RABBLEROUSE is the critical film journal that I founded and was editor-in-chief of in 2018. Which are extremely lofty titles for a publication that had a writing staff of one — namely, me. I tried to recruit other writers, of course. Several people were casually interested in writing an essay for RABBLEROUSE, but this initial expression of interest never became much more than that. I don’t blame them; life gets busy and writing is hard, annoying work. When I realized that you can’t really start a publication without some small amount of internet fame and dedicated writer friends, I then started on this ill-advised, circuitous path of trying to write for other film journals so that I could gather up some renown and then, theoretically, some goddamn submissions.

Of course, I never ended up submitting anything to other film journals. Life gets busy and writing is hard, annoying work. RABBLEROUSE fizzled out shortly after I had conceived it, a shame given that it been a long and difficult birth. But I never gave up on this weird little dream of mine. And new ideas for film essays always floated around in my mind, waiting to catch my notice.

So here I am again, just a cinephile, asking the internet to read me.

So what is RABBLEROUSE now?

Part of the reason why it was so difficult for me to write more than an initial few essays for RABBLEROUSE was that, like most writers, I have this huge Platonic ideal of my work hanging over my head, casting shadows as I write. For however many essays I actually published on RABBLEROUSE, I had an equal number of half-written drafts that I hemmed and hawed over, diligently changing single words and commas and exchanging “the’s” for “a’s.” 

So this revitalized project is now about freedom. I love talking about film and television, and I have too many strong, opinionated thoughts about shows and movies. (To the point that it’s become an embarrassing character trait and an even more embarrassing party trick.) Why not actually write them down? But this time without the Herculean strife of chipping away for years at the marble. I can’t promise I’ll always be easy, breezy Covergirl, but it’ll be less emphasis on the labor, and more on the love. Plus, I’m a fun person — I watch anime, goddammit! 

Anyway, what I will write, I’m not quite sure of yet. Because of my wild and chaotic brain, there won’t be a set posting schedule, either, so you’ll have to settle for the occasional (and hopefully pleasant) surprise in your inbox. But that’s the charm of it — it’ll be a journey we’ll embark on together. Hopefully we’ll find something good along the way. 

What film essays have you written in the past?

A disclaimer: I disavow most of these older essays, which I think are a little bit too much. I’m sure you can tell from my writing style that I naturally tend towards the ridiculously Baroque anyway, but a certain filament of rage lights up when I re-read these essays — can’t you just get the point, dude? 

From earliest to latest: 

Into the Jungle, Once More — an anti-colonialist exploration of how the jungle is depicted on film

We’re Up All Nocturama to Get Logan Lucky — wherein I drag both movies for having a horribly bungled apolitical message

The Unbearable Whiteness of Filming — wherein I drag Three Billboards in Ebbing, Missouri for … being Three Billboards in Ebbing, Missouri

Sexuality // Duality — an exploration of bisexuality on film (which I no longer identify as, but it was a good attempt)

Like a Fucked Up Face — a flimsy excuse to talk about one of my favorite films, My Own Private Idaho 

Bonus film review that was actually published in a real publication: 

Forging Dreams Through Time — review of Kaili Blues

Who are you, anyway?

You know, I’m not quite sure. But I’m trying to find that out

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some thoughts on cinema, etc.


jonah wu
your friendly neighborhood film-loving non-binary gremlin