So many movies, so little time.
We’re not so far removed from the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when virtual and remote connections were both prevalent and necessary functions of work life. For writers (and humble film critics), covering festivals became an interesting and much more accessible exercise, as most prominent events had turned to online video streams to excited audiences, increasing the amount of approved press credentials from just the major outlets to bloggers and up-and-coming writers alike. Universal access was achieved, giving all a right to write early about independent and foreign films.
The Overlook Film Festival, which boasts being in “the most haunted city” of our dear New Orleans for several years now, included itself in such universal offerings through their collaborative event Night Stream, which remains to me an incredible moment that should be celebrated always, as it brought together different organizations from across the country. Pooling resources for moviegoers and critics alike for the sake of cinema.
This year, 2025, Overlook continued in-person theatrical and the wonderful Uptown and Canal Place venues of Prytania Theatres, bringing indie red carpets, celebrities, parties, and special presentations for most to enjoy.
This time around, due to the popularity of the festival, I was allotted only remote coverage in a very limited capacity. Odd, since the screenings were only a Causeway trip away from me. I get it – slots should be open for bigger writers to cover for bigger publications. And with a dwindly local press krewe of culture journalists, this makes sense. It’s a sad sense, but still.
The few movies I was able to watch were, as per usual with Overlook, excellent undertakings, and I’m glad to be able to express my enthusiasm for these programmed selections:
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This year’s Grand Jury Winner for Best Feature Film of the Festival was Addison Heimann’s Touch Me, a movie that I had first come across at Sundance a few months ago. Gross and hilarious, strange but timeless. It’s the horribly relevant tale of a young woman recounting her experiences in a very toxic romantic relationship…with a tentacled male alien being. Just when she feels as if she has moved on, he appears to her in a coffee shop, happily smiling her way, and swooning her with his handsome looks and toned-up engaging body.
Played by long-time indie darling Lou Taylor Pucci, this tantric-like being invites his former flame and her gay best friend to his magnificent abode, where sexy surprises and super secrets await. Oh, and hip-hop dancing. Lots of it. Touch Me goes above and beyond mental gymnastics by dumbing things down a notch or two. It’s all about physical pleasure and addiction to sensory ecstasy, and the wanting for more. It’s about one-sided power dynamics, making partners feel “special” to keep them close. It’s about spreading this seed all over the Earth, with no end in sight.
I can’t say that I was scared or on the edge of my seat, but Touch Me was surprising fare, especially when it came to Pucci, who performed not unlike a cult leader of some sort. His role was the pin that held the attention together for me, and that alone was disturbing. After all, a movie about exuding such power over its audience and being successful at receiving much reward brings about too many questions about moviegoing and about fandom. I dare not dwell, but can’t help myself.
Not to be outdone, artist and filmmaker Flying Lotus came to Overlook to help curate a few flicks, the highlights of which, for me, were selections from now-deceased director of the surreal David Lynch’s catalog. I’ve been hesitant to express my feelings about the man’s passing and what he meant to me, but celebrating his life and work with perhaps his most terrifying film, Lost Highway, and some of his best experimental shorts brought joy to my heart.
Dopplegangers and multiple personalities, odes to the classic Vertigo and a shocking turn from the controversial (and possibly criminal) actor Robert Blake, Lost Highway sits alone among the films of Lynch. Actually, most of his movies do too, but this one is different. It is outright his scariest feature, rivaling Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire, which I feel all three make up a loose and spiritual trilogy.
Screened at Prytania Uptown, Lost Highway is one of those films that make one look over shoulders from time to time, feeling as though someone is not just standing or sitting behind, but intensely observing and waiting, cloaked in darkness. Could it be Robert Blake himself? I’d suggest it’s something more sinister. I’d suggest it’s whatever comes to mind, whatever boogey man or men that lurk deep within. Imagine that! Imagine the Prytania as a place of terror and not a meca of light.
That’s cinema. That’s David Lynch.
Finally, let’s give The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, the original, its due. Once more, I mean. Less a documentary and more a talking head series of essayic interviews, Chain Reactions captures the thoughts and views of five celebrities, from Patton Oswalt to Stephen King, who each have had their own experiences with Tobe Hooper’s masterpiece, and who each have their interpretations on the film and its legacy in Americana.
I only just recently fully viewed this classic, and I have to say that I was startled. At 39 years young, having seen almost everything that films have to offer, I was reminded that the form of cinema is still growing and that I haven’t lost my sense of being shocked and in awe. Chain Reactions couldn’t be more on my wavelength if it tried, getting special anecdotes out of its subjects and their comparisons to other titans of this illusion-heavy medium that we call film.
But it’s mostly just that and that mostly. Interviews and chats over footage of Leatherface doing his thing. It’s never boring, but from time to time, it burns out. Is there only so much that can be pulled from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre? I doubt it, but Chain Reactions does wear thin in small segments.
Still, it’s rightfully enough for some ripe conversation and brilliant thoughtfulness about a movie that, to this day, still maintains a grasp on the throats of our collective shock. Like Pink Flamingos, some films will forever be startling. ⚜️🍿
Bill Arceneaux has been writing about movies in Hollywood South since 2011. He’s a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association and has a newsletter blog called Moviegoing with Bill. He also hosts a review segment on Fox 44 Baton Rouge’s Capital K9’s show.
