House (1977, dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi), a “modern masterpiece of le cinéma du WTF”

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Un Chien Andalou (1929, dir. Luis Buñuel)

“The simplest surrealist act consists in going into the street with revolvers in your fist and shooting blindly into the crowd as much as possible. Anyone who has never felt the desire to deal thus with the current wretched principle of humiliation and stultification clearly belongs in this crowd himself with his belly at bullet height.”

-André Breton, Second Manifesto of Surrealism (1929)

“I don’t know about all this TV all day long now; there’s people acting all the time - they turn the thing on, somebody’s there acting at them. I wonder if that’s good for people - all this acting.”

-Jimmy Stewart (via) 

Photo by Ted Allan (1938, via)

Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo’s nightmare sequence (1958, dir. Alfred Hitchcock)

Jean Phillips & Macdonald Carey in Dr. Broadway (1942, dir. Anthony Mann)

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Anthony Perkins in The Trial (1962, dir. Orson Welles)

“Someone must have been slandering Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything wrong, he was arrested.”

-Franz Kafka, The Trial

Buster Keaton in production still for Sidewalks of New York (1931, dir. Jules White)

Living Marble (1910, dir. Johann Schwarzer), an example of the 1910’s-era Austrian erotic film genre known as “Pikanter Herrenabend Film” (i.e. “Racy Night Films for Gentlemen”)

In this one, some men play a practical joke on a friend by having a woman paint herself white and pretend to be a nude marble statue. In this scene, the pranksters decide how to best position her, which provides a convenient excuse for placing her in a variety of revealing poses.

Paul Newman & Joanne Woodward, 1961. Photo by Martin Munkacsi.

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Paul Newman & Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969, dir. George Roy Hill)

King Kong (1933, dir. Merian C. Cooper & Ernest B. Schoedsack)

The Tell-Tale Heart (1928, dir. Charles Klein) (via)

“It was a low, dull, quick sound —much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath —and yet the officers heard it not. 

I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men —but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed —I raved —I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder —louder —louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! —no, no! They heard! —they suspected! —they knew! —they were making a mockery of my horror!-This I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now —again! —hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

‘Villains!’ I shrieked, ‘dissemble no more! I admit the deed! —tear up the planks! here, here! —It is the beating of his hideous heart!’”

-Edgar Allan Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart