David Given Schwarm

Married, Father, United

Tag: Film

  • The New Yorker at 100: A Century of Wit and Wisdom on Film

    Marshall Curry’s The New Yorker at 100 is a gleaming cinematic tribute that captures the essence of one of America’s most iconic magazines. Narrated with quiet authority by Julianne Moore, the film’s structure feels like an expertly curated timeline—each era of The New Yorker unfolds with deliberate pacing, guiding viewers from its 1925 founding through its 100th-anniversary issue. This chronological approach not only maps the magazine’s evolution, but it also contextualizes its cultural significance in an era of shifting journalistic values.

    Critics like Owen Gleiberman praised the documentary for offering “a backstage tour of how the supremely refined sausage gets made,” an apt metaphor for the detailed, behind-the-scenes exploration Curry delivers. The film doesn’t shy away from revealing the inner workings of editorial meetings, the ironclad fact-checking process, and the often-overlooked labor behind each weekly issue. These insights elevate the documentary from a celebratory piece to a loving portrait of craftsmanship—the kind that resonates with both longtime readers and newcomers alike.

    The timeline structure truly shines when highlighting key turning points—from Harold Ross’s founding vision for Manhattan sophisticates to Tina Brown’s era, bringing stardom and skepticism in equal measure. These chapters unfold with polished visuals, historic footage, and a smart selection of emblematic covers—like Saul Steinberg’s iconic “View of the World from 9th Avenue”—that underscore The New Yorker’s cultural imprint. While some critics felt the film was “star-studded but superficial,” the timeline itself remains compelling and informative.

    The film’s critical balance lies in its devotion to celebration paired with subtle inquiry. While Variety’s Gleiberman found it “infectious and nimble,” others noted that the film could have been deeper or longer—perhaps even stretching into a multi-part series—to fully examine omissions or tensions beneath the magazine’s highbrow veneer. Yet Curry’s editorial choice to focus on the luminaries and archival elements makes for a tightly cohesive narrative—one that respects The New Yorker’s tone and legacy.

    In sum, The New Yorker at 100 is a beautifully shot and well-paced documentary that stands out for its lucid timeline and respectful depth. It’s a rich journey through a century of storytelling, staffed by editors, cartoonists, and fact-checkers whose passion propels each issue. If you’ve ever wondered how a venerable institution adapts to changing cultural and editorial climates, this film offers both an overview and a celebratory look inside. Five stars for a polished, insightful, and lovingly annotated centennial portrait.

  • Mister Organ by David Farrier

    Mister Organ is a masterclass in investigative nonfiction that spirals into something far stranger and more unsettling than you could ever anticipate. Farrier begins with what seems like a quirky parking dispute and ends up in the orbit of Michael Organ—a man whose sense of entitlement and gall defy belief. The film captures the creeping dread of realizing you’ve stepped into a psychological labyrinth, one where the rules are written by someone who thrives on destabilization and control. It’s not just a story; it’s an experience that leaves you questioning how bad things have to get before you step away—and whether you even can.

    Farrier’s film is sharp, dryly humorous, and deeply empathetic, even as he navigates the toxic gravity of Organ’s world. The narrative dances between absurdity and menace: casual coffees that feel like interrogations, conversations that twist into codswallop and twaddle, and a man who seems to be everywhere and nowhere at once—a void in human form. The book’s strength lies in its ability to make you laugh at the sheer audacity of Organ’s flaunting spree, then shudder at the ugly wound he leaves behind. Farrier fact-checks relentlessly, but the truth here feels almost surreal, like jazz played on a broken Polaroid.

    What elevates Mister Organ beyond true crime is its philosophical undertone: what does it mean to be free from consequence? Organ operates like a parasite, a psycho-doctor functionalized by his own mythology, gaslighting and grooming with surgical precision. Farrier explores these questions without sensationalism, instead offering a meditation on power, manipulation, and the fragility of social contracts. The result is a narrative that feels both vaunted and intimate, pulling you into a world where wolves wear sheep’s clothing and everyone seems to be asleep.

    The book is also a cultural autopsy—Symonds Street, Kingseat Hospital, Withanui—locations that become characters in their own right, echoing the themes of decay and disquiet. Farrier’s encounters with Organ’s terrified friends, evasive family, and chilling anecdotes (“Soul Tap,” anyone?) create a mosaic of menace that feels almost operatic. Every detail, from the misspelled names to the casual cruelty, reinforces the sense that Organ is not just a man but a system—a destabilizing force ipso facto.

    In the end, Mister Organ is not merely a story about a sex pest with a tumor or a head tenant gone rogue; it’s a study of human darkness, dressed in the banalities of everyday life. Farrier delivers a narrative that is as gripping as it is grotesque, as funny as it is frightening. This film will wound you, and then make you wind that wound again, because you can’t stop turning watching. Five stars for a work that proves reality can be stranger—and scarier—than fiction.