delivers one of his most compelling performances in years, particularly during nightmarish sequences that blend reality and the supernatural with disturbing fluidity.

What sets "Weapons" apart from standard horror fare is how it balances genuine terror with moments of unexpected humor. Crager demonstrates remarkable control over tone, crafting scenes that can transform from laugh-out-loud funny to skin-crawling terror within seconds. The cinematography enhances this unsettling quality, with the camera constantly in motion, creating a voyeuristic feeling that makes viewers complicit in the unfolding horror.

The film lovingly channels influences from horror masters – Spielberg's suburban wonderment turned sinister, Carpenter's patient tension-building, Lynch's dream logic – while establishing Crager's unique voice. The soundtrack, featuring both perfectly chosen needle drops and original compositions, elevates each scene whether building dread or amplifying emotional moments.

As the mystery deepens and the film ventures into more overtly supernatural territory, "Weapons" asks us to consider what truly lurks behind the façade of suburban normalcy. While some viewers may debate the effectiveness of its third act, the journey is undeniably gripping from start to finish. Don't miss this theatrical experience that reminds us why watching horror with an audience remains one of cinema's most primal pleasures.

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What defines the greatest films of our still-young century? When The New York Times published their reader-selected Top 100 Films of the 21st Century, we couldn't resist diving into this cultural touchstone that had over 200,000 cinephiles weighing in on what matters most in modern cinema.

With Bong Joon-ho's "Parasite" claiming the top spot and Christopher Nolan dominating with five entries (including both "Interstellar" and "The Dark Knight" in the top 10), the list reveals fascinating patterns about what resonates with today's audiences. We explore the international appeal of the selections, from "Spirited Away" at #8 to "In the Mood for Love" at #12, while questioning the noticeable absence of Black filmmakers like Spike Lee and the limited representation of female directors.

The conversation takes unexpected turns as we debate which films deserve higher placement (could "Portrait of a Lady on Fire" crack the top 10?), which should be removed entirely (does "Everything Everywhere All at Once" belong at #13?), and what crucial omissions we'd add to create a more representative canon. From questioning the recency bias that elevates new releases like "Oppenheimer" and "Dune Part Two" to lamenting the underrepresentation of horror and comedy, we offer our unfiltered takes on what this list gets right and wrong.

Whether you're a casual moviegoer or a dedicated cinephile, this episode provides both a roadmap for essential viewing and a framework for thinking critically about what makes a film truly stand the test of time. Join us for this passionate celebration and critique of the films that have defined our century so far – and let us know which rankings you'd fight to change!

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The theatrical landscape of 2025 tells a fascinating story through its box office patterns and creative trends. Animation continues its unstoppable theatrical dominance across multiple studios, while long-running franchises like Mission Impossible and Jurassic World show unmistakable signs of fatigue. Has the time come to put these decades-old properties to rest?

Our midyear film roundup reveals a striking preference for original storytelling over franchise continuation. From the breathtaking coastal beauty of Paolo Sorrentino's Parthenope to the inventive shark thrills of Dangerous Animals, our top picks demonstrate cinema's continued ability to surprise and captivate. Steven Soderbergh's spy thriller Black Bag showcases masterful craftsmanship, while Tim Robinson's Friendship brings his distinctive comedic sensibilities to feature length with remarkable success.

The conversation turns passionate when discussing Ryan Coogler's Sinners and Ari Aster's Eddington – films that blend genres with extraordinary confidence while delivering profound thematic depth. Both represent bold, auteur-driven visions that resonated deeply with audiences seeking thoughtful, challenging cinema.

Looking ahead, the remainder of 2025 promises an embarrassment of riches from acclaimed filmmakers including Park Chan-wook, Paul Thomas Anderson, and Jim Jarmusch. Their upcoming works, alongside anticipated releases like Edgar Wright's The Running Man and Blumhouse's Weapons, suggest our year-end lists may undergo significant transformation.

What films have captured your imagination in 2025? Join our conversation about this remarkable year in cinema and share your own discoveries and disappointments. The theatrical experience continues to evolve, but the power of original storytelling remains undiminished.

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Sheriff Joe Cross patrols a small New Mexico town where tension simmers beneath the surface. It's May 2020, and the pandemic has unleashed a torrent of fear, conspiracy, and mistrust that threatens to tear Eddington apart.

When we meet Joaquin Phoenix's Sheriff Cross, he's a man grasping for control – of his town, his marriage to Emma Stone's increasingly distant wife, and the looming threat of COVID-19. His power struggle with Pedro Pascal's Mayor Ted Garcia initially plays as absurdist comedy, filled with mask debates and protocol disputes that feel simultaneously ridiculous and unnervingly familiar. But Aster isn't interested in simple pandemic nostalgia or pointed finger-wagging.

As protests ignite following George Floyd's murder, the film transforms into something far more dangerous. Phoenix's fragile authority figure, obsessed with maintaining power he never truly possessed, descends into paranoia and violence. What follows is a white-knuckle thriller that examines how quickly social order can collapse when trust erodes and technology weaponizes our worst impulses.

Aster's genius lies in refusing to choose sides. His unflinching camera examines everyone – from performative activists to conspiracy theorists, from power-hungry officials to corporate puppeteers. The result feels like a definitive artistic statement about America's fractured landscape, where phones replace six-shooters and the true villains might not be who we expect.

Darius Khondji's breathtaking cinematography captures both the vast emptiness of the New Mexico desert and the claustrophobic tension of a community at war with itself. The performances, particularly Phoenix's slow-burning descent into madness, elevate this beyond typical genre exercises into something genuinely haunting.

Eddington is that rare film that feels immediately essential – a time capsule created in the moment, yet with the clarity that usually comes only with distance. It leaves us with troubling questions about where we've been and where we're headed. Watch it now and be part of the conversation about one of the year's most provocative cinematic achievements.

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