Films and Feelings

          It was about this time last year that I came across the one person who actually hated Toy Story 3 .          I was reading Jason Sperb’s book “Flickers of Film: Nostalgia in the Age of Digital Cinema” as part of my research for my essay on Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Pokemon: Detective Pikachu . It was in one of his chapters on the Pixar phenomenon that he shared this observation from the ending of Toy Story 3: “ If Andy lets go of his childhood nostalgia and moves on, then Toy Story fans don’t really have to , as the narrative recognition in the potential value in such an act is sufficient. Actually moving on becomes indefinitely deferred in an endless cycle of consumption (rewatching the movies, purchasing new versions of the movie, purchasing more and more Toy Story-related merchandise, rewatching them yet again with the next generation of children, and so forth). Pixar’s own nostalgia for itself and its nostalgia for consumerism are so intertwined because the products

  Sam Levinson's new film, Malcolm and Marie , drops on Netflix and select theaters today--just early enough to not be this year's Valentine's Day offering. In this case that's a good thing. Don't misunderstand, the film hits a sweet spot, but that spot is decidedly far away from the likes of Life as We Know it and While You Were Sleeping . An intersection of  Sunset Boulevard  and  Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf, the movie displays love in all its cracks and contours and bites at the audience just as aggressively as it bites at its own stars. Malcolm & Marie finds our titular characters, longtime lovers, coming home after the press premiere of Malcolm's new feature film. Malcolm is an artist convinced that his work transcends human description. Marie is a recovering addict and an actress who walked away from the camera before she ever found the spotlight. As they await the onslaught of reactions from the critics, subterranean tensions between them stir,