"The red raincoat is a horror image that never dies. Nicolas Roeg turns the beauty and decay of Venice into something terrifying and insists, in an almost Freudian way, on the proximity of eroticism to death."

"I choose this not because it’s my favorite but because, alongside the great sixties and seventies documentaries of Ken Russell and Peter Watkins and the films of Nicolas Roeg, this was a big influence on the stylistic choices I made when approaching my film SHOT! It’s so excessive and theatrical, and the choreography is of course stunning, but Fosse’s complete irreverence toward the subject of his own death is what really gets me."

"I have such a linear brain, so I admire filmmakers like Nicolas Roeg who can make these incredible montages that tell a story more associatively. It doesn’t seem like a huge effort for him; that’s just the way his mind works. There’s this feeling throughout the movie that there were many different ways that it could have been put together. When we were making Meek’s Cutoff, there was a scene we shot in which a Native American goes on a dream quest, and the writer Jon Raymond and I rewatched this for inspiration."

"The Nicolas Roeg aspect of Jim O'Rourke's records is interesting, each following a Roeg title. But maybe this record is also a portal to an era of American acoustic music that Domino were licensing in the late-1990s that I would have listened to. I think maybe this is an overlooked record which sounded maybe more unique at the time - the production is so good I think it has influenced a lot of other records since then. And that great Ivor Cutler cover! It's a really great record as it combines experimentation and pop music to varying degrees. Very dark lyrics. Would I like to collaborate with Jim O'Rourke? No. In a way, I've no interest in collaborating with anyone. I'm not desperate in that sense and I enjoy being a fan of people's music. Somehow by accident or through visiting a studio socially or something, I end up working with people but I don't really crave to work with people... it could be a bit creepy
."

"After getting my brain stretched by Kubrick, the next “favorite director” I started to discover as a preteen and teen was Nicolas Roeg. Like 2001 before it, The Man Who Fell to Earth was sci-fi that reached out and grabbed my mind, spun it around, and made me want to see it over and over again. Roeg’s use of music and surreal imagery made the film both a visceral and an intellectual experience simultaneously—a heartbreaking puzzle—still my favorite kind of film experience. Don’t Look Now is probably my favorite scary movie of all time, and a model for the now overused and underachieved expression “a smart genre film.” Now, that might mean a movie that’s marginally less dopey than most mainstream films that deal with the occult, but in the days of this and Rosemary’s Baby, etc., the emphasis was much more on smart than on genre. And Walkabout is an amazing piece of nearly wordless visual storytelling that left me desperately in love with Jenny Agutter for years afterward."

"After getting my brain stretched by Kubrick, the next “favorite director” I started to discover as a preteen and teen was Nicolas Roeg. Like 2001 before it, The Man Who Fell to Earth was sci-fi that reached out and grabbed my mind, spun it around, and made me want to see it over and over again. Roeg’s use of music and surreal imagery made the film both a visceral and an intellectual experience simultaneously—a heartbreaking puzzle—still my favorite kind of film experience. Don’t Look Now is probably my favorite scary movie of all time, and a model for the now overused and underachieved expression “a smart genre film.” Now, that might mean a movie that’s marginally less dopey than most mainstream films that deal with the occult, but in the days of this and Rosemary’s Baby, etc., the emphasis was much more on smart than on genre. And Walkabout is an amazing piece of nearly wordless visual storytelling that left me desperately in love with Jenny Agutter for years afterward."

"After getting my brain stretched by Kubrick, the next “favorite director” I started to discover as a preteen and teen was Nicolas Roeg. Like 2001 before it, The Man Who Fell to Earth was sci-fi that reached out and grabbed my mind, spun it around, and made me want to see it over and over again. Roeg’s use of music and surreal imagery made the film both a visceral and an intellectual experience simultaneously—a heartbreaking puzzle—still my favorite kind of film experience. Don’t Look Now is probably my favorite scary movie of all time, and a model for the now overused and underachieved expression “a smart genre film.” Now, that might mean a movie that’s marginally less dopey than most mainstream films that deal with the occult, but in the days of this and Rosemary’s Baby, etc., the emphasis was much more on smart than on genre. And Walkabout is an amazing piece of nearly wordless visual storytelling that left me desperately in love with Jenny Agutter for years afterward."

"I am a huge Nicolas Roeg fan and consider this and his 1973 masterpiece Don’t Look Now to feature some of the best editing of all time, with visual and audio juxtapositions that wow even now. Walkabout is cinema as poetry. Images rhyme with one another in a truly hypnotic fashion. Scenes are as vivid and intense as they are unreal and lyrical. There’s a phantasmagorical array of images, but also a rigorous, genius sense of structure. Both this film and Don’t Look Now open with sequences that encapsulate the movie like thematic overtures. Walkabout’s first five minutes tell you everything while saying nothing: images of the city overlaid with aboriginal music, breathing exercises at a girls’ school that complement the native sounds, an oasis of parkland in the urban sprawl, a lone tree in a concrete square, a patch of swimming-pool blue in an apartment block contrasted with the white-hot nothingness of the outback. It’s a completely stunning collage, one of the greatest openings in all of cinema. And what’s even better? The rest of the movie lives up to it."