Dead Poets Society Dead Poets Society Dead Poets Society Dead Poets Society

Directed by Peter Weir, written by Tom Schulman. 1990.

i’m building my first sculpture, well, ever, and it involves some metal birds so this song is big mood these days

The Matrix The Matrix The Matrix The Matrix

Written and directed by The Wachowskis, 1999.

Given the events of the last film in this series I have no clue how they’ll make a follow-up without further tarnishing the legacy but this remains a fantastic movie.

Margin Call Margin Call Margin Call Margin Call

Written and directed by J. C. Chandor, 2011.

, this is one of those movies that is so conflicting because in no world should bankers be made to look cool, and even though everyone has a collective panic attack, the amount of damage these fuckers do to the real world makes their presence on screen questionable at best. however, this movie is incredibly well-done, which is even more annoying.

Sunshine Sunshine Sunshine Sunshine

Directed by Danny Boyle. Written by Alex Garland. 2007.

—this is still pure magic—

Fight Club Fight Club Fight Club Fight Club

Directed by David Fincher. Screenplay by Jim Uhls adapted from the novel by Chuck Palahnuik. 1999.

—i always wanted to know what the guys in the back seat of the car saw during the argument on the highway in the rainstorm. that would be a great random short.

Pierrot Le Fou Pierrot Le Fou Pierrot Le Fou Pierrot Le Fou

Written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard, 1965.

My all-time favorite film.

Nightcrawler Nightcrawler Nightcrawler Nightcrawler

Written and directed by Dan Gilroy, 2014.

an absolute masterclass in character acting by Gyllenhall in this one.

this is so fucking good it makes my head hurt. in the future when they look back on art in the age of Nothing Fucking Matters Anymore (And Then The World Ended), this should be page 1 as to how artists responded

I wanted to be sure to reach you;
though my ship was on the way it got caught
in some moorings. I am always tying up
and then deciding to depart. In storms and
at sunset, with the metallic coils of the tide
around my fathomless arms, I am unable
to understand the forms of my vanity
or I am hard alee with my Polish rudder
in my hand and the sun sinking. To
you I offer my hull and the tattered cordage
of my will. The terrible channels where
the wind drives me against the brown lips
of the reeds are not all behind me. Yet
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks, it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.

—Frank O’Hara, from Meditations In An Emergency