PTS Proudly Presents Aaron Moorhead and Justin Benson of SPRING


We were incredibly honored to have on the filmmaking duo responsible for the years second best film thus far (behind MAD MAX, sorry guys), Aaron Moorhead and Justin Benson of SPRING.  Both Aaron and Justin co-directed the film and edited it together.  Aaron shot the film, and Justin wrote it – but they both had their hands all over each process of the film’s production.

This film is absolutely beautiful, and touching.  It will be one of the most unique and heartfelt love stories you will ever see.  Please check this film out if you have not already.

We trek into spoiler territory for this film, so please be advised.  This film is available to purchase at Best Buy right now, or you can pre-order the blu ray at Amazon.  You can rent/own this film via Amazon Instant Video, Vudu or iTunes.




Wholly cinematic, formally audacious, and made with a clear passion for expanding upon the notion of what constitutes “personal cinema,” Xavier Dolan’s emotionally draining film Mommy is a tour de force for everyone involved. Films like this will definitely provoke some sort of response from the viewer, and whether it’s a good or bad reaction will depend on how open you are as a viewer to be put in the middle of a sad family dynamic that might hit too close to home for some. This is an often times painful domestic drama that unflinchingly stares directly into the face of familial madness without offering any easy solutions to the various problems that are highlighted during the beyond intense two hour and 20 minute runtime. Shot in a perfect square aspect ratio of 1:1, this unusual format allows for the harsh yet gorgeous visuals to gather an extraordinarily intimate head of steam, bringing the audience extremely close to the action, with characters often times busting out of the confines of the frame. And then, during two flights of fancy that strongly tie into the film’s central themes of freedom and regret, Dolan’s film opens up into 1.85:1, allowing a breath of fresh air for everyone, including the audience, as we continue to observe a tragic situation getting all the more dangerous as it progresses. The three central performances are staggering, and it’s a crime that the Academy didn’t pay any attention to this incredibly confident piece of cinema, one that challenges the viewer at almost every turn, asking them to go on an unpredictable ride with loose-cannon characters that can never be tamed. A general plot description: The phenomenal Anne Dorval stars as Diane, “Die” for short, a saucy, widowed mother who is totally consumed and overwhelmed with the struggle of raising her mentally troubled and sometimes physically violent son Steve (Antoine Olivier Pilon, in a mesmerizing performance of anger and rage). Diane and Steve have a strange, sometimes borderline questionable relationship; think Cyrus but even more oedipal. Along comes an odd and possibly sick (mentally or physically it’s never explained but there’s just something…off about her…) neighbor named Kyla (the intriguing Suzanne Clément) who forms a unique bond and friendship with both Diane and Steve, which leads to some truly unexpected developments and moments of harsh truth for everyone involved. I’ve never seen a film like Mommy, it kept me on the edge of my seat wondering where it was headed next, Dolan’s filmmaking chops totally smacked me upside my head, and I’m now forced to track down the other four films that this 25 year old filmmaker has made over the last five years. This is an unforgettable piece of storytelling and filmmaking.




Running Scared is off the wall, go-for-broke-cinema. You feel like an outlaw while viewing it. Directed with ferocious energy by the fiercely independent and tremendously gifted writer/director Wayne Kramer, this cult favorite was released to both critical adoration and hostility (the Ebert & Roeper episode is a BONAFIDE CLASSIC, with Roeper truly showing how much of an ignoramus he can be), and represented a total switch-up in terms of filmmaking style and intent from his earlier, far more reserved picture, the Las Vegas-set romantic drama The Cooler. This film was part of the mid-2000’s trend of cubist action pictures made by filmmakers looking to advance the form of the extreme action picture (Tony Scott’s Domino, Joe Carnahan’s Smokin’ Aces, and Michael Davis’s Shoot ‘Em Up are other notable entries in this subgenre with more recent stuff like Carnahan’s Stretch and Kramer’s Pawn Shop Chronicles also serving as welcome additions). Running Scared made a splash with adventurous audiences in 2006, and it ranks as one of the premiere R-rated actioners of the last 15 years. It’s a supremely stylish hybrid that goes to some truly creepy and insane places on a narrative level while never stopping in the aesthetic explosion department, treating the camera and editing bay as if they were the ultimate toys at a filmmaker’s disposal – as it should be in my estimation. I fucking LOVE this movie. LOVE IT. I was blown away in the theater when I first saw it, and was immediately obsessed with the aggressive stylings and forceful dramatic content that sometimes borders on an overt political statement (Fuck You, Pedophiles!) Running Scared takes elements from the traditional cop film and mixes them with super-dark magical realism (truly the nastiest kind), gritty 70’s flourishes, and modern violence ‘n mayhem which results in an intoxicating brew of kitchen-sink-cinema. This film won’t be for everyone, but for those looking to take a walk on the wild side, look no further.

Ebert’s famous review of Running Scared said it all: “Speaking of movies that go over the top, ‘Running Scared’ goes so far over the top, it circumnavigates the top and doubles back on itself; it’s the Mobius Strip of over-the-topness. I am in awe. It throws in everything but the kitchen sink. Then it throws in the kitchen sink, too, and the combo washer-dryer in the laundry room, while the hero and his wife are having sex on top of it.” HA! I couldn’t have said it any better myself, Roger. Damn I miss your passion. Running Scared is a joyous celebration of all things wild and wooly, with an incredibly engaging and increasingly frenzied lead performance from the late Paul Walker, a terrific supporting turn from Vera Farmiga as his strong willed wife, and tons of great character actors showing off their gruff faces and getting into some seriously nasty shoot-outs (Chazz Palminteri, Johnny Messner, Karl Roden, John Noble, Ivana Milicevic, David Warshofsky POWER, Arthur J. Nascarella, Bruce Altman, Elizabeth Mitchell, and Michael Cudlitz are all extremely memorable). The narrative pivots on a gun used in the murder of a corrupt cop; it’s up to gangster underling Jimmy (Walker) to dispose of the weapon in question without it ever being found. But when the gun goes missing thanks to Jimmy’s 10 year old son and his snooping best friend, all hell breaks loose, and he’s on the run looking for the pistol while trying to evade the dangerous crosshairs of crooked cops, psycho pimps, child killers, and the Russian mob. I’m not saying anything more than that on a story level as this film will surprise ANYONE who checks it out. There’s simply no way to see the various events coming before they arrive in this unhinged piece. This is a dangerous, perverse, adult-oriented flick, replete with seriously graphic violence, hot sex, full female frontal nudity, and the exquisitely liberal use of my favorite word: “Fuck.” And without spoiling it, the way Kramer used Farmiga’s character in the second half of this film deserves major praise. In far too many films, the role of the put upon wife can feel like an afterthought. Not here. In the film’s most controversial bits, she gets to “take out the trash” in a vigilante-esque fashion that feels both emotionally bracing and incredibly cathartic for anyone who feels that societal garbage needs to be wiped out.

The cinematographer James Whitaker goes berserk, filming the action in jagged, extreme close-ups and ultra-slick Steadicam to create a sense of danger and immediacy while upping the visceral ante considerably in all of the brazenly bloody shoot-outs and pummeling beat-downs. Arthur Coburn’s astute editing treats each shot like a piece of the increasingly crazy puzzle that this film ultimately resembles, with staccato editing patterns to match the increasingly heightened visuals. Mark Isham’s sinister and incredibly effective score still haunts me on a weekly basis, with that great theme song used in all the right moments. And again, I have to go back to one of my absolute favorite elements of this movie, which is all of the stuff with Farmiga’s character, and what she gets to add to the story on an overall emotional level. Thanks to Kramer’s inventive screenplay, the thankless role of the “on-looking wife” has been given some heft and texture instead of being relegated to the sidelines, especially after so memorably introducing her. Kramer found ways for the narrative to involve her in interesting and complex ways, giving her character her own arc, and giving the film a menacing edge it might not otherwise have had. And yet another thing I LOVE about this movie is how the various scumbags truly get what they deserve in this outrageous world that Kramer created. You can’t truly take this movie seriously but that doesn’t stop it from being anything less than outlandishly entertaining. It’s a constantly shifting piece of storytelling and is filled with twists and turns, and when you think about EVERYTHING by the conclusion, you’ll notice that some of what happens didn’t NEED to happen, but it did because of the daring bravura of Kramer’s nightmarish vision. That the film was shot in Prague and set in New Jersey only adds to the unique flavor of the entire piece. This was Kramer unleashed, experimenting with form while still paying heed to the satisfying conventions of genre. If this is a film that has escaped you, do yourself a favor and check it out. But be prepared for something cranked up to 100!




In 2003, director Wayne Kramer made a snappy and punchy calling card picture The Cooler, a Las Vegas fairy tale explicitly made for adults starring William H. Macy and Maria Bello as lost souls and unlikely lovers who have to make some big life decisions in order to better their personal situations. In the highly entertaining story concocted by Kramer and co-writer Frank Hannah, we’re introduced to lovable loser Bernie (Macy in one of his best performances), an old-school casino “cooler” who is under the sway of his ruthless boss Shelly (an Oscar nominated and totally nasty Alec Baldwin), who uses Bernie’s perpetual bad luck as a way of turning the tides on hot-streak gamblers. Bernie has been smitten with cocktail waitress Nathalie (a terrific Maria Bello) for a while, and before you know it, the two of them have started up a passionate and extremely sexy affair that threatens their safety. Once Bernie starts to fall in love, his loser-ways begin to fade, with his cold-touch seemingly disappearing right before his eyes. And most importantly, Bernie is done with being Shelly’s casino pet, and has told him that he’s got one week left on the job right at the start of the film. Shelly’s not impressed with this bit of news. But stuff gets really complicated when Bernie’s screw-up son tries to rig a game and make off with a huge score at the craps table, thus resulting in some broken legs and a promise by Bernie to make good on his son’s debt. Kramer and Hannah’s dialogue is vulgar and peppy, and Arthur Coburn’s energetic editing was in perfect tandem with the casually stylish camerawork from James Whitaker which made great use of the casino floor and all of the trappings of the house. Mark Isham’s awesome, saxophone-dominated score hits all the perfect notes of Vegas sleaze and heartfelt romance, especially as the love affair between Bernie and Nathalie blossoms. Much was made at the time of the on screen nudity on the part of Bello and Macy, as their sex scenes have an unforced authenticity that makes the various sequences feel all the more real and passionate. Macy, everyone’s favorite loser, is perfect here, all vulnerability and awkwardness, while Bello makes you care in all the right emotional moments, while also getting a chance to show off her confidently sexual side as an actress, which would be further explored in David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence and the intensely disturbing Downloading Nancy from director Johan Renck. But it’s Baldwin who steals the picture every time he turns up, delivering a deliciously evil performance where he’s able to spout off some pungent, hard-nosed dialogue while cutting a convincing portrait of a guy stuck in the past with no understanding of the future. This is an intensely romantic film at times, one that believes in the notion of fate and chance and luck, and while the ending might strike some as overly convenient given the harsh plot developments, I absolutely loved the way Kramer and Hannah went with their hearts and decided to end their picture. They’re happy to run their characters through the ringer but they’re also clearly in love with them, which extends to the performances and the overall zest of the filmmaking. Ron Livingston, Paul Sorvino, Shawn Hatosy, Estella Warren, and Arthur J. Nascarella provided colorful and memorable support, and the entire film has a cool-factor that’s hard to put into words. A Blu-ray release is long overdue for this gem in the subgenre of Las Vegas crime dramas.




The Onion Field is an upsetting, highly detailed, true-crime movie directed with class by Harold Becker in his second big-screen effort after The Ragman’s Daughter. Released in 1979 and starring an impressive cast of up and coming talent including an incredible John Savage, a tragic Ted Danson, and a live-wire James Woods in one of his all-time skeeviest performances, the film centers on the murder of Los Angeles police officer Ian Campbell (Danson), and how his partner Karl Hettinger (Savage) miraculously escaped but never got over the intense feelings of guilt and despair brought upon by the sudden and violent tragedy. Woods plays Gregory Powell, the unremorsefully evil shooter, with a shifty and sweaty Franklyn Seales portraying his accomplice, Jimmy Smith. Joseph Wambaugh adapted his own book for the screen, and he painted a complicated picture of a variety of people thrown into each other’s orbit after a terrible crime and how the ramifications of the situation multiplied for everyone involved. The opening tracking shot through a tree-lined 1963 Los Angeles suburb immediately sets the tone, with Eumir Deodato’s score swelling on the soundtrack, as the initially easy going performances from Savage and Danson give way to nervous suspense the moment Woods and his goons enter the picture. Wambaugh’s multilayered screenplay also tackles the desperate attempts by Powell and Smith to get off of death row, which they successful accomplish, and while Smith was released in 1982, I find it interesting (and sort of awesome) that, according to some rumors, Powell developed some form of cancer while in the joint, and was never given the time of day by jail doctors, in effect letting him (hopefully) painfully suffer up until the bitter, miserable end. Becker handles the murder sequence in chilling fashion, with the Bakersfield onion field location shot in striking and ominous moonlit shadows by cinematographer Charles Rosher, Jr., who provided the picture with a smooth and confident visual style. This is tough-goings moviemaking, centering on a cold-hearted tragedy, and how some people become overwhelmingly affected by violent loss. Savage was sensational as Hettinger, cutting to the core of what would have troubled the real life detective, as one is left with the impression that while hope is glimpsed at by the finale, it was a long road to full recovery. Ronny Cox provides memorable support. The film has just been released on Blu-ray by Kino and the picture and audio quality is top shelf.



Femme Fatale is VINTAGE De Palma – elegant, sexy, totally twisted, and in love with itself and the endless possibilities and conventions of classic noir filmmaking. This is a staggering work of pure cinema, a work that knowingly winks at itself and an entire genre that it looks too for inspiration. De Palma has crafted a neo-noir that feels like it’s paying tribute to the history of film in general, in love with its sultry leading lady, in love with film noir, in love with sex, in love with violence, in love with its own self-reflexive movie-movieness, and most especially, in love with SUPREME cinematic style. I’ll never get tired of re-watching this brilliant piece of work from the Master of the Macabre and I’m perfectly content to have become wholly obsessed with it. It’s my favorite Brian De Palma movie of all time, and that says a lot, because if you know me, you know I worship at the Altar of Brian D. If you’ve never seen the trailer, I highly urge you to check it out, as it’s one of the best, boldest coming attractions ever put together for a movie. But a trailer is only a trailer, and as incredible as it is, it can’t prepare you for the full thing. From the almost totally dialogue free opening sequence lasting nearly 30 minutes and featuring a steamy sex scene and complicated diamond heist during a gala screening at the Cannes Film Festival with Ravel’s Bolero playing on the soundtrack, you know you’re in the hands of a filmmaker who is in total control of his kinky, dreamy, exacting vision. Thierry Arbogast’s smooth, gorgeous, and strikingly composed cinematography is the stuff that dreams are made of; how this film has been ignored on the Blu-ray format is mystifying and insulting. Femme Fatale centers on a perfectly cast Antonio Banderas as a sleazy paparazzi who is tasked with photographing the alluring wife of a senator, played with icy, devilish glee by the stunning Rebecca Romijn, a character that’s clearly been molded on classic femme fatales from yesteryear, most especially Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity and countless confused Hitchcockian heroines. And to be honest, for a supermodel with ZERO major acting experience before this film, Romijn was fantastic. Sure, some of her dialogue is stilted, but that might have been De Palma’s intention, and the way that De Palma uses the visual language of filmmaking all around his lead actress shows that he understood how to utilize her in this fearless performance. She’s asked to do a French actress, play multiple “characters,” and showcase an almost unparalleled level of overt sexiness that’s normally shied away from in a major motion picture. The strip tease scene is an absolute all-timer, with De Palma and Arbograst literally making love to her with the camera. Banderas has rarely been this loose and sympathetic on screen, giving a terrifically seedy performance as the greasy paparazzo that gets caught up in a serious web of intrigue with a variety of morally questionable characters. But there’s WAY more to the twisted plot than just that, and I’d be an immense ass to spoil ANY of this wonderfully nasty and playfully hot ‘n bothered thriller, as it’s a film that was clearly made with a grinning and cackling De Palma behind the director’s monitor. Everything about this shifty, tricky, and smashingly sexy movie screams “look at me” in all the best ways that tour de force cinema often can — this was De Palma reminding everyone that he’s still capable of knocking it out of the cinematic park and into the silver-screen freeway. Few films have the same technical bravura that De Palma shows off in Femme Fatale; the almost wordless initial 30 minutes are some of the most gorgeous and inventive bits of visual storytelling that have ever graced the screen, and the entire narrative tips its hat to numerous classics from the past, while allowing for De Palma to get extra modern with the nudity and violence and language. Femme Fatale is the epitome of a multiple viewings movie, because in order to unlock all of its secrets, you need to give yourself up to the wild game that De Palma is playing. You get split screens, tons of slow motion, flashbacks, flash-forwards, dopplegangers, mistaken identity, double crossing, identity theft, and every other sly and over the top narrative and aesthetic trick that De Palma can come up with. This is De Palma’s ode to cinema, ode to women, and ode to a genre that he smashed and elevated every time he took it on.