Literally: find a favorite (not dead) author’s website and use their contact form to send them a message with specifics about why you like them.
I’ve done this several times. The nice thing is they’re usually very accessible and responsive, maybe because they tend not to get the same kind of public praise as actors, musicians, and other more glamorous artists.
Of course this does depend on the author’s level of fame. My favorites tend to be nonfiction writers with an approachable-enough profile to still be accessible by civilians, so if your favorite author is a Cormac McCarthy type then you’re SOL.
You can do this over social media, but a mere “Love your work!” doesn’t have the same effect as a more detailed note, which both proves you’re actually a fan and gives them the fuel to keep going and making more stuff you enjoy.
The Arcadian Wild. Heard about this folk/bluegrass trio recently and got immediately obsessed with “Big Sky, MT”.
Scream. Somehow I’d never seen this, though I was familiar enough with it based on its cultural ubiquity. Kinda wish the conclusion was a little tighter so it could be a perfect 90 minutes, but campy fun overall.
White Savior. This 3-part docuseries on Max is a rich text for those of us who grew up in a conservative Christian milieu and went on international missions/service trips.
The Witch. I like this Robert Eggers lite-horror joint for the same reason I liked Darren Aronofsky’s Noah: it takes its Old Testament inspiration and sensibility seriously, fully committing to a weird and very metal religiosity that too often gets sanded down for popular palatability.
Oppenheimer. “Men talking in rooms” is a common theme in a lot of the history books I’ve read, but I didn’t expect it to also work as a big-screen epic from Christopher Nolan. I’ll take it!
The Wager by David Grann. This new book from the Killers of the Flower Moon author makes me very glad I’m not an 18th-century sailor.
Emergency NYC. Stumbled upon this fascinating Netflix docuseries that follows surgeons, ER staff, flight nurses, and other emergency responders as they treat patients and balance their work with their personal lives.
Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. A great coming of age story, family dramedy, exploration of religion, female-centric story, and year-in-the-life movie all in one.
You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah. Surprisingly funny and a nice pairing with Are You There, God?
This brings me to wonder how I reflect on the person who in 2019 homeschooled a 2nd grader and a kindergartener, and had a three year old, and a baby. Was that easier? It was definitely not easier; but time was different to her. More expansive when it needed to be, and nearly glacially slow. If the little kids got sick that cancelled almost all of her plans immediately. How everyone slept the night before determined more than seemed fair about the day ahead. It was easier for her to smooth things over when things didn’t go anywhere near how she had planned; now four pairs of eyes watch me reproachfully. She didn’t try to serve a ‘good dinner’ most nights—carrots and pasta and a bit of chicken stirfry perfectly sufficing day in and day out. She read more novels to balance out the joyful jabber, mostly because she could on a kindle, while sitting and holding the baby…
Anyway, the point is it’s all wonderful, and changing all the time. “How you spend your days is how you spend your life” could not be more inaccurate when it comes to raising children!
Thanks to everyone who has read and shared my scribbles in that time. I’m very proud of the body of work I’ve made and hope you’ll continue following along.
Wanna browse the archives? Check out my film and books pages, along with the various topics and passion projects I’ve touched on over the years.
I know how easy it is to get disoriented. When you don’t want to get lost on your way back, look backwards frequently. Everything looks completely different from the opposite view.
If you’ve been to a movie at AMC in the last two years, you’ve seen their now-legendary in-house commercial starring Nicole Kidman where she walks into a theater extolling the magic of movies, moviegoing, and AMC:
It’s sincere, borderline saccharine, and immediately after its debut in September 2021 became a lightning rod for hot takes and memes and parodies—all of which I read and enjoyed.
But a funny thing happened when I went to see a movie for the first time in a while: I realized just how true and meaningful that ad is.
“We come to this place for magic.”
I recently stumbled upon an old writing assignment of mine from 9th grade called This Is My Life, where we had to write a short paper focusing on important aspects of our lives. The title page told the story best, with its grid of posters from Back to the Future, Memento, Unbreakable, Saving Private Ryan, and other favorite movies showing what mattered most to me at that time.
That assignment happened over 20 years ago, though I loved movies long before that, traipsing through the Disney canon as a kid before venturing into more adult fare as I got older (shoutout to my dad for bringing me to Mission: Impossible at 9 years old). In middle school I discovered Back to the Future, my first and abiding cinematic love. And from there my palate kept expanding into almost every genre, era, and region. While I didn’t become a cinematographer or director as I’d planned and indicated in that assignment, I did remain obsessed with movies and continued watching and loving and writing about them ever since.
That includes co-founding Cinema Sugar last year as a place to celebrate the movies we love, why they matter, and how they connect us all. Watching great movies is something I’d be doing no matter what, but Cinema Sugar provides the impetus for contemplating them—and appreciating them—more deeply as we build Top 10 lists and even consider our all-time favorites.
“That indescribable feeling we get when the lights begin to dim.”
All of that was stewing in my subconscious when I recently got out for a rare trip to the movie theater as an early birthday present. With a full-time job and two young kids at home, I haven’t been able to go as much as I’d like or used to before kids. The entire summer movie season had passed me by: Asteroid City, Indiana Jones, Past Lives, Barbie… all movies I would have gone to under different circumstances.
But at last I was going to Oppenheimer, and deeply grateful to be. I savored the short drive to the nearby AMC on a warm summer morning. After using up the last of a gift card on the ticket, I literally ran up the grand staircase to the second floor. Not because I was late, but because my body just needed to express the kinetic energy I was feeling inside.
I was going to a movie! I thought. It’s something I’ve never taken for granted, even during my single days or child-free phase. Going to the movies is a gift, no matter when, and that felt especially true that day as I sat down just before Nicole Kidman’s entrance.
I knew it was coming. What I didn’t know is that this time around, this video I’d seen many times before would give me goosebumps and suddenly make me feel like I was watching it for the first time. Only now, I saw its sentiment not as cloying but profound: Movies are magical. Moviegoing is important. And all the snark about the ad betrays a tragic lack of gratitude for what it’s telling us.
It also gave me déjà vu, because I’d seen a similar epiphany play out before on screen at the same theater.
“Somehow, heartbreak feels good in a place likе this.”
Less than a year ago I went to see Damien Chazelle’s film Babylon, wherein Manny (Diego Calva) is a laborer in 1920s Hollywood who happens to make connections with both the ambitious ingénue Nellie LaRoy (Margot Robbie) and aging film star Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt). He uses those connections to climb the studio ranks as an assistant, producer, and eventually director.
Over time he witnesses a lot: Nellie’s meteoric rise and fall, Jack’s slow obsolescence, an industry struggling to transition from silent movies to talkies—not to mention his own poor decisions gone terribly wrong.
(Spoilers ahead—skip to past the photo if you want to avoid them.)
Decades later, we catch up with him when, long out of the business, he returns to Hollywood and visits his old studio. But it’s not until he ends up in a movie theater showing Singin’ in the Rain when memories start to resurface, the movie’s title song triggering a torrent of flashbacks to his formative times with Nellie and the industry he’d loved—both of whom didn’t quite love him back.
We see those flashbacks intermixed with a time-jumping, fourth-wall-breaking montage of clips from a whole century of cinema. Manny would not live to see most of it, but what he and Nellie and Jack and countless others did make in their time served as the essential foundation for films to come.
“I’ve always wanted to go on a movie set,” he’d told Nellie way back when. “I just want to be part of something bigger… Something that lasts, that means something.” Helpless before the shining silver screen, he breaks down in tears at the realization that he got what he wanted, that what he lived through had transformed into something much bigger than himself—and he was the surviving witness to it.
“And we go somewhere we’ve never been before—not just entertained, but somehow reborn.”
Sometimes I wonder if all this time and attention I give to movies is worth it. They’re just stories after all, a series of images that flash before my eyes for a short time and then disappear. The world is full of real people who are struggling—what good are movies to them? Dedicating my focus to moving pictures can often feel frivolous at best and morally negligent at worst.
There’s a scene in Back to the Future Part II when Doc discovers Marty’s plan to use 2015’s sports almanac to bet on games back in 1985. “I didn’t invent the time machine for financial gain,” Doc says:
The intent here was to gain a clearer perception of humanity: where we’ve been, where we’re going, the pitfalls and the possibilities, the perils and the promise. Perhaps even an answer to that universal question: Why?”
That’s why movies matter.
Movies are us. They show us our history and our future. They celebrate our wins and illuminate our sins. They beckon us into a reality completely different from—or exactly like—our own, and by doing so tell us more about others and ourselves than we could have discovered alone. They are something bigger than us.
That epiphany is what made Manny weep with bittersweet awe in Babylon. It’s what has for so long drawn me to movies as constant companions on the perilous journey through life. And it’s what I chase every time I press play on a Blu-ray or sit in a dark theater, eagerly awaiting Kidman’s earnest invocation.
In the end, the reason actually doing things matters so much isn’t because it’s the right way to raise a successful adult, complete a novel, or achieve some other beneficial future goal. It’s because you’ll be using a bit of your actual time on the planet to live how you want to live.
It turns out, not doing their art was costing them time, was draining it away, little by little, like a slow but steady leak. They had assumed, wrongly, that there wasn’t enough time in the day to do their art, because they assumed (because we’re conditioned to assume) that every thing we do costs time. But that math doesn’t take energy into account, doesn’t grok that doing things that energize you gives you time back. By doing their art, a whole lot of time suddenly returned. Their art didn’t need more time; their time needed their art.
The way I show up for myself, the way I discover who I really am, is to make an appointment every day to show up to the page. If I show up to the page, I show up to myself.
This summer I managed to snap pics of a few cool and colorful critters spotted around our yard and house. And thanks to my phone’s aforementioned Visual Look Up, I actually know what they are.
One of the great things about running an online magazine like Cinema Sugar is that I can just decide that I want to try to interview someone, and then watch as that dream miraculously becomes reality.
That happened recently in conjunction with Westerns Month. I remembered that I’d read two excellent books about westerns by the Pulitzer Prize-winning author Glenn Frankel: The Searchers: The Making of an American Legend and High Noon: The Hollywood Blacklist and the Making of an American Classic. So I contacted him through his website, he got back to me, and we arranged a Zoom call.
Our resulting interview dug into his books, westerns in general, John Wayne vs. Gary Cooper, writing, and more. It was a unique thrill to chat with someone whose work I admire as a cinephile and history nerd, and I’m deeply grateful for his time and his thoughtful answers.
I absolutely love doing these interviews and thinking up questions I hope the subject will enjoy answering. Check out the archive of interviews with actors, directors, authors, and more, including:
Karolyn Grimes (Zuzu in It’s A Wonderful Life)
Actor Peter Stormare (Fargo, Armageddon, Minority Report)
80 for Brady director Kyle Brady
Writer/director Ron Shelton (White Men Can’t Jump, Bull Durham, Tin Cup)
Not Spotify. The only reason I used Spotify was to listen to the Armchair Expert podcast, which was part of the unfortunate trend of podcasts going Spotify-exclusive a few years ago. But now it’s back out in the open internet, which means I can finally stop using Spotify!
Not Disney+. Last year we paid up front for a full year before the prices went up. Now that has expired and, despite having a four year old, we’re not renewing. Prices are going up yet again and we have a good collection of shows and movies on DVD (including, vitally, Bluey), so we just don’t see the need for it.
White noise phone shortcut. I learned about this from a random Instagram Reel: iPhones now have built-in Background Sounds (i.e. white noise) in Settings, which you can add a shortcut to in the Control Center. Quick, easy, essential tool with a three month old in the house.
Visual Look Up. Yet another hidden iOS gem. Take a picture of any identifiable landmark, sign, art, insect, whatever and it’ll detect what it is and show similar web and image results. I use it mostly for identifying bugs and other critters around our yard.
Didn’t think I’d actually watch Netflix’s new 8-part Quarterback miniseries, but I got sucked in. The series follows Patrick Mahomes, Kirk Cousins, and Marcus Mariota throughout the 2022 season both on and off the field. I haven’t seen Hard Knocks so I don’t know how it compares in terms of tone or content, but this felt like a comprehensive and revelatory look at the many challenges of being an NFL quarterback.
Being able to follow these men into their personal lives let us see the human side of their commodified, cloistered personas. Fighting through injury. Getting benched. Reckoning with losses and legacy. Subjecting themselves to a brutally physical game then going right home to do bedtime with their young kids. It’s stuff we know happens but don’t see when they’re on a fantasy football roster.
It also provided a stark contrast with another quarterback-centric Netflix documentary I watched while in the midst of it. Johnny Football charts the rise and fall of Johnny Manziel from a high school phenom to high-drafted NFL bust. Manziel’s sudden college stardom masked a lot of problems with his behavior and work ethic—things Manziel now rather candidly owns up to.
Watching his process (or lack thereof) compared to the other Netflix QBs revealed just how rarified the air is for successful NFL players. Mariota and Cousins are statistically rather middling compared to their peers, but compared to Manziel they’re like elite, MVP-level performers. (Like… Patrick Mahomes.)
My relationship to football has changed a lot over the years. I’ve gone from dutiful Packers follower and fantasy league commissioner to barely having watched the playoffs. I enjoy a good game as much as any other sports fan, but I’ve moved past them having any influence on my life. Quarterback scratched the itch of appreciating the game while also learning more about its participants. Whether a second season will remain as illuminating now that the novelty has worn off is TBD.
The opening monologue of the 2003 film Shattered Glass:
Some reporters think it’s political content that makes a story memorable. I think it’s the people you find… their quirks, their flaws, what makes them funny, what makes them human. Journalism is just the art of capturing behavior. You have to know who you’re writing for. And you have to know what you’re good at. I record what people do, I find out what moves them, what scares them, and I write that down. That way, they are the ones telling the story.
The irony of this is that the film is about the Stephen Glass journalism scandal and the speaker is Stephen Glass himself, an unreliable narrator if there ever was one. So while the surface-level meaning of the words is true and compelling, you can’t ignore the second meaning that is informed by the “people” Glass refers to—the ones that never existed and that he made up for the sake of a good story.
Something I think about a lot are these lyrics from the Ben Folds song “Bastard”:
You get smaller as the world gets big The more you know you know you don’t know shit “The whiz man” will never fit you like “the whiz kid” did So why you gotta act like you know when you don’t know? It’s okay if you don’t know everything
This is such a simple concept that applies to a variety of situations, whether it’s politicians spouting off nonsense or insecure people projecting false confidence to mask a deeper fear.
In the latest issue of his newsletter The Imperfectionist, Oliver Burkeman posits that we should treat our to-do lists more like menus:
One great benefit of doing this more consciously, though – of facing the fact that lists are menus – is that it shifts the source of gratification. The reward of pleasure, or a sense of meaning, no longer gets doled out stingily, in morsels, en route to some hypothetical moment of future fulfillment when the list is finally complete. Instead, it comes from getting to pick something from the menu – from getting to dive in to one of the vast range of possibilities the world has to offer, without any expectation of getting through them all. Which also means you get to have the reward right now.
The Washington Post essay by Christine Emba called “Men are lost. Here’s a map out of the wilderness” has made the rounds over the last month, and for good reason. Emba takes stock of the currently tenuous state of American masculinity, with insightful commentary from Of Boys and Men author Richard Reeves and professor Scott Galloway.
Here’s a key passage on what “good masculinity” should look like:
Reeves, in our earlier conversation, had put it somewhat more subtly. “I try to raise my boys” — he has three — “to have the confidence to ask a girl out, if that’s their inclination; the grace to accept no for an answer; and the responsibility to make sure that, either way, she gets home safely.” His recipe for masculine success echoed Galloway’s: proactiveness, agency, risk-taking and courage, but with a pro-social cast.
This tracked with my intuitions about what “good masculinity” might look like — the sort that I actually admire, the sort that women I know find attractive but often can’t seem to find at all. It also aligns with what the many young men I spoke with would describe as aspirational, once they finally felt safe enough to admit they did in fact carry an ideal of manhood with its own particular features.
Physical strength came up frequently, as did a desire for personal mastery. They cited adventurousness, leadership, problem-solving, dignity and sexual drive. None of these are negative traits, but many men I spoke with felt that these archetypes were unfairly stigmatized: Men were too assertive, too boisterous, too horny.
But, in fact, most of these features are scaffolded by biology — all are associated with testosterone, the male sex hormone. It’s not an excuse for “boys will be boys”-style bad behavior, but, realistically, these traits would be better acknowledged and harnessed for pro-social aims than stifled or downplayed. Ignoring obvious truths about human nature, even general ones, fosters the idea that progressives are out of touch with reality.
On how to create a positive vision of masculinity:
Recognizing distinctiveness but not pathologizing it. Finding new ways to valorize it and tell a story that is appealing to young men and socially beneficial, rather than ceding ground to those who would warp a perceived difference into something ugly and destructive.
Emba’s vision:
In my ideal, the mainstream could embrace a model that acknowledges male particularity and difference but doesn’t denigrate women to do so. It’s a vision of gender that’s not androgynous but still equal, and relies on character, not just biology. And it acknowledges that certain themes — protector, provider, even procreator — still resonate with many men and should be worked with, not against.
But how to implement it? Frankly, it will be slow. A new masculinity will be a norm shift, and that takes time. The women’s movement succeeded in changing structures and aspirations, but the social transformation didn’t take place overnight. And empathy will be required, as grating as that might feel.
It is harder to be a man today, and in many ways, that is a good thing: Finally, the freer sex is being held to a higher standard.
Here’s an exchange I had with my 4 year old while on a recent walk around the pond:
“Papa, guess what: penguins cannot fly.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know, I need to learn.”
We were walking past some ducks when he said this so that must have triggered the fact about penguins, which I’m guessing he learned from one of his Yoto cards.
I love that part—that urge to share what he knows. But I also love his response to my follow-up question: when confronted with something he didn’t know, he both admitted ignorance and expressed the desire to investigate further.
Both of those impulses come naturally at his age, so I’m not saying he’s special in that way. I just really respect and enjoy the preschooler’s tendency to declare what they know (or think they know) and remain insatiably curious about what they don’t.
Recently my aunt got my 4 year old a “something special for the new big brother” gift: a popup butterfly garden with a cup of live caterpillars. The cup came in the mail prefilled with caterpillar food, which they ate over the course of a week as they grew and eventually retreated into their own chrysalides.
Then soon enough, they wriggled out one by one and emerged as painted lady butterflies:
We fed them some fruit and “nectar” (sugar water) and after a few days set them free into the wild. As they were flying away, the 4 year old said: “Goodbye butterflies, I’ll never forget you. I think the butterflies will always remember me.”
It was a fun little project for all of us, and a cool thing for the 4 year old to witness and directly facilitate.
Threads. I hopped onto the new app with the Cinema Sugar account on Wednesday evening when it was first going public. It’s been fun goofing off about movies and interacting with people in a new venue. Not so fun is the feed full of random accounts you don’t even follow. Hoping/assuming that will change soon.
Monday.com. My new job uses this project management software and it’s my first experience with it. Still getting acquainted but appreciate the clean interface and robust features.
Wireless vertical ergonomic mouse. I saw a coworker using one of these and got inspired to give this one a try. Once you get past the initial disorientation it’s a really nice experience and way more comfortable than a regular mouse. Also glad to eliminate another cord from my limited desk space at home.
A library Roku. My library circulates free Rokus preloaded with all the major streaming services. This has been helpful for when we want to watch some stuff on services we don’t subscribe to without having to pay. See if your library offers them!
