In our fourth episode of The Rise of A24 series, we are covering the newly minted cult classic Under the Silver Lake (2019) and the art cinema bonanza of L'Avventura (1960)

Special Guest - James Adamson, the host of the great Double Reel Podcast, a monthly magazine podcast for the discerning film nerd.

A24 had a cult following well before it broke into the mainstream in the 2020s. Their surprise win at the 2017 Oscars for Best Picture with Moonlight put them in the spotlight, but they remained resolutely an arthouse company pre-Covid. That’s why their behavior surrounding the marketing and distribution of Under the Silver Lake (2019) is so profoundly bizarre. David Robert Mitchell was coming off his 2015 horror masterpiece It Follows with this twisting absurdist L.A. noir starring Andrew Garfield. The whole affair seemed right in A24’s sweet spot. So much so that A24 pre-bought the distribution rights before a single shot was filmed. Then, after the movie played to a muted response at Cannes in 2018, they essentially abandoned it: moving the release date multiple times before finally dumping it onto just two screens in April 2019. What exactly was so unnerving that made A24 bury the film?

L’Avventura (1960) had a similarly consequential Cannes premiere in 1960. At its first screening, the audience jeered and booed so loudly that director Michelangelo Antonioni left the theater in tears. Yet later that same week, a group of prominent film critic, led by figures from Cahiers du Cinéma, drafted and signed an open letter defending the film as a bold step forward for cinema. That act of critical solidarity transformed L’Avventura from a public embarrassment into a landmark of cinematic modernism. What began in jeers was quickly reframed as a radical new vision of film art, and its stature has only grown since. Today it stands as one of the undisputed masterpieces of 20th-century cinema, a fixture on “greatest films” lists and a touchstone for generations of directors.

Under the Silver Lake, by contrast, never received that critical reprieve, its initial dismissal has lingered, but that has allowed a small, but vocal supporting group to form around the film as it becomes one of the first cult classics of the 2010s.

In our third episode of The Rise of A24 series, we are covering Kogonada's quiet meditation on familial AI, After Yang (2022) alongside the wondrous Late Spring (1949) by Yasujiro Ozu.

Special Guest - Lillian Crawford is a freelance writer covering film and culture for publications including Sight & Sound, BBC Culture, The Guardian, Times Literary Supplement. In addition to her writing, Lillian is a prolific programmer and curator, including for the BFI, the Barbican, the Garden Cinema, and the Edinburgh International Film Festival.

Dan is unable to hide his adoration Kogonada's debut film Columbus (2017). It currently ranks 7th on his best films of the 21st Century (so far) List. His follow-up, After Yang, is a more murkier affair. Set in a future where robots have become immediate family members, Kogonada attempts to humanize and ground sci-fi in a hazy emotional uncanny valley. Are we supposed to feel for the AI as we would a human or are we just mirroring our own subjective experiences onto an avatar? Rather than providing answers, the film drifts between aching grief, transcendent love, and non-dystopic visions of the future.

Yasujiro Ozu is clearly a massive influence on Kogonada, and it is easy to see why with his film Late Spring (1949), a gorgeous melodrama about a daughter growing apart from her father. The film probably shares more with Kogonada's Columbus in its interplay between emotion and the natural world. Ozu is able to conjure the most hidden and profound emotions from his actors and the story. At the same time, he crafts a meticulous narrative that continues to propel forward even as the external drama remains subtle. A true masterpiece of filmmaking.

Jason Blum, The Town, July 2025

In a baffling moment of industry transparency, Jason Blum called into The Town podcast on the morning after M3GAN 2.0’s disastrous opening weekend in late June to discuss what went wrong. Jason is the founder and leader of the highly successful Blumhouse Productions, a movie studio that quickly rose to success in the 2010s by producing low-budget horror films. Jason is notorious for being open about the normally clandestine aspects of the moviemaking business, but The Town episode was extraordinarily illuminating and revealing. At the same time, Jason Blum was there to spin like any typical Hollywood mogul.

M3GAN 2.0 opened to only 10 million dollars on its premiere weekend in late June 2025, which was under a third of what the original film opened to in 2023. The sequel will end up with a total of 39 million dollars at the box office versus the 181 million dollars of the original. Adding insult to injury, the production budget on the sequel was 25 million vs the original’s 15 million, and the marketing budget for part two was certainly much higher as well. In short, M3GAN 2.0 is a huge bomb.

Full Article: https://film-trace.beehiiv.com/p/the-end-of-the-blum-supremacy

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In our second episode of The Rise of A24 series, we are covering the gonzo horror of the Philippou brothers in Talk to Me (2023) and the roots of elevated horror in Andrzej Żuławski's Possession (1981)

Special Guest - Returning to the podcast, Writer and Horror Film Aficionado, Andrea Gomez

A24 has built a reputation for edgy horror films. They helped to popularize the concept of elevated horror in the 2010s: The Witch, It Comes at Night, Hereditary. They have continued to nurture new voices in horror in 2020s with their patronage of the Philippou brothers. Talk to Me was produced without any A24 input or support. They stepped in when the film was screened to much shock and applause at Sundance in 2023. Before A24 became big producers, this is exactly how they built the brand and company. Find really interesting and exciting new films and take over the distribution. Talk to Me was a glam slam for A24, who acquired it for only single digit millions as it when on to make 92 million dollars at the box office.

Possession was not a huge success upon its released in 1981. The outlandishly wonderful horror film popped off at Cannes winning the Special Jury Prize along with Isabelle Adjani winning Best Actress. But outside the artistic bubble of Europe, the film was met with extreme skepticism and outright hatred. The USA release was shambolic with the original 124 minute run time being cut down to measly 81 minutes. The UK outright banned the film in the 1980s. But time has a way of mellowing reactions and opening minds. Possession slowly became a cult film thanks to boutique home video releases. With the rise of elevated horror in the 2010s, Possession reached its vaulted status as a horror classic.

We are back with a new season of Film Trace. In this season, we will survey the short but illustrious history of film studio upstart A24. We will analyze how they have made such a massive impact on filmmaking in such a small amount of time.

In this premiere episode, we are covering two new releases from A24: Sorry, Baby and Eddington. These two films act as bookends to the house style of A24. On one side - soft, highbrow, and cerebral. On the other - daring, outlandish, and transgressive. We pair the flighty rom com of The Holiday (2006) with Sorry, Baby and the conspiracy gumbo of JFK (1991) with Eddington.

In dissecting these four films, the defining traits of A24’s style come sharply into focus. Major studios wouldn't touch either Sorry, Baby or Eddington. Eva Victor's Sorry, Baby is too quiet and too honest about sexual violence and its aftereffects. It also tells its story in a very non-linear fashion. Only an art-house imprint of a major studio would even consider releasing it. Eddington is resolutely an A24 film. Ari Aster is a devout auteur who chooses to tackle the origins of the Covid world where we all still very much reside. The film is diffuse, difficult, and without a clear protagonist or antagonist. It is an anti-studio film, perfect for A24.

In the season finale of our Visionary Remakes season, we investigate two versions of The Maltese Falcon, the original from 1931 and the more famous 1941 version.

The Maltese Falcon has almost become shorthand for both Humphrey Bogart and the beginning of film noir. That famous film was preceded by a film adaptation a decade earlier, which itself was preceded by the hard boiled crime novel a year prior. The 1941 film has totally eclipsed both the original adaptation and the book in popular consciousness. Perhaps rightly so. John Huston's directorial debut is a masterwork in writing, editing, and acting. It has also been touted as one of the more rewatchable films from the era due to its production design, clockwork plot, and Bogart's enigmatic vibes.

The Maltese Falcon is a great example of why some films should be remade. The remake improves pretty much every aspect of the original film. But our discussion takes a turn when Dan questions whether Falcon is truly a noir film. We dive deep into this topic and how labels and genres can often obfuscate the significance and heritage of a film. If The Maltese Falcon is not the first big noir film, then what gives it such a high value among film lovers and filmmakers? The answer of course lies within the film itself, not a genre label.

In episode seven of our Visionary Remakes season, we traverse two classic westerns. First, Kurosawa's Yojimbo (1961) and its nearly immediate Italian reaction, Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars (1964).

The western has always been seen as a distinctly American film genre. The "west" in the word is the American West, a grand nearly ungovernable stretch of land filled with plains, deserts, mountains, rivers, and precarious cliffs, both literal and moral. It is a rich canvas that can tell a thousand different stories. Ironically, here we have two non-American voices calling out to the vast wilderness of the West. Perhaps it is a wild and mysterious place that exists in all cultures.

Kurosawa's Yojimbo is not necessarily a textbook Western, but of course, it is deeply indebted to Shane (1953), High Noon (1952), The Gunfighter (1950), and John Ford's Stagecoach (1939) and My Darling Clementine (1946). At the same time, the source material was a hardboiled detective American novel from the 1930s, and we can not discount its place in the lineage of the chanbara films. Yojimbo is an amalgamation and many different styles and genres, but it still feels like a Western at its core.

A Fistful of Dollars is resolutely a Western, but it came from somewhere left of the dial. Sergio Leone did not speak English nor had he ever been to America, let alone the American West. But Leone was able to spark something new and powerful in the waning genre. Westerns had been around since the beginning of film, but by the 1950s and 1960s, the genre had oversaturated culture mostly through dime-store tv shows: Gunsmoke, The Lone Ranger, Bonanza, and Rawhide. Westerns had become trite and tired. Along came Clint Eastwood, Sergio Leone, and Ennio Morricone to reinvent and rekindle that flickering flame.

In episode six of our Visionary Remakes season, we explore two versions of the King Kong myth, the original from 1933 and the 1970s remake. We toss in a dash of Peter Jackson's 2005 version as well.

Special Guest: Riley - Good friend of the show and true film buff

King Kong is a cultural institution. How that happened is still a mystery to us children of the 1980s. We grew up with the original. The 1976 version had been memory holed by the time we were children. The 1933 version is iconic for many reasons honorable or not. The special effects were groundbreaking for the time and its blending of genres was unique. But problematic doesn't even begin to describe King Kong (1933). It is hard to watch it without feeling a strong sense of distaste and unease, even viewing it as a film artefact.

The remake of King Kong from 1976 was a bold attempt to one-up Jaws which came out the year before. The summer blockbuster was born, but a big budget and spectacular marketing campaign do not make a hit. The making of King Kong 1976 would probably make for a better movie than what we got on screen. Mired in legal trench warfare, this remake tried to update the King Kong story to incorporate the cynicism of post-Nixon years. It fails mostly, but it does not disappoint. It is an interesting and bizarre watch that is getting reappraised by Zoomers, for better or worse.

Lastly, the 2005 version probably needs its own episode. Peter Jackson's King Kong was highly praised upon its release, and it still is held in high regard. But Dan has more than a few bones to pick with its prestige.