ryandannar Reviews

Upgrade (2018)

Far better than it has any right to be!

[8/10 · 17 May 2024]

I had heard that "Upgrade" was a really fun, violent and gory, science-fiction revenge-thriller. And so it had been on my watchlist for a while, until I finally queued it up today. I had not expected this movie to be so well-made. It looks fantastic, and of course the best moments are the fight-scenes where cybernetic implants take over, and suddenly the camerawork takes on a robotic, quick but mechanical agility, reflective of the servo-like maneuvers of the combatants. It is deliciously fun stuff.

Not only that, but I really enjoyed the performance of the lead actor. He has a lot of fun with this role, and his way of sometimes delivering lines in a tongue-in-cheek way is quite amusing.

My only caveat is that those who are picky about scientific accuracy and plot holes might find plenty of things to quibble about with this movie. Because it kind of does go out on a limb. But it has a lot of fun out on that limb, practically dancing out on that limb. And so I couldn't bring myself to be too critical of any concerns over "realism." This is a purely fantastical cybernetically-enhanced thrill-ride, and I loved every guilty-pleasure minute of it.

Amadeus (1984)

A rich, humorous, tragic, poetic film

[10/10 · 11 April 2024]

Here it is, the year of 2024, and I have only just now finally seen "Amadeus," the 1984 Milos Forman film about Mozart.

This movie really took me by surprise, because you go in expecting a bit of a stuffy costume drama, but instead you get something that's vivid and alive with jealousy and humor and fart-jokes and sex - even as it manages to tell a lofty story about idealistic ambition coming into conflict with both faith, and the general crassness of the human condition.

Here's the requisite SPOILER ALERT for anyone who has not yet seen this 40-year-old movie. Spoilers will abound from here on, because I want to talk about what I liked, but in this case that's impossible without spoilers.

The story is told in flashback. An elderly man, Antinio Salieri, is confessing to a priest, in the sanitarium where Salieri lives, that he is himself the man who killed Mozart.

Salieri had been a composer himself - drawn to the profession at the age of twelve, when he was first inspired by stories about the younger prodigy, Mozart. Salieri did well for himself, landing an esteemed position as the Royal Court Composer for Emperor Joseph II of Vienna. As an adult, he continues to be an admirer of Mozart's work, believing it to be vastly superior to his own.

Mozart music, he believes, is divinely inspired by God. It is a pure instrument. It cannot be of this earth. And so, he is eager to meet Mozart for the first time, when Mozart finally comes to perform in Vienna for the Emperor. What must this Mozart be like, he wonders?

Salieri himself has endeavored to live as a virtuous life as possible. He prays that God will bestow up on him even a portion of the gift that he has bestowed upon Mozart. He prays that God will make him into a divine instrument, so that he can show God's glory to the world through his own talent. And so, in turn, he is chaste and tries to be virtuous. Naturally, he assumes Mozart must be a man much like himself.

On the day of Mozart's performance in Vienna, the performers are ready to start inside the palace, yet Mozart is nowhere to be found. Salieri goes roaming through the adjoining rooms, and investigates one room where several large plates of food have been prepared. Hearing a commotion arriving from down the hall, he ducks behind a table when a giggling, large-breasted young woman runs in, persued by a man-child making lustful come-ons and laughing like a ninny. He has her dress up over her head almost instantly, as she laughs and pleads for him to behave.

This, he learns, is Mozart. This is the man upon whom God has chosen to bestow his finest musical gifts: A crass, womanizing, drunkard man-child with absolutely no respect for propriety.

I love this setup. I love the way that these opening moments set up the tale of professional jealousy, and the challenge to Salieri's faith, which follows.

I also love the way Mozart is portrayed in the film. It is a strange performance, a performance which reads not so much as "uncultured" as deliberately DEFIANT of culture. However, it also reads as anachronistic, with much of Mozart's dialogue sounding more of a modern plainspoken tongue than the more careful and flowery speech of his peers.

The film basically leans into the decision to present Mozart as a rich spoiled brat - an insufferable brat who, by the way, also happens to be one of the greatest composers who ever lived - his talent coming effortlessly, offhandedly, with an ease which itself almost seems vulgar.

And then there is Mozart's laugh - a falsetto sort of bray, the laugh of a child or a nincompoop. We will hear much of it throughout, and if we find it irritating, it is likely because Salieri finds it irritating. Mozart doesn't mean it as such, but that laugh is a goad, a thorn, an insult to propriety.

Of course, Mozart makes more direct insults toward Salieri as well, offering too-faint praise of his work, or insulting Salieri by performing his pieces in a mocking way.

The film finds poetic richness in the "frienemy" relationship between these two men. Salieri remains an admirer of Mozart's work throughout, but is also in a position of power over him, able to exert influence over the Emperor's opinion - and, by extension, over the opinion of the people of Vienna.

Mozart may be incredibly talented - or even Divinely inspired - but he's not sophisticated enough to understand why his pieces keep failing to engage the Viennese audience, or to grasp the duplicitous role Salieri is playing in his life.

Salieri's story is ultimately a tragically ironic one - one of a man who must come to terms with his own mediocrity, while jealosy drives him to secretly suppress and disenfranchise a rival whose work he believes to be profoundly, Divinely, beautiful.

I love the ending of the film, in which Salieri declares to the priest, his confessor: "I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint." He is wheeled out through the sanitarium, calling out to all of the sick and disfigured people around him, "Mediocrities everywhere: I absolve you, I absolve you."

Joker (I) (2019)

I hesitated to watch, but was glad I finally did.

[8/10 · 8 January 2024]

While getting over Covid and not really feeling like doing much, I've been catching up on movies I've been meaning to watch. Tonight: "Joker," the 2019 film centered around Joaquin Phoenix's Oscar-winning performance.

I doubt anybody needs to hear me say that this is a good film -- but it's a good film. The notion of doing a "Joker" origin-story as a revision of "Taxi Driver" is an inspired take. There are many ways such a film could have gone wrong, but this one doesn't. I think it holds pretty true. The story-beats make you feel Arthur "Happy" Fleck's loneliness and sympathize with his alienation, even as you fear for the terrible things you expect him to eventually do. And Phoenix's carefully-modulated, intensely observant performance keeps the film grounded. Eventually, it is his performance which makes the film truly sing.

Is this film "as good as" Taxi Driver? Of course not. Taxi Driver is a very smart movie which makes some ironic, deeper-than-average social commentary. "Joker" is simply a really good comic-book-villain origin-story which is too rooted in comic-book-land to ever become as smart or as good as the film which most obviously inspired it. But then, to ask it to be "as good as" Taxi Driver would ultimately be to ask for a different film. Is "Joker" a really effective character-drama, which gives us a humanizing alternative view of a classic comic-book villain? Oh yes, certainly. Far better than it even needs to be. Does it call into question notions of what a "villain" even is? Yes, I think so. Does it plumb those notions in articulate and deeply-considered ways? No, probably not. But again, this is ultimately a comic-book film, and is ultimately limited by those constraints.

I had put off seeing this one for a long time. That was partly because we're so supersaturated with content these days -- and such an outsize portion of that is related to superheroes or Star-Wars -- that I've just gotten to the point where it takes a LOT before I'll actually pay to see any content that's part of any existing franchise. And "Joker" hadn't yet surfaced on any of the streaming networks I subscribed to. Thus, it remained unseen by me.

But also, I have to admit that some of my hesitation to watch the film came from the way that it was embraced by certain white conservatives and incel types -- or at least the online controversy to that effect. I just wasn't prepared to deal with all of that while watching it. But here, a few years later, I was able to put all of that to the side and just watch it as a film, free of the surrounding controversy. As it turns out, having seen the film, I don't really have a problem with it. I believe it was an honestly-made film which tells a certain kind of harrowing story really well.

Perhaps we don't need yet another story about the travails of a suffering mentally-ill white man who becomes empowered through violence. Perhaps 2019 was not an appropriate time for such a tale. Perhaps, in humanizing Arthur Fleck, and in allowing us to share in his terrible intoxication as his words and violent actions win the allegiance of the "clowns in the streets," this film cut too close to some of the actual events of 2019 and the following years -- as instances of armed white gunmen and vigilante violence riddled the country, and as struggles between the rich and the poor played out in protests around the country, often under the banner of "Black Lives Matter," often accompanied by chants about law-enforcement only serving the 1%.

But could this film have foreseen any of that? Was it irresponsible to create a film like this one? I guess I'm of two minds about that. Sure, one should hope not to release a film which might actually provoke violence in the world. But also, as a kind of artist myself, I have to say this:

Art must reflect the times in which it was made. If the times are crazy, the art should reflect that craziness. It has to be allowed to do that. If movies are to provide the conversation-points we want them to provide, they have to be able to dig into timely real-world issues which might provoke a strong reaction. If art cannot be allowed to do this, then art is dead and all content is just brainwash-fodder for the masses.

Anyway, I think "Joker" honestly attempts to be art of this variety, I think it succeeds, and I think it's a pretty great film overall. It was much better than I'd expected. The "Taxi Driver" influence looms VERY large throughout -- and yet the film never quite hits the same beats, not exactly. Funny that here, instead of a working for a taxi-service, our hero works for 1-800-DIAL-A-CLOWN (my coinage, not the film's). The job serves the same purpose in both films, getting our hero out into the world, providing a transactional way in which he can interact with others while still being a very isolated person.

And truly, the talk-show scene during the film's climax is RIVETING. Every moment of that sequence had me on the edge of my seat. I had no idea what was going to happen until it did. And man, it felt truly shocking!

Also, I must highlight the way that Joaquin Phoenix starts to dance occasionally toward the end of the film - just a few simple but graceful moves, which, together with the crooning songs on the film's soundtrack (which we gather are playing in his head) - are heartbreaking in their lightness. In these moments, we glimpse something which might have been this character's redemption - but alas, his dark fate is sealed.

My only other talking-point is this: I still can't believe this movie was directed by the same guy who directed "The Hangover." Like -- Huh!?

Beau Is Afraid (2023)

A Feverish Comedy Of Anxiety

[7/10 · 6 January 2024]

I've been waiting awhile to see Ari Aster's 2023 film, "Beau Is Afraid." Finally got around to it tonight, on Vudu.

After Aster's first two films, "Hereditary" and "Midsommar," hit it off with fans and critics alike, "Beau" arrived to rather mixed reviews, and I'm thinking that's in no small part due to the film's three-hour runtime. Three hours is very long for any movie, but especially for one as surreal and winding as "Beau."

And yet, the movie does make much of this runtime, using it to create several distinct episodes within the film - each a different chapter in the film's picaresque narrative, and each a different miniature world of comic anxiety.

Aster has described the film as, "A Jewish Lord of the Rings, but he's just going to his mom's house." While that's a woefully inadequate synopsis of the plot, it is insightful in other ways, and the humor of that remark is felt throughout "Beau," in which Joaquin Phoenix plays a "very" anxious and meek middle-aged man who must endeavor to visit his overbearing mother, despite his conflicted feelings, and despite all manner of absurd circumstances which befall him. He proceeds - at times reluctantly, and at times literally kicking and screaming - through a series of misadventures as funny as they are shocking and grotesque.

We see the world as Beau sees the world, and so all of his anxieties are either justified or made manifest in the most outrageous of ways. And while the whole thing looks and sounds a lot like a boldly colorful horror movie, it plays more as a dark comedy.

The film reminded me of certain old Roman Polanski movies, like "The Tenant" in which we are immersed in a man's omnipresent paranoia, even as some kind of plot may be closing in on him. There is a sense of that film's dark comedy at work here.

Also, I was reminded of Martin Scorsese's "After Hours," in which a man's simple night out in New York becomes a nightmarishly comedic odyssey.

I found the film entertaining throughout, and the production-design and casting and acting were all tops - (Parker Posey! Nathan Lane! Ha!) - but I must confess that the entire enterprise did end up feeling a little bit hollow. I'm not really sure, overall, what the point of the movie was.

I suppose the film's portrait of an overbearing mother is rather, um, "impressive," if that's even the right word for a creature of such maleficent grandeur as Mona. In the film's first hour you won't really understand what I mean by this, but trust me, by the end of the film, Mona will be revealed to be one of the most dastardly villains ever captured on film - her tentacles seemingly reaching everywhere, revealing to us that Beau never really had a chance. A chance... a chance to what? Either to escape her, or to prove his love for her. Either answer, impossible.

Unless it's all a distortion of Beau's mind, of course - which some of it probably is.

In whatever case, I admire films which make such daringly original choices as this one does, even when they leave me feeling like I'm grasping at straws. I was entertained by "Beau," and I'm sure I will watch it again as I have each of Aster's films. And yet I have the same frustrations with it that I've had with his previous films. He's a filmmaker who is possessed of a great sense of style, an incredible visual acuity, a perfect sense of timing in the edit, and a great sense of how to use sound and music. But his films always leave me feeling like they are a bit hollow at the center, like he puts all of these tools to work in the service of a story which is just not quite all there.

But even if that is the case here, I suppose it's fine enough to have another surreal comedy about anxiety in the world. I mean, how many of those are there, anyway?

Poor Things (2023)

A brightly-colored, darkly comic gem

[8/10 · 2 January 2024]

I find Yorgos Lanthimos to be a fascinating filmmaker, although I must confess that I've not really loved any of his movies. They are usually quite sharp in their social observations, and quite funny in individual moments, but also quite long, and ultimately pitch-black in their finales. Dogtooth, The Lobster, and The Favourite all fit this description, while The Killing of a Sacred Deer is more of a horror film, and a truly chilling one at that.

Poor Things, then, ranks as Lanthimos's most cheerful and life-affirming movie - even if it's also cheeky, perverse, and sharp enough to cut glass. Furthermore, it's Lanthimos' most technically accomplished film; where his earlier works set their absurdist storylines against neo-realist backdrops, this one is awash in a highly eccentric, fever-dream version of the Steampunk aesthetic -- an alternate-universe version of Victorian Europe, where odd scientific advancements co-exist with weird and colorful twists on that era's fashions and social customs.

Emma Stone (La La Land) leads this Frankenstein-like tale - (or should that be "Bride of Frankenstein?") - in which a deceased woman has been brought back to life with the mind of an infant. This miracle of science has been performed by the hideously disfigured Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). He has named her Bella, and he has paternal feelings for her. She toddles awkwardly, caws in monosyllables, and calls him God.

Because he cannot watch Bella constantly, Dr. Baxter hires one of his medical apprentices -- Max McCandles -- to attend to her, and to "record her progress." Max is a gentle and naive young man, and this makes him a good match for Bella, for whom Max is the only man she has ever known, besides Godwin.

And so, progress Bella does -- up to a point. But things get complicated when another man enters the picture, and Bella discovers the pull of sexual desire.

Boy, is this film interested in sexual desire -- the odd comedy of it, the way in which it complicates us, the strange kind of power that it holds, the absurd way in which it undercuts our most evolved notions about ourselves. Neither Lanthimos nor his actors are shy about this aspect of the film, and although I wouldn't exactly call the movie "titillating" -- as its many sex-scenes feel more satirical than sexy -- there's plenty here to make a Puritan blush. If you couple the notion of Bella's sexual awakening with the notion that she is LITERALLY a 5 or 6-year-old in a grown woman's body, there emerge some very icky undertones that the film is very aware of.

This leads to my one major misgiving about this film, which is the fact that much of its comedy co-exists with some pretty queasy undercurrents. The film's awareness of this won't excuse it for all viewers -- but, as one character humorously observes: "All sexuality is immoral."

And ultimately, there is much more to this film than I've yet described. Bella's hunger for worldly experience leads her to philosophy and social-causes, just as readily as it leads her toward other men, and toward the realization that many of those who claim to love her simply want to exert ownership over her.

The basic storyline of this film has much in common with Pygmalion, the George Bernard Shaw play which was later remade as a musical, "My Fair Lady." All are stories about women who are "made by" men -- men who are then spurned when they realize they cannot own what they feel they have created. But Lanthimos and his crew made this story resonate, for me, much more than those earlier versions of this tale ever did. And it must be said, the kind of imagination and technical wizardry that they brought to the visuals -- and to the idiosyncratic use of music, which I could write a separate essay about -- really breathed the stuff of life into this telling.

Of course, Emma Stone's performance as Bella deserves special mention. The film required a certain special magic to make this character work. At its worst, a character like Bella might have come across as another groan-inducing portrait of a mentally-disabled person by a non-disabled actor. But Stone locates a real sense of childlike wonder and chaos within Bella in those early scenes. In the way she walks, in her strange shifts of mood, her sudden outbursts of violence followed by giggles, we do get a very real sense of what it might be like to be a toddler coming to grips with a grown woman's body.

As Bella learns and matures through her experiences, the way Stone modulates her performance, and gradually refines her body-language and manner of speech -- well, it's so subtle you almost don't notice, until suddenly you realize that Bella has been speaking full and intelligent sentences for awhile, and that she no longer walks like a toddler, and you can't quite recall the moment where that transition happened.

By the ending of the film, Bella has become an incredibly unique and memorable character, and much unlikely poetry (and stinging comedy) has been revealed through her journey.

The Boy and the Heron (2023)

One of Miyazaki's very best!

[10/10 · 19 December 2023]

I just watched the new Hayao Miyazaki (Studio Ghibli) film, at Circle Cinema, with my bro and his kids: "The Boy and the Heron." I was frankly surprised when I heard Miyazaki was coming out with a new one, because he's been saying that he's directed his last film, for every film since "Princess Mononoke." In the ten years since his "The Wind Rises," I had finally believed it.

But now, here we are, and I'm not only glad there's another Miyazaki film in the world -- but I'm especially glad it's THIS Miyazaki film, because it marks a return to the kind of big, fantastical, surrealistic epic that he hasn't really done since 2008's "Ponyo." And as much as I did like "Ponyo," it was definitely lighter fare, intended for the very young. "The Boy and the Heron" is easily Miyazaki's richest and most complicated film since "Spirited Away" and "Mononoke." And I'll just stop there, because I hate to play favorites with a body of work which is so generally good.

I like how Miyazaki's films frequently deal with children who are struggling to deal with real emotional pain -- and who do so without a lot of exposition. Their inner struggles become externalized, symbolically represented by the magical worlds which unfold around them. There's not a lot of exposition, and nobody talks too much about how they feel -- but in the sublime and artful way in which Miyazaki's characters deal with one another, and with the strange logics of the worlds they discover, we sense our young protagonists working things out. His animation is eternally optimistic in that way, and that is partly what makes it so beautiful.

"The Boy and the Heron" inhabits this tradition of his work, and does it with a verve which feels classic, assured, and masterful, even as it continues to surprise with each fantastical new creation.

A summary of the plot doesn't exactly do the film justice -- but it involves a boy, Mahito, whose mother is killed in a fire in Tokyo the early days of World War II. Although he didn't see her die, Mahito is still haunted by thoughts of his mother burning alive a couple years later, as his father introduces him to his pregnant new stepmom -- his mother's sister! -- and moves their family to the countryside.

The film takes its careful time with these early scenes. We observe as Mahito tries to adapt to his new family-life, and his new life in the country. We see how hard a time he has at the rural school, and how the other boys don't like him -- possibly because his father runs the local factory. There is an incident of self-harm. Mahito is bedridden for a time, and tended to.

Throughout these events, there have been hints of strange magic. A gray heron has been glimpsed -- and every time Mahito sees this bird, we glimpse some kind of grotesque new detail. Did that bird just flash a set of human TEETH? Does it have a NOSE hidden inside its beak? Was that a human EYE?

One day, Mahito follows the heron into the woods, to discover a strange abandoned tower. The gaggle of old women who act as servants in his house warn him to stay away from the tower. The place is cursed, they tell him! The old man who built the place disappeared, leaving behind only his books! They whisper of dangerous tunnels and strange happenings.

However, after his stepmom disappears -- and was last sighted slipping away into the woods -- Mahito knows exactly where to start looking.

I really liked how this film took awhile with its opening scenes, immersing us in the reality of Mahito's life, and only ducking-away into the realm of magic in moments where we could be pretty sure Mahito was dreaming. This gives the film a "magical realism" quality, and I half-expected the film to stay mostly rooted in reality. I would have been satisfied with that, I suppose, because these early scenes are all quite lovely -- but I did wonder just how much "magic" to expect from the film.

The answer, eventually, is... A LOT. There does come a point when the film tilts full-bore into an impressionistic, surrealistic exploration of new worlds and strange creatures and places where the living and the dead coexist. This stuff is EXCELLENT. And even if it does go on a little long, I relished every bonkers moment of it.

There were too many hilariously bizarre moments to mention -- but my favorite might have been a bit involving gigantic, awkward, knife-wielding carnivorous parakeets. Yes, they are cute. And they will carve you up and eat you.

True to his own legacy, Miyazaki uses all these elements largely to tell a story about how Mahito is finally able to come to terms with his mother's death, and accept his stepmom as his new parental figure.

But there's more here, too, I think. In the God-like "creator" at the center of the film's magical tower, who tries to pass his legacy on to Mahito, one can't help but see a reflection of Miyazaki himself -- a creator of many worlds nearing the end of his life, struggling to keep his tower standing for just one more day at a time.

Anyway, there's a whole lot to unpack in this film -- but it's also a joy to behold in the moment. My brother's kids (who are 11-13) loved it, got a little restless by the end and did complain that it felt a bit long -- but overall counted it among their favorite Miyazaki films. Personally, well, I would say that this one feels a little "messier" than some of his efforts -- as in, the story does wander a bit in the second half -- and yet, it's beautiful how it all comes together at the end, and ultimately, I can't consider it anything less than a work of art. It took my breath away.

The Swan (II) (2023)

Anderson's powerful horror short

[9/10 · 1 October 2023]

Wes Anderson has four new short-films on Netflix. I think they're all based on Roald Dahl stories. Last night I watched the one called "The Swan," and I really had no idea what I was in for. I guess I had expected something comical, with melancholy undercurrents, like most of Anderson's work. Instead, the story is one of the most diabolical horror stories I've ever heard, diabolical because it is so realistic, so believable - describing the ordinary way in which young boys can do terrible things to each other. And yet, because it is expressed through Anderson's cute, stagey, pastel-colored style, there is a distancing effect which somehow makes the piece hit harder than a more realistic style might have. It has the power of a poem, or a song. The magical-realist ending concludes the piece on a mysterious, ambiguous note which can be read in different ways. My god, it's good. So sad, so powerful.

Run Rabbit Run (2023)

A tedious slog

[3/10 · 23 September 2023]

"Run Rabbit Run" is the most tedious kind of horror film. It's the kind which relies on withholding information from the viewer, because the "secret traumatic backstory" which informs its scary scenes is so simple that the entire film could be spoiled in a single sentence. Ultimately, by the time the film finally reveals that backstory, the movie has been stringing us along for so long that we hardly care anymore. Not only that, but the shocking twist it offers is something that comes as almost no surprise.

Re-treading the same thematic material that "The Babadook" mined much more effectively, "Rabbit" tells the story of a single mom, haunted by an unspecified trauma, trying to raise a daughter who has some behavioral issues.

That trauma stays unspecified for at least the first hour of the film, and even then the film only drops the faintest of hints until about the last 20 minutes. That reveal is literally the only thing this move has going for it. It keeps tiptoeing up to that reveal with ominous music and scary visuals involving dark doorways opening at the ends of halls. It lingers on those visuals for minutes at a time, teasing us into thinking that the movie is finally going to tell us something relevant - only to offer a cheap jumpscare and go right back to square zero.

It's a shame, because I might have been much more invested in the film if I had understood why the mother acted the way she did. Not understanding the nature of her trauma only makes her actions seem inexplicable, stupid, even inexcusable at times. And so, for most of the film, I just found myself laughing at what an idiot she was, and sarcastically calling her "Mother of the Year."

Here's the thing: I don't insist that a horror film be fast-paced; some of my favorite horror films - such as Jennifer Kent's "The Babadook" and Robert Eggers' "The Witch," have been accused of having a slow pace. But I do lose interest, fast, if a film is not giving me anything to maintain my interest in the story. Give me rich characters. Give me a complex plot. Give me metaphor. Give me a unique style. Give me something. Give me anything.

"Run Rabbit Run" gives the viewer very little. Information is doled out a single measly crumb at a time, with long stretches of time in between, which the movie fills with tedious horror movie clichés, clichés which go nowhere and mean almost nothing.

In its last 15 minutes, this film does finally offer some stuff of interest - and it reveals itself to be an effective-enough portrait of the way the dead can haunt us through the living, and the way that old sins can maintain a stranglehold on our lives. Unfortunately, this all comes as too little too late. When the only material that makes your film even remotely worthwhile is contained in the last few minutes, and getting there is a slog, your film has huge problems.

Horse Girl (I) (2020)

Quirky comedy turns portrait of mental illness

[7/10 · 15 September 2023]

"Horse Girl" is an interesting watch. What starts out like a quirky Sundance-style indie comedy becomes a surreal and quietly tragic portrait of a young woman suffering a psychotic break.

The film has a really unique vibe, because everything is depicted from her perspective - and so, we share in her disorientation as she loses her grip on reality, but the film also suggests her feminine inner-world through the softness of its visuals, and through the gentle-but-percolating synth score which sometimes suggests magical realizations hidden just out of sight.

It's a unique and really effective style, which flowers fully in the movie's surreal final act. It's a curious ending, which feels both tragic and triumphant, simultaneously.

Anyway, I do recommend this one. Those who have experience with mental illness might find it a difficult watch. But one refreshing aspect of the film, in that regard, is the fact that everyone else in this movie seems to really care about her, and everyone at least tries to do the right thing. This isn't a horror-story about neglect. Sarah, the protagonist, does have friends who try to respond appropriately, once they understand the nature of her condition. And when she ends up in the hospital, the care she receives there is given with compassion.

Anyway, this movie was quite a surprise because I knew nothing about it when I started watching it. It was definitely worth my time.

The Pope's Exorcist (2023)

Hilariously bad film

[4/10 · 9 September 2023]

I don't think I'm going to leave a proper review of this movie, because it doesn't really deserve it. But you, dear reader, do deserve to know that this is probably the funniest exorcism movie I have ever seen.

Was it supposed to be funny? I am not sure. It does seem like Russell Crowe is having a grand time playing the titular character. His role calls for broad gravitas delivered with a knowing wink, and Crowe handles the demands of the part like it's a piece a'cake, and looks like he's having a lot of fun doing it.

But if the movie was intended to be camp, Russell Crowe seems to have been the only actor who got the memo. Everything about this movie is so overstated and ridiculous that it's impossible for it to be anything but funny.

And yet, there is definitely something enjoyable about watching a bad horror film that makes you laugh at its awfulness. Despite blood, and bodily contortions, and blasphemous curses, "The Pope's Exorcist" never succeeds at being even a little bit scary. Nor does it succeed in having anything interesting to say, theologically, other than the notion that church atrocities may have been "the work of the devil!"

(I mean, come on, what isn't "the work of the devil?" I live in the overwhelmingly Christian state of Oklahoma, and I can assure you that if anyone ever did anything bad - or ever took pleasure in anything that made someone else feel icky - it was "the work of the devil." To me, calling something "the work of the devil" is akin to letting someone off the hook for their actions, disavowing personal responsibility, and/or shaming those who are different than you.)

I digress. Anyway, the best exorcism films out there are still the original "The Exorcist," and perhaps "The Exorcist III." Those films are scary not only because of horrific imagery, but also because they have a genuine interest in honest theological questions.

In comparison, "The Pope's Exorcist" is about as scary as an episode of "Scooby Doo." But I did laugh almost continuously during this movie because it was so hilariously bad. And that's not worth nothing. Hence, four stars out of 10.

They Cloned Tyrone (2023)

Hard-boiled Drama turns Raucous Sci-Fi Satire

[8/10 · 4 August 2023]

"They Cloned Tyrone," on Netflix, is a great little surprise! The film starts out as a gritty urban drama, in the mold of John Singleton's "Boyz N the Hood," crossed with any number of 1970s blaxploitation films. It turns into a raucous sci-fi satire, in the mold of Jordan Peele's "Get Out," infused with the manic comic anarchy of Boots Reily's "Sorry to Bother You."

I really didn't know what to expect from this film when I started watching it, but a few satirical moments early on (and, frankly, the title) clued me in that something more was going on here than a hard-boiled and depressing story about drug-runners, pimps, and prostitutes.

But indeed, this is a story about drug-runners, pimps, and prostitutes. John Boyega (who memorably played Finn in the Star Wars universe) disappears into character as the stoic Fontaine, an inner-city drug-dealer who became hardened after he saw his younger brother meet a violent end at the hands of police officers. Jamie Foxx plays Slick Charles, a chatty pimp who is not one of Fontaine's favorite people. Teyonah Parris radiates scrappy upbeat charm as Yo-Yo, a prostitute who loves a good mystery.

Much of this film's appeal comes from the way these three actors play off one another. Their performances are the core of the film, and first-time director Juel Taylor is wise to let the camera linger on them, as they bicker and banter. Their dialogue is fun and witty, especially as the film's mystery begins to unspool, and they find themselves drawn together, an unlikely team outmatched (and very weirded-out) by strange discoveries.

At about 15 minutes in, the movie starts to get a little weird, and then at about the 30 minute point comes the big reveal. I won't say anything about it, but of course there's a lot you can glean just from the title.

The film comes rather unhinged, in kind of a delightful way, as our heroes travel further down the rabbithole. The conspiracy they uncover is the stuff of great satire, and ultimately the film is truly about the toxic ingrained behaviors evident in certain black communities, and the forces that might be complicit in reinforcing those behaviors. It also observes a certain sad comedy in the way such destructive behaviors manifest time and again; the metaphor of cloning is put to excellent use here.

This is all expressed through comical sci-fi exaggeration, of course - and the film has a lot of great gags along those lines. I won't spoil a single one.

The film's best trick, though, is the way that it eventually has us seeing Fontaine, Slick Charles, and Yo-Yo, as something more than their immediate identities. These characters transcend their archetypes; they become better, bigger, than the toxic roles they once inhabited. They become more fully human.

This does feel like the ultimate point of the film, and so the script and the direction must be credited for achieving this - but it wouldn't have worked without such fine and fun performances. So kudos, all around.

"They Cloned Tyrone" is a hard-boiled oddball gem of a film. I really enjoyed the ride, these characters are a lot of fun, and the film's ultimate message is a good one. The movie also looks great, has gritty style to spare. But it's not perfect; the setup is stronger than the payoff; the satirical elements get a little weak in the final act.

I'd probably give it something like an 8 out of 10. Definitely watch it, if you're looking for a smart, fun, R-rated good time!

Robin Hood (2010)

Ridley Scott's Brooding "Robin Hood"

[5/10 · 26 June 2023]

Finally got around to watching Ridley Scott's 2010 version of "Robin Hood," with Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett, tonight.

Not a terrific film, nor a terrible one. For better or worse, it did tell a very different Robin Hood story than I've ever seen. In fact, the story was SO different that it sent me to Wikipedia to read about the history of "Robin Hood" tales. I was kind of delighted to discover that there is no single known source from which these stories emerged, no known "original text" or anything like that. If I had ever understood that Robin Hood was the purest kind of folktale, I had forgotten. It was kind of delightful to re-discover that, because that's just the perfect origin for this universe.

Because this universe is pure folktale, originating in balladry and from the tongues of peasants, there is no "official version" of the myth. Because these stories date back to the 1400s or earlier, there are any number of versions of the tale, with any number of different details.

And so, Ridley Scott's version - in which we first meet Robin Longstride as an archer in king Richard the Lionheart's army, as they fight their way across France to get back to England - is simply engaging with the spirit of the folktale, as it offers a fairly fresh angle on the mythology.

Unfortunately, the movie is more dour than need be. It is as if Ridley Scott was in a particularly grumpy mood when he directed the film, desaturating all the colors, and leaning-into the trend of "brutish realism." There are a few fun moments, when Robin and Marian are first getting to know each other, and as Robin becomes acquainted with Sir Walter Loxley, a man for whom he becomes like a son.

But alas, the film has not much time for character development or dialogue. There are too many fights to show, too many large battle scenes to present. Sadly, Robin's men are casualties of the film's need to keep pressing forward into action; not a single one of them registers, and the only ones I knew by name were Little John and Friar Tuck.

And the thing is, as much as I like Ridley Scott as a director, I have decided that he's just terrible at directing large battle-scenes. Scott can deliver spectacle and texture like no other director - but when it comes to presenting a large battle-scene with clarity and a sense of directorial purpose, Scott is utterly helpless. He presents an endless flurry of stuttering zoomed-in quick-cuts, making it impossible to follow the action or even really tell who is doing what to whom most of the time.

These problems riddle every action seen in the film, but are particularly egregious in the climax, which is practically 40 minutes of nonstop quick-edits filmed with a shaky camera using a stuttering framerate.

Anyway, it was interesting, at least, to see this alternate version of the story. It played somewhat as a prequel to the Robin Hood stories we are more familiar with, and although I'd really "wanted" a more familiar version of the tale, this angle piqued my imagination.

Burning (2018)

The Tangerine Vanishes - a richly poetic film-noir

[10/10 · 2 June 2023]

"Burning" is a complex and haunting film which begins as a love-story, develops into a mystery, and ultimately reveals itself to be a damning critique of the class inequalities which often result from rampant capitalism.

It's impossible to get deeply into the political reading of the film without spoiling everything about it, and so I'll necessarily tread lightly on that subject.

As the film begins, we accompany a young man named Jong-Su as he makes a clothing-delivery to a crassly commercial Seoul department-store. In front of the store are a couple of young women, employed by the store to hype-up the passers-by and entice them to come inside. They are running a series of lotteries in which they give away cheap prizes. One of the young women eyes Jong-Su, gets his attention, and furtively hands him a piece of paper with a number printed on it.

Next thing he knows, Jong-Su's number is called. The young woman invites him over and gives him his prize: A girl's sports-watch.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" She asks. He does not. "Well, you'll have to find one," she says. "This is a girl's watch."

And then she says: "You don't remember me, do you? I'm Hae-mi! We grew up in the same village together!"

He still shows no recognition.

"Well, you wouldn't recognize me. I had plastic surgery. I'm pretty now, right?"

Jong-Su and Hae-mi go on a date. During the date, at a bar, Hae-mi performs a fairly impressive bit of pantomime, slowly peeling and eating a piece of fruit.

"It's a tangerine," she explains. "I've been studying pantomime. Just for fun. This is how it works. Don't think there is a tangerine here. Just forget there isn't one. That's the key. The important thing is to think you really want one. Then your mouth will water and it'll taste really good."

Without delving too much further into the plot, I can say that these words haunt the entire film. Hae-mi becomes like that tangerine to Jong-su, who finds in her something that he strongly desires, but which he cannot possess. Or perhaps he does possess it, for a very brief moment -- but loses it even before he realizes what he has.

That "something" is love, of course. But this film digs deeper than that. "Burning" is perfectly watchable as a kind of film-noir mystery. But if you pay attention to the symbolism, Hae-mi herself becomes more than just a character; she is also a representation of the "promise" that capitalism makes to those of lesser means, like Jong-Su.

That promise is, put simply, the intangible fruit. Want it hard enough, and you can manifest it. And if it never actually manifests, you can fool yourself into believing that it did, or that it still might. One day, you will win the lottery. All you have to do is believe, right?

But that's not the way it ends up working for Jong-Su. He's not quite sharp enough, not quite lucky enough, and doesn't quite have the means enough, to see past the trappings of his own lack of opportunity, and his own cursed family history. His story, ultimately, is tragic.

The other character in the film is Ben, a rich playboy whom Hae-mi meets during a vacation to Africa, and subsequently introduces to Jong-Su. The three of them seem to form an unlikely bond for a time, but there are definite tensions at work among them. Hae-mi seems to have her heart set on Jong-Su, but sees in Ben someone exciting who might be able to help her improve her status. Jong-Su sees in Ben a romantic rival with whom he cannot compete, but also someone who might potentially help him achieve the more urbane, sophisticated life he desires.

Ben, on the other hand, is a cypher. Who is he, exactly? What does he get out of hanging with Hae-mi and Jong-su? Mysteries surround him.

"The guy's a Gatsby," Jong-su says to Hae-mi, as the two retire to a private conversation on the balcony during a visit to Ben's apartment. The description is adequate, and telling. Where does Ben's wealth come from? What does he do all day? The film raises these questions, but supplies few answers.

Ben is polite, refined, a gentleman. He never actually says or does anything overtly disparaging or insulting to Jong-Su or Hae-mi. And yet, in his manner, we detect a blithe insouciance which reads as a kind of creepy sociopathy.

And then, one night while the three are hanging-out, Ben confesses to Jong-su that he likes to burn down greenhouses. This is the point at which everything in the film changes, and all its pieces are set into motion. If you have found the film to be slow up until this point, rest assured that the final hour of the film will both reward and confound you.

Ultimately, Ben represents the other end of the capitalist equation. If Jong-Su is the lower-class man, and Hae-mi represents to him the capitalist promise -- the unattainable "fruits" of a better life and higher status -- then Ben is the elite, the person of means whose regard for those of lower status might be one of amusement, but is certainly not one of empathy, or understanding.

Most viewers will come away from "Burning" with a desire to review the evidence, to solve the mystery. But the mystery is deliberately unsolvable, all the evidence maddeningly circumstatial. The point, I think, is to demonstrate that someone like Jong-su is essentially powerless against someone like Ben; and also, that someone like Ben might easily get away with murder -- either literally or figuratively -- while, to someone like Jong-su, murder is an ugly and brutal act, an intimate act, an act which leaves one marked forever.

Baskin (2015)

Atmospheric, but rather flat.

[4/10 · 6 May 2023]

"Baskin" is a gory and slightly surreal horror story about a group of lawmen who stumble into the dealings of a Satanic cult, and who pay dearly for it. There isn't much more to the story than that.

There's a whiff of subtext about the lawmen's faith in "moral authority" being undone by their experiences with the cult - but because the lawmen are all amoral assholes to begin with, that subtext falls pretty flat.

The thing is, I found the lawmen in this film to be so repulsive and stupid that I really just kind of wanted them to die. Perhaps I should have felt uneasy about cheering for the Satanic cult - but the thing is, the cult is so over-the-top ridiculous that they come across as pure cinematic invention. And so, the film didn't scare me, or unnerve me, or even particularly entertain me.

Also, a few inexplicable things happen regarding various layers of reality and possibly some sort of a time-travel paradox, and there's not even a suggestion that an explanation is possible. But however inexplicable these beats may be, they do add a layer of interest.

All of that said, the film does have its strengths. It is far more visually stylistic and atmospheric than a film like this generally is. With its rich use of colored lighting, it reminded me deeply of Dario Argento's "Suspiria," which is a nice point of comparison.

I would really only recommend this film to fans of the horror genre, because it's not really good enough to recommend to general audiences. But if you are a horror fan you will at least find that this film has some pretty cool atmosphere, and that is honestly as good a reason as any to recommend a horror film to horror fans.

Drive My Car (2021)

The mystery of other people

[10/10 · 29 January 2023]

I watched "Drive My Car" last week, and I've thought about it quite a bit ever since. This was an interesting watch, and a film which grew on me considerably over its 3-hour duration.

This film is not only long, but is also slow, and very subtle. It is about a handful of characters who each hold their internal lives secret, seldom expressing to others what they're really thinking or feeling. This is a Japanese film -- based on a Haruki Murakami story -- and the way these characters withhold and repress their thoughts and emotions, out of politeness and respect for others, resonates with some of the things I know about Japanese culture. It is tempting to compare the film to a good haiku -- seemingly sparse on the surface, but containing depths.

Yusuke is a middle-aged man, happily married to Oto. They have been partners for many years, and appear to love each other deeply. Oto is a television producer, and Yusuke has made a name for himself in theater, directing multilingual productions of classic plays like "Waiting for Godot" and "Uncle Vanya."

The two of them have a private ritual in which, during sex, Oto will start telling a story to Yusuke. The story is often kind of provocative. We hear one about a girl who starts secretly breaking-into the bedroom of a boy she used to date, and leaving personal tokens in places like his underwear drawer. The next day, Yusuke will narrate the story back to Oto, so that she can write it down.

Oto turns these stories into screenplays, which she directs as prime-time drama at the TV station where she works.

One night, after one of Yusuke's theatrical performances, Oto brings a young man back to Yusuke's dressing-room to meet him. She introduces the young man as Koji Takatsuki, an actor in one of her dramas. "He heard I was coming tonight, and he insisted on coming with me, because he wanted to meet you," she says.

Yusuke dismisses him coldly but politely.

Several days later, Yusuke comes home at an unexpected time to find Oto and Takatsuki making passionate love on the living-room sofa. Does this scene play out as you would expect? Does Yusuke cause a scene?

Well, no. What does happen is strange, but far more interesting. Yusuke looks upset, to be sure -- but he simply leaves, quietly, before Oto and Takatsuki even notice him. I expected that the following scenes would deal with how Yusuke eventually confronts his wife about her infidelity -- but instead, Yusuke acts as if everything is completely normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

I found myself wondering: What is going on here? Surely Yusuke cares that his wife is sleeping with this young man. But did he already know, maybe, that this was going on? Why doesn't he say a word to her about it?

And then something completely unexpected happens, which changes the entire film. The story jumps forward a couple of years, and the opening-credits finally roll -- at 40 minutes in -- letting you know that everything you just watched and wondered about was PROLOGUE.

I won't discuss the rest of the plot at all. It develops in ways which are just as quietly unexpected as what came before -- and yet, it all adds up, as you start to understand more about the inner lives of these characters. Of course, there are also some meaningful ambiguities, and certain things which we just aren't meant to know.

There's an intertextual quality to the film, as much of the plot finds Yusuke directing a production of "Uncle Vanya," and as he rehearses lines from the play -- to a cassette tape featuring his wife's voice -- his repressed thoughts and feelings often seem to be expressed by the lines from the play.

Personally, I'm not familiar with "Uncle Vanya." It's Chekhov. And so I actually skimmed the Wikipedia page about it. I was glad I did; it helped me to understand the intertextual relationships between the play and the film a bit.

The final hour of "Drive My Car" is incredible, as everything that the film has so carefully set-up comes into play during a few emotional conversations that are just epic. Just poetic, powerful, gut-punch material.

And yes, we do finally come to understand why Yusuke didn't confront his wife about her infidelity -- but the film is ultimately about a lot more than that. It's about the mystery of other people -- even the ones we think are closest to us. It's about the difficulty of communication. It's about the inner-lives that we keep secret, or don't know how to properly express even if we want to.

All of this, and the film is blessed with cinematography which is as subtle as it is beautiful. In that, I would say that the film's visual approach is of a piece with its acting and its story; every aspect of this film functions in the same subtle-but-beautiful way.

Anyway, "Drive My Car" is a great film. This is possibly 10/10 material. But I do give caveats: This is a slow and subtle film, which requires a kind of active participation on the part of the viewer. It requires a viewer to ask questions, to wonder, to theorize, to be curious, and (above all) to be patient. If you don't give it that kind of attention, you likely won't get much out of it.

The Nightingale (I) (2018)

A brutal but absorbing film

[8/10 · 28 February 2022]

"The Nightingale" is the second feature film by Jennifer Kent, who directed "The Babadook" in 2014. While "The Babadook" was an excellent horror film which spun endless metaphors around its supernatural events, "The Nightingale" is an earthy tale, less interested in subtext, more interested in creating a visceral reaction to the horrors of colonialism. At that, it does an excellent job. I was hooked, hoping that its wronged protagonists would find some form of justice, while also hoping that they wouldn't destroy themselves in its pursuit.

The story concerns Clare, an Irish convict serving time at a British military outpost somewhere in the Australian wilderness in the 1820s. She lives nearby with her husband, Aidan, who is also a convict. He has served his time and has earned his papers, or freedom. She has also earned her papers, but Lieutenant Hawkins, the highest-ranking officer at the outpost, has to sign them, and he refuses. He has the power to detain her indefinitely, and it pleases him to do so.

Clare has a sweet voice, and has thus been tasked with the role of singing for Hawkins and his men on occasional evenings. They refer to her as their Nightingale.

Hawkins feels that his position, and his power over Clare, should entitle him to certain privileges with her. She does not respond to his advances, and so eventually he forces himself upon her, in an excruciating rape-scene, hardly ten minutes into the film. If that would deter you from watching this film, then by all means refrain, because things actually get worse.

The film becomes centered around Clare, and becomes a kind of revenge-saga. It also becomes centered around Billy, a native man -- a "black," as the British call his people -- who has also been horrifically mistreated, as the British attempt to enslave or kill all of his people. Clare and Billy find each other, and the way they gradually come to an understanding of each others' hardships, and begin to see the humanity in each other, forms the only warm or redemptive arc in the film.

"The Nightingale" is not the kind of film one can "recommend," because it's such a brutal watch. Understand that this film contains multiple rape-scenes, as well as other scenes of unspeakable violence -- and Kent knows how to make these scenes get under our skin. She lets her camera linger on the pained faces of the victims for long unbroken takes. When she cuts away, she cuts to their point-of-view, showing us the ceiling, or a wall, as they avert their eyes from their aggressors, seeking to escape mentally that which they cannot escape physically.

This film seems to be operating from a place of rage, and its rage is contagious. Sometimes people ask what the value is in a film like this? Well, it's not escapist entertainment. Is there a value in making viewers feel the truly horrific nature of actual historical events, of power being wielded in inhumane ways over captive populations? I would argue that there is. I think we do need reminders of just how horrific actual history often is, lest we repeat it -- although, it seems, we are always doomed to repeat it.

At any rate, I found "The Nightingale" to be an emotionally brutal watch, and yet I could not stop watching, and I'm glad that I saw it.

The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover (1989)

A beautiful film, and a savage satire

[10/10 · 25 February 2022]

When this film was released in 1989, it caused quite a stir. I was 13 at the time, and although I wouldn't actually see "Cook/Thief/Wife/Lover" until nearly 30 years later, the controversey over the film made an impression. It seems the MPAA had threatened the film with an X rating, and had asked the director, Peter Greenaway, to make certain cuts in order to obtain an "R." The director, Peter Greenaway, had refused to make those cuts -- but rather than accept the "X," which would have meant a commercial death for the film in the States -- he chose to release the film as "unrated, for adults only." The conversation over this movie is one of the reasons the NC-17 rating came about a year or two later.

Once I finally watched the film, in 2019, I assumed there was no way it could live up to the hype. Boy was I wrong! This film is utterly unique; I have never seen another like it. It is shocking and disturbing, yes -- in ways which still feel taboo, which will always feel taboo. It is also an aesthetically beautiful film, with moments of deep sensuality and images which contain the power to haunt long after viewing. It's also, at times, quite funny.

It's tempting to call "Cook/Thief/Wife/Lover" a black comedy -- but that sells it short. It's more than just that. A savage satire, then? It's that, too. Its moments of grotesque foulness certainly arise from a place of political anger, of anger about the way of the world -- and overall, it's easy to read the film as a metaphor for corrupt power-structures and the revolt of the working-class.

And yet it's more than that, too. It's a beautiful, painterly film which embraces its own artiface. That is to say, every aspect of the film is heightened or exaggerated. The action always takes place at a certain distance; color is used in bold ways; the sets are vast and cavernous; one is reminded of renaissance paintings, and opera.

When do we call a film a "work of art?" I hesitate to use that phrase, because many people read it and assume that any film it's attached to is a pretentious piece of boring cinema they'd never understand or enjoy. It's possible that many people might feel that way about "Cook/Thief/Wife/Lover." It's certainly not a film that aims to please. It's a film which aims to upset, to shock, to call into question. I do find it hard to imagine that someone would find this film boring. Offensive? Oh yes, certainly. But not boring.

Synchronicity (IV) (2015)

This movie is all Flowers and Wormholes...

[4/10 · 17 September 2020]

I watched "Synchronicity" last night with my brother on Blu-Ray. It was alright. There were things I liked about it and things I didn't. It was one of those indie sci-fi films which starts off well and makes good use of a small budget, then takes a very dumb turn halfway through which it never recovers from -- and then can't figure out where to end.

The thing I enjoyed most about the movie was its flagrant overuse of the word "wormhole." There are some scientists, and they're working very hard to open a wormhole. This wormhole requires a great amount of energy to open, and they alone know the secret to harnessing that energy, and opening that wormhole. It is a fussy wormhole. They soon learn their wormhole it has two ends -- a receiving end and a transmitting end. So they spend a lot of time discussing their wormhole, peering into their wormhole, contemplating their wormhole.

Then, one of the scientists meets a woman who is in possession of a rare and exotic flower. He asks to see her flower, and she laughs and says, "Do we really know each other that well yet?" But she shows him anyway. And then, later, her flower comes through his wormhole. This struck me then -- as it does now -- as a mind-blowing feat of physical gymnastics, as well as a very funny sentence.

Anyway, this movie is all flowers and wormholes and half-unwitting double-entendres, and up until a certain point it's all the better for it. I laughed until I tired of laughing, and then suddenly the film became an unsuccessful relationship-drama -- an odd mixture of somber and juvenile -- at which point I grew rather tired of watching it.

"Synchronicity" is not an utter waste of time, due to its fun first half and some rather well-realized "Blade Runner on a Budget" visuals. During that first half, the film is deliberately campy at times, and unintentionally funny at other times, and although the writing is juvenile and the plot-logic is a little fuzzy, I really didn't mind.

It's unfortunate that the film turns "serious" halfway through, because the characters aren't well-realized enough to pull-off a serious relationship drama, and the film has nothing but shopworn cliches to offer in that regard. The juvenile quality in the writing is fun when the film isn't taking itself too seriously. When it starts taking itself seriously, that same juvenile quality undercuts its efforts.

The first half of the film is a doofy but fun (and visually pleasing) film about time-travel, with a bit of noirish intrigue. The latter half of the film reminded me of a drunk "bro" at a bar regaling me, for far too long, about a girl he'd lost -- all the while revealing himself to be a tiresome a**hole who thinks himself some kind of saint, and describing his girl in such an idealized way that it seems impossible that he ever really knew her as well as he thought he did. It grows quite tiresome.

The Platform (2019)

A shallow gorefest, convinced of its own profundity.

[2/10 · 12 April 2020]

The Platform wants to have something to say about class-struggle within a ruthlessly capitalistic society, but its ham-fisted allegory is confused and self-contradictory at best, making sense in individual moments -- but not where it really counts, in the overall big picture.

The "message" of the film, such as it is, is excruciatingly obvious from the first scene, and is only coherent in individual bite-sized segments. Perhaps this makes it an ideal message-film for the era of Trump and Twitter and the small and illiterate thought - but I doubt that was the intent.

To be fair, the film's main premise is an interesting one. The vertical stack of cells, and the ever-descending banquet, create a visceral depiction of the unfair, top-down distribution of resources and income. However, the film never gets very far beyond its initial premise.

The premise is undercut by the early-film revelation that many of the "prisoners" chose to be imprisoned here, for reasons which often seem fairly trivial. Also, since not much information is given about the "outside world," and since we're never quite sure if this prison is run by a privately-owned business or by the "government," it's never very certain exactly what this prison is meant to represent. If it is designed to represent the entirety of a capitalist society, then what does it mean that some of the people are here as punishment, but others are here because they erroneously thought it would help them quit smoking, or get them in better physical shape?

Likewise, I have no idea what to make of the fact that the people in this prison wake-up on a different level every month. Sure, this creates some cheap dramatic tension -- but in real life, those who "have not" don't often switch position with those who "have," and so this plot-device complicates the film's central message in ways that I'm not sure are intentional.

As a midnight-movie gorefest, The Platform is certainly more successful -- although its single setting and budget constraints render it considerably more repetitive along these lines then it really needed to be. Some character development or an interesting backstory might have been nice -- but alas, this film is not as invested in those things as it is in depicting acts of cannibalism.

Overall, I would describe the movie as a violent, repetitive, and extremely juvenile science-fiction fantasy which believes it has big things to say about class struggle but ultimately can't summon anything more meaningful than a handful of pithy tweets. It all leads up to an ending which is unsurprising and shallow, but seemingly convinced of its own profundity.

Grading on a curve, being lenient due to the film's budget constraints (which really aren't the main problem), I might be generous and give it two out of ten stars. Not a film I will be recommending to anyone.

A Ghost Story (2017)

An odd but charming fable!

[7/10 · 30 January 2020]

I'm not sure why it took me so long to get around to watching "A Ghost Story," other than the fact that I missed it when it was at the theater, and it only came on Netflix recently. While I guess I expected a rather precious musing on grief and loss, what I found instead was a charming and odd fable of a film, a film rooted in the aforementioned themes but interested in much more. It could certainly be called precious, yes - and many will find it unforgivably slow - but it also has a big heart, some real ideas, and a beautiful visual sensibility.

About the pacing of this film: "A Ghost Story" is almost as glacially slow as a Tarkovski film, but the style and pacing suit the subject-matter quite well. It is a contemplative film; the film is unrushed, lingering in the moments "between" anything happening, giving us ample time to soak-in the gorgeous visual compositions, to consider the nuances of the often wordless acting, and to really feel like we are living the scene right alongside the characters.

There is a name for this approach to filmmaking. The celebrated American screenwriter/director Paul Schrader calls it Transcendental Style, and wrote a book about it. The idea is not to entertain, but to use film as a medium for imparting philisophical and/or spiritual ideas. One key component of transcendental style is - yes - boredom. Transcendental films often move at the speed of life - slowly - so as to force our expectations into a different place, and to draw us into a scene in a way we wouldn't ordinarily feel drawn.

Obviously, this kind of thing doesn't work for every viewer. And honestly, even viewers who do appreciate this kind of experience don't want it with every film. But personally, when I am in the mood for it, as I apparently was tonight, I can deeply enjoy a film done in this style.

Moving on: The film's ghost-in-a-sheet visual is goofy, yet the film renders it beautiful and haunting by - well, first of all, linking the sheet to the morgue, so that it's not just "any" sheet, but the sheet his body was covered in when his wife came to identify him. So in this way, the sheet becomes linked to her memories of him. And as he stands quite still in the house, the sheet draped over him, he resembles a piece of forgotten furniture - which again says much about her feelings, especially in her attempts to recover from grief and move on with her life.

I was very surprised when the film moved beyond "their" story. I had thought the film would be a feature-length examination of their relationship and her recovery from grief. If I had known it was going to move beyond that, I probably would have watched it a lot sooner to be honest.

However, it was also in these later sections where I started having some problems with the film. I thought it was really interesting how the movie stayed with the ghost for probably 100 years into the future as a bustling futuristic downtown sprung up from where his house used to be. I suppose I wish something more had been made of those scenes, or had kept pushing forward. I just wish the movie hadn't looped back on itself.

I mean, I guess, okay, I can roll with the notion that he has become an entity unmoored in space and time, and moreover I can appreciate the notion that the filmmaker wanted to extend the theme of "forgotten legacies" to include that which came long before the couole's brief life together. But then I felt like this necessitated some pretty silly notions in the final moments - like, "now there are two of the same ghost!" It was like, everything else in the film seemed very rooted in real philosophical and emotional musings, and then suddenly there was this wonky at the end that didn't seem to say anything about anything real, but only seemed necessitated by the goofy time-loop which happed earlier. And it kind of had me giggling a little bit.

But overall, I liked this film quite a bit!

Love, Death & Robots: Suits (2019) Season 1, Episode 4

Like vintage Heinlein

[8/10 · 16 March 2019]

Suits - Easily my favorite of the first five episodes. Is this a Robert Heinlein story? It feels like one through and through. Somewhere in the future, a community of farmers must defend themselves from an invasion of alien insects. With a chuckle, we discover they are more well-equipped for this job than we might have expected.

This episode toes a fine line between having its tongue in its cheek, and wearing its heart on its sleeve. That is to say, it first seems to be a winking salute to a certain kind of blue-collar kitsch -- but by the end, it had me really feeling something for its goofy-but-human characters. I could have watched a whole movie about these down-home folks and their hi-tech farming hi-jinks.

The animation here looks fittingly hand-drawn and rustic, until the characters move, at which point it becomes obvious that computers were involved. Which is to say, the visual style matches the rustic-meets-hi-tech quality of the story. I found myself thinking of Don Bluth cartoons, those "Brawny" paper-towel commercials featuring the lumberjack (because one character is a dead-ringer), and Heinlein's "Starship Troopers." Surprisingly great stuff!

The Assassin (2015)

Beautiful but rather boring and hard to follow

[6/10 · 12 February 2019]

I wouldn't call "The Assassin" a bad fim - in fact, it's a very good one in many ways. The production-design and cinematography are fantastic, and there's a surreal quality to the film which makes watching it a dreamlike experience.

And dream, you might! Because, however exciting the story might sound on paper - "Female assassin vows revenge!" - this film will likely put many viewers to sleep.

This aspect of the film is both problematic and interesting, as strange as that may seem. The fact is, the filmmakers have found a deeply idiosyncratic way to tell this story. What might be a standard Asian samurai epic in other hands becomes something more of a dreamlike fable, due to the fact that the film simply refuses to give us the standard beats that we expect.

So, imagine a film of action and intrigue. Now imagine that almost all of the action takes place offscreen, except for one or two quick scenes which are quite potent in their impact. Also, imagine that most of the intrigue takes place offscreen as well. So, what you are left with is a series of scenes which take place in personal chambers and courtyards, often involving strained marital relations or blossoming affections, in which the story seems to be unfolding far in the background. Also, imagine that unspecified lengths of time pass between each of these scenes, during which any number of developments might have happened, and that these developments will only be alluded to in subtle, contextual ways by the characters - and yet, in order to understand where the "plot" goes next, you must be able to read and understand these signals.

What's funny is, the actual story doesn't SEEM to be all that complicated - that is, provided that I undersood most of it. It's just that the entire thing is related in such a tangental, offhand way, it becomes fairly tiresome to try and keep up - especially when so much of the film is dominated by long, lingering, wordless, enigmatic shots.

So that's "The Assassin" in a nutshell. I found it to be like a gorgeous, pleasant dream that I certainly didn't mind having - and yet couldn't quite explain upon awakening.

Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

The "Empire Strikes Back" of the MCU

[9/10 · 15 January 2019]

Finally watched Marvel's "Avengers: Infinity War" this weekend. Oh, snap!

Sorry, Sorry. Terrible joke. Couldn't resist. Anyway, as someone who's not such a big fan of the Marvel films, I found this movie unexpectedly thrilling! My only complaint was that the REMAINING HALF of the Marvel cast didn't ALSO die!

No no, but seriously folks, I enjoyed this film far more than I thought I would. Infinity War is both a thrilling tragedy and a sublime joke - Marvel trolling their own audience, entertaining Marvel skeptics like me by letting the bad guy win, and killing-off many of their most beloved heroes (even if it's all only for now). The fact that it works, and feels like it has real stakes, even though we all know this is just Part One of a two-part story, is a testament to the skill of the storytellers.

In some ways, one might consider Infinity War to be the "Empire Strikes Back" of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Just as "Empire" is celebrated for being the dramatic pinnacle of the original "Star Wars" trilogy - the only film in that trilogy to leave our heroes stranded without a plan, at the end of an Act Two crisis without a third act in sight - Infinity War finds its cast of heroes outwitted and outgunned at every turn, their plans failing, their desperation mounting, hope always dangling just out of sight. The promise of good triumphing over evil is always there, until suddenly it isn't.

For a tale with such a sprawling cast and such a multi-threaded narrative, Infinity War does a fantastic job of keeping the story clear, even while moving along at a snappy pace. From the very first scene, the narrative zips along faster than might be expected, as we follow Thanos in his quest to possess all six Infinity Stones, and the various groups of heroes who are scrambling to stop him.

Part of the thrill, I think, comes from the fact that the heroes are behind from the get-go, only really grasping Thanos' plan after he's secured a couple of the stones -- and even then, we have various groups of heroes flung out across the galaxy, each group knowing some things that the others don't, and each unaware that the other groups are out there. And so it's a thrill, for instance, when the Guardians of the Galaxy encounter Thor, and are startled to find that they're pursuing a common enemy -- and then must find a way to establish trust with one another so that they can work together.

The film has a neat trick of having its setups arrive at payoffs much sooner than you expect. In an early scene, as Iron Man and Bruce Banner are meeting Dr. Strange for the first time, and the three are frantically sharing what they know and trying to come up with a plan to defend Earth, suddenly it proves too late for plans as invading ships land outside. It's a neat way of upping the suspense, having our heroes taken by surprise like this. It upends the usual formula, where the heroes have time to strategize before the "real action" begins. It happens many times during this film; it seems the bad-guys are always arriving exactly when you don't expect them to. It's a great hook.

This all creates the illusion that this two-and-a-half hour juggernaut is moving along much faster than it actually is. To be honest, I found myself riveted, thinking that I was just watching the opening scenes -- until I checked the time and found that the film was half over. For as weighty as "Infinity War" can seem from a distance, given its runtime and its huge cast and its "tragic" arc, it's remarkably fun and light on its feet.

There are also several elements of the story which transcend the superhero genre, in the way that only the best tales of this sort can muster. The fact that Thanos is a compelling villain who truthfully believes himself to be a misunderstood "good guy" captures the insidious way that evil people often operate in the real world. In Thanos, and in the allegiance he inspires in his followers, we can glimpse the kind of world-leader who commits violent acts in the name of a so-called noble cause, and whose rhetoric soothes the ear of many a constituent.

Likewise, it's fascinating how each time the heroes lose a battle, it's ultimately not because of physical weakness or secret vice -- it's because Thanos exploits their love for one another. Time and again, the heroes grudgingly fork-over a stone because they think it's better to let Thanos win this particular battle than to let one (or more) of their friends die. And unfortunately, this puts them into the endgame sooner than they expect, at an impossible disadvantage. It is a virute -- love -- that ultimately proves their undoing!

This is all great stuff! So tragic! So ironic! So much fun to watch! This is the stuff of real drama, even if we *are* dealing with a comic-book film, and even if it *is* the first part of a saga which we feel pretty sure will turn out all right in the end. ...In fact, maybe it's *because* we know there's a Part Two coming that makes the tragedy of this installment so thoroughly enjoyable.

So anyway, I had a really great time watching Infinity War. As many problems as I've often had with the Marvel approach to filmmaking (and even though I still think their films look weirdly flat and ugly, this one included) -- this film really worked for me. I laughed, I cried, I wanted to watch it again. I knew how it would end before I started it, and it STILL reeled me in. So that's a pretty good film, I think.

Sorry to Bother You (2018)

An inspired, brilliant, and bonkers satire of capitalism run amok!

[8/10 · 31 July 2018]

Saw this awesome, bonkers indie film on Saturday called "Sorry to Bother You." It was one of those rare occasions when I've been able to go into a film knowing little-to-nothing about it. My friend invited me out, told me that the film was sort of a cross between "Get Out" and "Dear White People," and that was all I knew. Having seen it, I'd offer a slightly revised assessment: It's more like "Get Out" crossed with "Office Space," as filtered through the madness of Terry Gilliam's "Brazil," with more than a dash of inspiration taken from Michel Gondry's charmingly low-fi effects work.

That's a mouthful of references there, I know. Trust me, the film more than earns each of those, and more. It is the feature debut of writer/director Boots Riley, a former telemarketer who first made a name for himself as the lead rapper and producer of The Coup, a politically-conscious rap-band from Oakland, CA. One can sense a wealth of life-experience and long-gestating ideas poured into this film. The film is so energetic, original, and irrepressible, it feels as if Riley and his crew had been itching for years to make this feature -- and then, when finally given the chance, held absolutely nothing back. What they have ended up with is a fantastical and deeply funny satire about capitalism run amok.

The plot, in a nutshell: Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield) is a black man in his early 20s, low-key, smart but directionless. He lives with his artistic and politically-conscious girlfriend in an apartment in his uncle's garage in Oakland. He needs money! And so, as the film opens, he's applying for a job at RegalView Telemarketing. The interview goes well enough -- the manager essentially tells Cassius they'll hire anyone with a pulse -- and soon Cassius finds himself on the phone, hawking what sounds like a set of encyclopedias.

From its opening moments, the film is giving us clues that it's not interested in a realistic depiction of actual life. Cassius's world is strangely exaggerated, a satirical funhouse-mirror reflection of the actual world. For example: When Cassius is in his cubicle at RegalView, the camera often frames him up against the window of an office across the hallway behind him. Through that window, a xerox-machine flashes ominously, paper flies everywhere, and men in suits frantically wave their arms around. This is never commented upon, which is probably why I found it such a delightful and funny flourish.

But as funny and as visually inventive as the film is, it finds perhaps its best gimmick in the way it depicts Cassius's phone-calls. When the computer Cassius is using connects him suddenly with a new customer, he's literally dropped out of his cubicle -- desk and all -- into the customer's life, interrupting whatever it was they were doing. He can see them, but they can't see him. This results in some very funny moments, but it's also a brilliant way of illustrating Cassius's emotional response to these calls. Who is he, to be invading these people's lives unwanted? Having worked at a few call-centers myself, I could definitely feel some real-life experience invested into these moments.

Cassius adjusts, as he must, to the strange realities of his new job, but he isn't doing very well at it until a co-worker (played by Danny Glover!) tells him that he'll get more sales if he uses his "white voice." Cassius thinks about it, then tries it, and naturally finds his success-rate skyrocket.

Here again, the film has a very clever gimmick. Rather than have its black actors simply do their best "white folk" impersonation, the film actually OVERDUBS their voices with those of white comedians, such as David Cross and Patton Oswalt. If this makes you feel uneasy -- if the blatant replacement of black voices with white ones reads a bit like "censorship" -- that is most definitely the point. Fortunately, it's also funny, and so are most of the film's most pointed satirical jabs. This is a politically-minded film which never feels too preachy, because -- like "Get Out" -- its social criticisms are wrapped-up in such an entertaining package.

There is so much more to this film, I have hardly even scratched the surface. A very satisfying film surely could have been made out of what little plot I have already described. And yet, Boots Riley has not settled for a simple workplace satire. His debut film is bigger, and weirder, than most sane people would probably imagine. Every time you think you've finally got your head around the film, it reveals strange and funny new territory.

So the film is, shall we say, "overstuffed." That can be a bad thing. I've seen many a film try to pack way too many ideas into a two-hour runtime, only to end up a disorganized mess. What sets "Sorry to Bother You" apart, I think, is the thematic unity of the film. As crazy as the film gets -- and it DOES get crazy, taking a turn into science-fiction at the end which might be one turn too many for some viewers -- everything remains very directly related to the film's satirical concerns.

It also helps that the film is bolstered by some very strong performances. Lakeith Stanfield is excellent as Cassius, bringing sweet naivite to a role which requires him to, at times, play a man misguided by profit (or its promise) into morally-compromising positions. Tessa Thompson is kinetic as Detroit, Cassius's artistic girlfriend, whose social-conscience will prove (for him) a point of conflict. And Armie Hammer oozes evil cluelessness as Steve Lift, the founder of a "lifetime-contract housing and employment" empire called "WorryFree," which is obviously patterned after the American prison system. One other note: If you think you've seen Lakeith Stanfield before, it might be because he was the man abducted in the opening scene of "Get Out." Which is a pretty neat meta-connection between the two films.

Anyway, I'll readily admit that "Sorry to Bother You" is a strange hot mess of a film -- but I think it's an inspired mess, and perhaps even a brilliant one. If you're in the mood for a comedy that might make you think, but will definitely make you go, "WTF!?" -- well, this is one to check out.

Hereditary (2018)

Style over substance -- but what rich style!

[7/10 · 18 June 2018]

"Hereditary" wants very badly to be a smart, allegorical horror-film. It is gloriously weird, and visually striking to boot -- but it never can quite make up its mind what it's about, and so it ends up being mostly about the fun of watching a really weird movie, for whatever that's worth to you.

That is to say, it's a film which tries (but fails) to transcend its genre trappings. Which doesn't make it a bad film -- rather, I'd describe it as a pretty great B-movie of the arthouse-horror sort. It's just kind of a shame that it's not better, because there's a lot of good material here, and much of it is sublimely creepy, thanks to excellent cinematography, fantastic performances, and some very effective sound-design.

The story begins as a portrait of an artist and her family, as they recover from the loss of her mother, who lived with them in her final years. Annie, the artist, was never particularly close to her mother; at her funeral, she admits in her rememberance speech that she always found her mother a "secretive and difficult woman." A surprising number of people turn out for the funeral, which demonstrates the extent of her mother's secretiveness. That, and frequent appearances of a mysterious rune, clue us in early that "mother" might have been involved in some kind of cult.

Annie's daughter, Charlie, is a slightly misshapen girl of thirteen, awkward in dress and habit, and suffering from such a keen social disorder that it seems likely she has autism. In the wake of grandma's death, she has taken to sleeping in the odd treehouse in the backyard, where she seems to think Grandma's spirit resides. "You were Grandma's favorite," Annie tells her. "She didn't want to have anything to do with the rest of us. But you, you were special."

Annie's son, Peter, and her husband, Steve, also figure largely into the story -- but to reveal too much more would be to give too much away.

Suffice to say, "Hereditary" plays out as a surreal, supernatural Greek tragedy, in which every member of Annie's family will inexorably inherit a curel fate. However, the theme that "Hereditary" is most successful at exploring is the way that individual family-members can damage each other, either on purpose or by accident -- and the way those wounds can create lasting resentments and loss of trust. If the film were only about that, it might be a stronger work.

But at a certian point, the film blithely introduces certain B-movie horror tropes which just seem goofy when contrasted with the film's more original material. For one, an outrageous "seance" scene which moves the film all-too-suddenly into "Insidious" territory. For another, well, let's just say that the film devolves into a tale of demonic possession which never quite succeeds at being anything more than the usual tales of that sort.

Also, there's a thread about mental illness. Maybe certain characters are mentally ill? And a thread about, ahem, heredity, and what fearful things might be handed down through generations. And when Annie's husband dismisses her suspicions late in the film, is the film trying to say something about female agency? There's a lot going on here. It's not necessarily bad that the film brings up all these notions without delving into each one, it's just frustrating that the film never seems to resolve into a satisfying thematic focus.

All of that said, there is undeniable pleasure to be found in watching a film which is as stylistically refined as this one is. The imagery makes bold use of color, which is a far cry from the standard desaturated look of modern horror films. The score careens, unhinged. One character's "tongue-cluck" tic is used to nerve-wracking effect. The family's house itself is somehow sinister in its endless number of hallways and doors.

And then there's this: Annie, the artist, creates immaculate dioramas of houses, of rooms, of her own house, of personal moments in her life. It would seem that she processes her emotions through the creation of these scale-model simulacrum of her life. The film finds an interesting visual gimmick in exploring these dioramas, and placing us inside of them, only to then reveal that we're looking at the actual spaces. The effect is a distancing one; it removes us from the action; it gives us the sense that the entire film is taking place in dollhouses of one form or another.

I feel like that visual gimmick neatly describes both the pleasures and the problems with this film. It's an astonishing visual, but the "distancing" effect it creates seems to work to the detriment of the film's action, and for no good reason that I could discern. Why does the film keep comparing full-size spaces with their scale-models? Why do the filmmakers want to distance us? Are we supposed to question the reality of what we're seeing? If so, why? I'm not sure the film provides answers to these questions, or even quite realizes that they're being raised.

You see what I'm saying. The film is largely style over substance. But fortunately, style counts for a lot in a horror film, and "Hereditary" has that in spades.