I love films that make L.A. look like the loneliest place in the world. Incredible cast and meticulously crafted shots, like the one where Sissy Spacek's pajamas are the same material as the wallcovering. She's never been more beautiful than in this film, the greatest film Robert Altman never made. Altman produced this, actually, but Alan Rudolph directed it, using Altman's ensemble in a subtler, moodier way. 4.6
Ever noticed that every movie set in contemporary Los Angeles since WWII is about end times? Just look how nervous these women are! Amazing that we only see one of them chasing Valium w/ rotgut. It wouldn't be an L.A. movie without the passing invocation of an earthquake that never comes. It would appear (regrettably) to be the first (of many) L.A. movies where a small handful of people keep randomly bumping heads.
Alan Rudolph is the direct descendant of Robert Altman and he was the our segue into Paul Thomas Anderson. Just like Altman before him, Rudolph makes us look a little closer at what is going on right in front of our eyes.
The matrix of the regrettable "Magnolia". Disciple of Altman -who promoted him-, especially of his coral movies, Rudolph never got to supplant the pretension to be and this movie is, perhaps, his magnum opus: a "chorus" with conductive diegetic music, with a suit of big name actors (what a beautiful Sissy Spacek!) accumulating dramaturgical plain pomposity and a formality that never exceeds its artistic irrelevance.
Some nicely stoned/woozy Altman-esque sketches...and some of the very worst L.A.-'70s/sterile-studio-bound elevator/dentist's-office music you'll ever hear, front and center (musician(s) characters figure prominently) and wall-to-wall.