Dailies is a round-up of essential film writing, news bits, and other highlights from across the Internet. If you’d like to submit a piece for consideration, get in touch with us in the comments below or on Twitter at @TheFilmStage.

Watch an extensive, career-spanning talk with the late James Horner:

At The Talkhouse, Trey Edward Shults (Krisha) discusses Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy’s The Tribe:

I first became aware of The Tribe when it swept the awards last year in Cannes at the Semaine de la Critique. I heard about how it was this movie with deaf kids and Ukrainian Sign Language, and how the movie didn’t have any subtitles or translation. I believe it literally won every award that’s given in the sidebar, whereas my film won none. Naturally, my curiosity has, as of late, turned into envy. The film went on to have an extremely successful festival run, garnering more than 30 awards and playing the top festivals in the world. After having finally seen The Tribe, all its praise is of no surprise to me. It is a fantastic film, and the kind that reinvigorates me. It is pure cinema. I don’t recall one line of spoken dialogue. It’s a story of primal human emotions told entirely visually. It’s basically a contemporary silent film.

Watch Michael Cera stop by the Criterion closet and talk Ozu and Kiarostami:

Also at Criterion, read Bilge Ebiri‘s essay on the recently released The Fisher King:

Before he made The Fisher King, Terry Gilliam was known for his barbed, otherworldly fantasies. From the Orwellian dystopia of Brazil (1985) to the fabulist spectacles of Time Bandits (1981) and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988), the director’s films seemed to take place in an alternate universe, one informed as much by myth and fairy tale as by the Dadaist satire of Monty Python. The Fisher King certainly has some of those familiar fantastical elements, but this 1991 romantic drama would turn out to be something quite unique—a Terry Gilliam film firmly planted in the here and now. Working for the first time from a script written by someone else—a then relatively unknown young writer named Richard LaGravenese, who would go on to become one of Hollywood’s biggest screenwriters—the director created a film that took the textures of contemporary New York and gave them a magical spin, inventively balancing LaGravenese’s interest in character and dramatic realism with his own dark visual sensibility and penchant for social satire. With this film, Gilliam’s aesthetic entered the real world. And he has never made another movie like it.

Listen to Alain Resnais discuss Night and Fog:

Hopes and Fears on the history of the movie trailer:

For as long as there have been movies, there have been attempts to get people into movie theaters. From barkers on street corners to teasers, TV spots, and trailers littering the special features of your Matrix DVD, movie marketing has evolved to let you know when and where Iron Man would be throwing a robot through a skyscraper as loudly and frequently as possible.

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