Let’s start at the beginning. 

The term “hang-out film” was first etched into the cinema history books by none other than Quentin Tarantino in an animated New Yorker profile. Tarantino’s take on the ‘hang-out’ genre are as follows: 

“There are certain movies that you hang out with the characters so much that they actually become your friends. And that’s a really rare quality to have in a film…and those movies are usually quite long, because it actually takes that long of a time to get past a movie character where you actually feel that you know the person and you like them…when it’s over, they’re your friends.”

And based on Tarantino's impassioned input, ‘hang-out flicks’ are films whose primary points of attraction are the characters, and best characterized by their innate lightness in tone, and—quite possibly the most essential component–a molasses-like pace; a runtime that’s practically slow motion. It’s life in the off-hours when all the action has died down and you’re three cans deep into polishing a sixer. 

That’s the ‘hang-out movie’–it’s vegging out on the couch and getting into trouble with your knuckled-headed friends, coming-of-age and discovering one's identity. So, essentially the ‘hang-out’ movie is really asking “where else would you rather be than right here?” Doing nothing and hanging out with characters who, over the course of a laborious runtime, grow into your friends (not all of them but most of them). 

They can be set in a college dorm somewhere, or in a high school classroom during a free period, or counting down the minutes around the craft services table on set, or arguing with coworkers over best filmmakers at a video store–the ‘hang-out' movie is all about downtime and the art of conversation. 

It’s about what we do when no one is watching and usually when we are young and pretty and naive, drinking Slurpees and eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos in the parking lot of a 7-11 impatiently awaiting the location of a party that may never arrive and that’s the beauty of it all. ‘Hang-out’ movies are all about the ride no matter how long it takes, and says ‘kick your feet up there. Relax for a while. We’ve got nothing but time’.

Rio Bravo (1959)

So, back when Tarantino first coined the phrase “hang-out film” it was in reference to director Howard Hawks’ 1959 Western, Rio Bravo, which is his all-time favorite “hang-out film” and upholds the tenets of the quintessential “hangout” movie aesthetic. Its runtime is a leisurely 2 hours and 21 minutes, and its “plot” (if you can even call it a plot), doesn’t really materialize until an hour in– but it's by that time, that we’ve started to develop feelings for this lovable, colorful cast of roughnecks, wily geezers, shady two-timers, sassy spinsters, various whippersnapper types, and cowardly drunks with hearts of gold.

There’s Stumpy, the old coot with a bum leg or the quippy silver-tongued woman named Feathers, or Colorado, the handsome cowboy–bright-eyed, bushy tailed, jaw chiseled from stone but you know, dumb. Crooner Dean Martin plays the town drunk ‘Dude’ (reminiscent of Jeff Bridges’ character in The Big Lebowski) whose entire m.o. is to get blind, pissy-drunk and basically loaf around for prolonged amounts of time and negate any responsibility. (At least one lovable loser/slacker must be present in a successful ‘hang-out film’, which is a new tenet that I’m adding). 

So, John Wayne per usual plays the ultimate version of the classic Hollywood rugged male archetype that basically every white dad aspires–John T. Chance, a small-town Texas sheriff who must apprehend evil rancher Nathan Burdette (John Russell) after Nathan’s no-good brother Joe (Claude Akins) is tossed in the local pokey for murder. It’s not long before Nathan hires some heavies with itchy trigger fingers to bust Joe out of the clink by killing Chance and his motley crew of Old West oddballs–but like I said, the plot largely doesn’t matter and you’re really here for the infectious camaraderie of it all. 

In hindsight, it makes total sense how inspirational Rio Bravo has been in Tarantino's work from Reservoir Dogs to Pulp Fiction to The Hateful 8 or most recently, Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood or my personal ‘hang-out’ favorite of his - Jackie Brown–he’s made an entire career writing beautifully rendered characters you just want to spend time with, over and over again, regardless of the setting. Be it Nazi-occupied France, riding shotgun down the Sunset Strip., or galloping horseback on wild snow-covered plains of a wintery Wyoming, the setting is nice but it’s about the characters and the memories they leave in your mind, forever.

Friday (1995)

You can’t talk “hang-out films” without praising one of the best stoner-buddy-comedies of the 1990s–director F. Gary Gray’s directorial debut, Friday starring Ice Cube, Chris Tucker, Nia Long, Bernie Mac (rest in peace), Regina King, and John Witherspoon. 

The film revolves around an isolated 16 hours in the life of two unemployed slackers and best friends, Craig (Cube) and Smokey (Tucker) who must repay a drug dealer by 10:00 PM that night. 

Hilarity ensues but that’s basically it. Craig and Smokey spend almost the entirety of the film sitting on the front porch, smoking weed, talking shit, telling stories, and inevitably try to come up with some half-baked scheme to fundraise $200–and it’s so engrossing that you feel a part of the ride from start to finish. 

Everyone knows a Craig or a Smokey, so the goofy, pot-fueled scenarios that play out over the course of the film will resonate with anyone whose wasted hours of their youth, yuck-yucking with their friends, while attempting to occupy time pseudo-constructively in the gray ambivalent spaces of a shared boredom. Right? 

Filled with star making performances across the board, especially Ice Cube who showed the world in 1995 that he was a versatile big-screen comedic talent hidden behind a tough West Coast demeanor. Cube’s timing is sharp and his relationship with Tucker’s Smokey is genuine, believable, and layered, thus aiding their performances with an almost effortless sense of camaraderie (which is the whole point of the genre). 

Friday captures a very poignant aspect of the Black experience (ultimately the human experience) that at the time was largely unseen–a light ‘hang-out’ comedy with a topical undercurrent and an entirely black cast. Friday was a game changer for Ice Cube who wrote the screenplay (as depicted in F. Gary Gray’s music biopic Straight Outta Compton based on the rise of N.W.A.) and its mainstream success led to a series of lucrative (but lackluster) sequels including Next Friday and Friday After Next. 

Often overlooked by ‘hang-out film’ historians and enthusiasts alike, Friday is one of the best to ever do it, not for reinventing the entire ‘hang-out’ genre but for taking it and putting black characters front and center, instead being relegated to the background or written off entirely (like a John Hughes movie). 

As far as Friday goes–“it was a good day.” A good day, indeed.

Licorice Pizza (2021)

Paul Thomas Anderson is a ‘hang-out film’ enthusiast as much as QT or Spike Lee or ‘slacker guru’ and ‘hang-out film’ poster child, Richard Linklater—everything from Hard 8 to Boogie Nights to this year's Oscar favorite, Licorice Pizza, Anderson likes to take his time. And we love it, we eat it up like a pizza because he’s consistently interesting to watch.

Anderson’s films are delicate character studies with frustrating runtimes, but I get it—it’s so the audience can get up close and intimate with Anderson’s meticulously designed characters, like lab subjects, blemishes, scars, funky teeth, and all, and forces you to occupy space with them during their most private of private moments. At their most vulnerable, impulsive or self-destructive and it’s glues you to the screen. 

Anderson is arguably one of the best directors to spend 3 hours of your life with as you watch richly painted characters shame spiral into oblivion. But, Licorice Pizza is the least PT Anderson movie I’ve ever seen—I suspect he’s getting softer in his old age, because he’s in full, surreal-fantasy-Dad-nostalgia mode and it’s a largely successful picture because of it’s personal flourishes, but I’m puzzled of its lasting purpose. 

Look, these are the facts: the performances are incredible (Alana Haim and Cooper Hoffman are stellar—and the supporting cast doesn’t disappoint); the plot is a ‘hang-out film’-bullseye and meanders along, lackadaisically and slow, as an intimate character portrait and vehicle for its two leads. And that’s it. 

It’s all about their relationship and the ‘will they, won’t they’ emotional draw that keeps you invested in their burgeoning romance—but then you remember that she’s 25 and he’s 15 (16 by the end of the movie which was legal in California at the time, but I also get that it was a different time, but I’m still iffy on it). 

But, after reflecting on it a bit, and discussing it with friends who’ve seen it, I see the film, now, as ultimate 16-year-old boy’s fantasy (or wet dream); a kid actor who starred in a string of semi-successful films and shows and whose now an a string semi-successful businesses, and the prospect of dating an older woman–like a really serious Weird Science and I’m satisfied with that (half-baked) conclusion for the time being. 

Like any good ‘hang-out movie,’ I believe that Paul Thomas Anderson is intently aware of the fact that repeat viewing is a prerequisite for maximum enjoyment, as seen in any of his other films. The nuanced believability of the on-screen duo’s magnetic and infectious chemistry will undoubtedly develop as the film ages. Look, like any decent hangout movie, it's all about the characters and when you love them you only want to spend time with them, as many times as you can. There’s comfort in a film’s rewatchability. 

I don’t fully understand Licorice Pizza, but I respect Anderson’s vision and his talents as a storyteller. It was a different time where the past now feels like a strangely comforting dream, in soft focus–and if that’s not the basis for a good ‘hang-out movie’ than I don’t know what is or care to know. I’ll report back after copious rewatching; and maybe, just maybe–I'll have a better conclusion on the matter. 

The first of three films, JEEN-YUHS is essentially a Kanye West home movie and it’s nostalgic and dreamy and narratively complex for being a work of nonfiction. The film is most effective in that it doesn’t pander to its audience or to the subject, because in JEEN-YUHS nothing about Kanye’s pre-fame years is up for interpretation. Everything is out on the table, face up, for the world to see and it’s incredible to watch for any Kanye West completionists. 

JEEN-YUHS: Part 1 is Dorothy Gale of Kansas pulling back the curtain to reveal the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz is nothing more than a man, a mortal. 

JEEN-YUHS feels a lot like that, and gave me honestly all the clarification I needed on ‘The Man behind The Man’ or ‘the guy behind the guy,’ because really, to know one’s future you must know your past for a complete picture and JEEN-YUHS is comprehensive.

This is Kanye in full focus, no photoshop. Stripped nude and bare, and whether you love him or hate him, it all tracks and it's a lot of fun to watch. (Kanye buying a porn magazine is hilarious and makes sense with what we know about him now). JEEN-YUHS is the missing piece of the puzzle. 

Fast-forward, It’s the year 2022 and multi-hyphenate, billionaire lothario, Kanye West, is divorced (in the process, but not yet. from reality television star and law school graduate, Kim Kardashian, who he currently shares 4 small children with (North, Chicago, Saint, and Psalm). 

For work, Mr. West collects handsome paychecks from not one, but two lucrative multiyear corporate merchandising deals with Adidas and Gap, as well as income from his other independent musical/merch endeavors– he’s practically printing cash. 

Kanye West is a literal human ATM machine who as of late has been linked to Instagram personality and actress of Uncut Gems fame, Julia Fox, who he claims to be his new muse (but rumored by many as a PR revenge stunt to get back his now ex-wife and her relationship with SNL cast member and scum-bro-cover-boy, Pete Davidson). 

In another strange development, Kanye also bought a house (literally) across the street from Kim, which feels a bit disconcerting and a little OJ =which is a bit on the nose if you ask me.

But based on the narrative Instagram suggests, Fox is his new muse and girlfriend– one he dresses up in the newest Balenciaga and takes on dates to fancy dinners at famous New York restaurants and introduces to friends like Dave Chappelle and Marilyn Manson and Madonna, (real networking opportunities) and per most recent gossip columns–Fox was Kanye’s official date to this year’s New York Fashion Week. Fox reports about her and Kanye’s ever evolving relationship, bi-weekly, for Interview Magazine in a segment (cheekily) titled: Fox News. 

Their relationship continues to puzzle the citizens of the internet to this day. (Also, Kanye appears to want to really beat up Pete Davidson, like really bad).

Quickly, for time-reasons, some other noteworthy achievements are that he: ran unsuccessfully for president and voted for himself; and gave his life over to God and scripture, and has become a self-proclaimed, self-righteous, self-absorbed weapon for Christ, born again, I guess, to like, also sell $80 sweatshirts. (I don’t know).

There’s so much about “Kanye West”–or “Yeezy” or just “Kanye” without the “West” or “YEEZUS” which was during the time when he actually thought he was a god or now, most recently, just “Ye” but now it’s like “ye” but all lowercase because that’s how much he loves typography, I guess. He’s an anomaly and we can’t fully comprehend his antics really, because how could you? 

He’s all over the place; he’s such a Gemini, and we think we know, but we have no idea, which is a line I stole from MTV’s Diary (MTV is featured heavily in the film). So whether you’re a Day-One Stan, the occupational onlooker, some gossipy bottom feeder, or an amalgamation of the three–or practically any other niche “Kanye West” online forum subculture–we all have our assumptions about who we think the “real” Kanye West is but trying to understand Kanye West is like trying to quantify the unquantifiable. That is until now. 

JEEN-YUHS recontextualizes West through the intimate nuances of his larger-than-life personality and the events leading up to his superstardom. 

The film breezily peels back the thick, leathery Balenciaga layers of arguably one of the most talked about artists of all time–but what makes JEEN-YUHS so special, and lightyears ahead of any other modern music documentary, is that the subject, in this instance Kanye, doesn’t have final cut. So obviously concerned, Kanye aired out his grievances on his Instagram: 

“I’m going to say this kindly for the last time. (sic) I must get final edit and approval on this doc before it releases on Netflix. (sic) Open the edit room immediately so I can be in charge of my own image. Thank you in advance (rosy-cheek smiley face emoji)” 

Thankfully, that didn’t happen, because JEEN-YUHS is raw and unfiltered and unfettered and untouched by Kanye which is why the first film succeeds. It's USDA ‘Grade-A’ certified high-quality top sirloin, it’s juicy and gritty and with no hormones. Which is an enthusiastic way of me saying that it's cinematic in this Y2K-era MTV reality show but produced by Stan Lathan and Russell Simmons sort of way. Sincerely, I watched much of the film’s runtime, eyes wide open and sometimes forgetting it was archival footage and not a biopic of Kanye reenacting his rise to fame. 

JEEN-YUHS is like staring into a magic mirror and is engrossing from front to back just like The College Dropout (an album that has yet to have been released during the events of the film). Shot primarily during Kanye’s younger years, in 2002 to be exact, and almost 20 years ago–Kanye West was out there hustling to get signed; a visibly bright and impassioned young man with an undeniable gift for production but who dreamed of becoming a platinum selling rap star. 

The footage in JEEN-YUHS is incredible and you feel like you’ve stumbled upon never-before-seen footage from the Disney Vault or something. One of my favorite scenes from the doc involves Kanye sitting in the driver's seat of a car next to Talib Kweli while Mos Def stands just outside the passenger window, vibing to the music. Kanye, playing one of his tracks forgets to take out his retainer (because Kanye once wore dental braces) and pulls it out with a slobbery slurp in front of Black Star, and on camera. It’s awkward, but so brutally honest that it’s endearing. 

The Kanye West depicted in JEEN-YUHS, the ‘2002 Kanye West’ is a lovable dweeb (like an Aziz Ansari character), an affable outsider struggling to make it into  Roc-A-Fella Records, who–Dame Dash included and Jay Z excluded–obviously don’t (and secretly do) see Kanye’s vision of the future. 

But ‘2002 Kanye’ is Steve Urkel meets Roger from Sister, Sister; he's dorky, but charming and he’s got skills, and he’s trying to land a record deal. Even if he was unsure of his place in the hip hop zeitgeist, Kanye knew was a unique talent even back in 2002, when he first blurred the lines between conscious and mainstream rap lyricism by crafting a style and sound that for the time was unheard of. 

JEEN-YUHS highlights this point with some of the most unguarded and tender footage of Kanye West you'll ever see. But what the film makes blatantly clear is that Kanye differs from everyone else because he puts himself out there, relentlessly and undeterred, regardless of the outcome, because deep down, he knows he’s the dopest person alive. Even back then, Kanye knew he was a “JEEN-YUHS” and he was waiting for everyone else to catch up; bold and truly unafraid. Sometimes in the film, Kanye’s eyes go dark and void of life like a great white shark, which is eerie. 

There’s a line in the documentary where the co-director and narrator describes (and I’m paraphrasing) that in order for Kanye to succeed in the music industry, and secure a deal, he would either be offered one or he’d force his way into one somehow, but failure was never an option. Ever. 

If anything, by JEEN-YUHS’ account, Kanye failed upwards and onwards–but I wonder if having the cameras rolling 24/7, for nearly two decades, aided at all in Kanye’s ultimate success? Hear me out, but I believe that the subtle but consistent act of recording one’s life and actions and feelings with the sole purpose of reaching an intended goal, the chances of it happening, especially in Kanye West’s case, are highly probable (because it's basically, if you think about, long-term self-affirmations, which are proven to help people reach their goals and get what they want). 

If you say something enough times, you start to believe it, and if you have friends who follow you around and tape your every move–or awkward moment trying to get Jay Z to acknowledge you or when you staged an impromptu performance of an early demo of “Through the Wire” unsolicited in the Roc-A-Fella Records New York offices wearing a Tim Burton’s “Sleepy Hollow” movie merch tee, and to minimal fanfare–filming everything you say and do, every thought and opinion, can groom a person’s mind and their sense of importance. Kanye altered the threshold of his own brand of success by changing the rules of the game. 

And I’m sure at the time it felt like “The Kanye West Show” in his head, but at the time there was no real way of knowing if it was ever going to work out and what makes JEEN-YUHS so incredible is how even when it feels like his chances are hopeless, even though you know that the ultimate outcome is his success but you’re still straddling the edge of your seat hoping someone takes a shot on him.

In a memorable scene from the film’s climax—Kanye meanders through Times Square, wearing a t-shirt from Blade Runner and buys a porno mag from a sidewalk stall for 8 dollars, which he initially scoffs at for being expensive just before deviously claiming it (porn) a secret addiction of his. JEEN-YUHS is all about the context and clarification it provides.

As a way to shamelessly quote Kanye, part one of JEEN-YUHS is “that old Kanye, chop up the soul Kanye,” but in the grand scheme of things is nothing Earth-shattering, but all-around fun to watch. It’s not like I discovered any new things about Kanye that I didn’t already know, it's just now I have the verbal and visual confirmation of what I already assumed. That he worked tirelessly in the single-minded pursuit of bringing his unique cinematic vision that was ‘his life’ to the world. That he adored his mother and she adored him; and that he was (or still is) a pervert (all truth, no shade; “a fisherman always spots another fisherman” and all that). 

I’ll leave you with this, JEEN-YUHS is basically a remake of Revenge of the Nerds starring Kanye, a super-nerd who based on current day events got revenge on any/every single person who ever wrote him off, by (quite frankly) spazzing his way to the top of the charts and ultimately our hearts. Like I said, it's oddly endearing like watching one of your buddies make it. 

The Warriors is the 2005 video game from Rockstar Games and based on the 1979 obscure cult cinema classic of the same name. Originally released on the PlayStation 2 and Xbox–the game lovingly expands on the film’s pulpy and smutty source material, stretching it into a fully realized game universe that still almost two decades later feels impressive and modern, graphics notwithstanding. 

Set in the filth and grime of 1970s NYC, the game, much like its cinematic source material, follows the street gang The Warriors who are framed for the murder of a rival gang leader and forced on the run, back to their home turf of Coney Island in a race to survive against the Armies of the Night–it’s pretty wild stuff.

Growing up I played this game relentlessly after renting the movie on DVD from Netflix, for approximately 50+ hours over the course of a 5-day rental agreement (I was such a noncommittal gamer in my youth). I feel like I rented The Warriors from Gamefly or some other defunct video disc mail delivery service, and for a game as old as that (by Gen Z standards), which I’ve recently played on PS4–I’m happy to report that it's still a pretty enjoyable source of semi-mindless and repetitive fun. If that’s your sort of bag. (I know it’s mine). 

And after all these years, this game still merits your attention even if only for shock value. It’s brutal and violent and wildly problematic from basically all standpoints. When you first start the game, and as a way to learn the controls and combat mechanics, you’re (literally) tasked with participating in a series of bum fights, but like, it’s Rockstar Games, so I mean, you’re not-not going to play it, right? 

Otherwise, you’re just some sheltered loser whose friends would start to disown you and like pants you in gym class for not indulging in the most hardcore, of hardcore “Rated M for Mature” video game content (overshare), and as far as The Warriors was considered–it was entry-level. 

In a lot of ways, The Warriors is a pseudo-spiritual successor to Rockstar’s other many ultraviolet titles like State of Emergency or Manhunt–except The Warriors is way less violent and kind of less depraved and slightly less deranged (kind of), and even though it’s a weird movie tie-in, it strangely never feels cheap or slacking in the authenticity, style, or quality departments. That’s just Rockstar, I guess; consistent and The Warriors is Rockstar in consistently top form (even if it was developed in autopilot). 

The soundtrack is expectedly delicious and brilliant; the voice acting is superb (with much of the original film’s cast members returning to voice their characters); and the expanded narrative is absorbing and engaging with developed and well-rounded characters. Honestly, every aspect of this game is sublime, especially for a movie-game tie-in (like I said earlier), which is statistically always a cashed-in crock or a phoned-in crock. Still, then again, this is a Rockstar game–it’s not bad-good, it's just good-good.

The real-time combat is stellar and consists of multi-button combo variations including grapples and throws, charges, cross-body attacks, weapon-based combinations, counters, tag-team beatdowns, satisfying cinematic finishing attacks, or slamming your enemy against a wall, repeatedly works too. 

In addition, players can mug NPCs (non-playable characters) or loot businesses to earn additional cash to buy items from the various in-game dealers including “flash” (the fictional in-game narcotic that replenishes your health and alters the game's visual presentation for a moment with a flash of bright white light–simulating I’m assuming an intense head high (cheeky, cheeky). 

You can also buy “paint cans” to engage in probably one of the best graffiti mini-games since Jet Grind Radio. You can break into jewelry stores or bodegas by picking door locks or boost car stereos for extra clams– which are both enjoyable runner-ups and for the most deranged of video game trophy completionists (yep, that’s me. I’m also into that). 

There’s a robust control system that allows you to manage and execute your squad’s collective movements with detailed specificity. I instructed my always loyal and willing cohorts to converge around the head honcho of a rival gang, swarming the target, while I dealt massive damage with a string of weaponized ranged attack combos. 

The Warriors is a game with thoughtful mechanics and fluid controls which is surprising for a blocky, seemingly rudimentary sandbox game (which is the opposite of an “open-world” game for the ambivalent), even by modern next-gen gaming standards (for a game no one really played)–but it should’ve been open world or rather semi-open world. 

In an alternate universe, fans from around the world rallied and fundraised and crowdsourced to remake The Warriors for next-gen consoles. 

This imaginary, hypothetical The Warriors remake (preferably for PS5 and XBOX ONE, with a later release for Nintendo owners) would be a fully immersive 1970s New York City experience developed with the latest Unreal Engine. It would be in a semi-open-world and separated into sections or “boroughs” that would unlock based on the completion of certain mission requirements, similar to games like Streets of Rage, and heavily-inspired by Ghost of Tsushima, which showed that an open-world, with predominantly bi-pedal traversal (excluding the horse) was not only possible but a surprisingly enjoyable way to experience a rich in-game universe. 

Look, I can go on forever about this game, and get way more niche and keep reciting fan-fiction, but the point I’m trying to make is that The Warriors was way better than it ever had to be. I’ll say it again (because ‘rule of threes’) movie tie-in anything, especially video games (see E.T: The Extraterrestrial for Atari) are garbage–but The Warriors isn’t; it’s really good. It’s perfect in a purely nostalgic way but still somehow happens to be more than that. In a high-definition, 4K world, The Warriors is graphically inferior compared to, say, Red Dead Redemption 2 or GTA V but there’s an undeniable charm in its presentation and that’s kind of the whole point. 

They don’t make games like this anymore. The Warriors is a time capsule from a bygone gaming era, but I nonetheless want to return to it time and time again, even for an hour or two, or until my thumbs hurt from bopping too many ‘boppers’ (that’s a reference). 

Like most novelty games from old consoles, The Warriors is only enjoyable for as long as you stay invested. If you do download it, you’ll probably switch over to something more mainstream and "attention-holding” like Call of Duty: Black Ops, but if you’re like me, and you love hanging out and wasting time reminiscing about all the video games you used to play, way back when, then friend, The Warriors is a yummy nostalgia-sandwich on a buttery niche-gaming-subculture-baguette and by golly, it’s delicious. 

In conclusion, download The Warriors now on PlayStation 4 through the PS Store or like, I'll put you in a headlock and hit you with a bottle to knock ya lights out (kidding)–but remember I played this game and reported about it so you don’t have to. Like anything in life–it’s only worth it if you think it’s worth it.