Although it takes place in a specific part of history a hemisphere away, Kenneth Branagh’s semi-autobiographical coming of age drama Belfast (C) manages to churn out sentimentality in a perfectly generic geopolitical bundle. The action is set during “The Troubles,” a time of religious unrest and warfare in Northern Ireland from August 1969 to early 1970, often seen through the lens of child star JudeHill, a wide-eyed and rather unconvincing central protagonist. Branagh struggles with creating narrative momentum or a reliably consistent point of view on a rather limited milieu of cramped houses of a street and alleyway backlot. The film manages to keep the stakes pretty low. Jamie Dornan, Caitríona Balfe, Ciarán Hinds and Judi Dench all have strong moments as two generations of the protagonist’s family, but it also feels a bit like assembling a bunch of perfunctory stock characters. The film is a bit of a circuitous journey toward ultimate uplift and eschews many of the greatest hits in the family’s journey. Overall it’s a swing and a miss: surface gloss of history, mostly inert. Even the fact that it’s filmed in naturalistic black and white comes off as lazy shorthand for an under-stuffed memory box. The film zig zags between cloying, sentimental, cutesy, contrived and saccharine – and back again.
After a Marvel villain famously destroyed half the world population, director Chloé Zhao actually raises the stakes in her cerebral and engrossing entry into the MCU, the epic action ensemble Eternals (A-). The “let’s get the gang together” type story centers on a group of ten superpower-wielding immortals who must come out of hiding to join forces and stop an eminent attack on earth. Although long in running time, Zhao leverages her ensemble and set pieces for some spectacular world building; and the action, while more sporadic than some fans may wish, is also consistently delightful. A-listers Angelina Jolie and Salma Hayek are very good but not the center of gravity here. Lots of up-and-comers make the movie. Richard Madden is dashing, and Lia McHugh effective as mythic characters. Gemma Chan is wonderfully winning as the professorial heroine, and Kumail Nanjiani is wryly funny as a hero in hiding in the Bollywood film industry (his character continues to knowingly chronicle his quest documentary-style). This is a thinking person’s superhero movie with real characters and respectable tension; it’s quite a bit more talky than most in this franchise. Picturesque and powerful, this film and its auteur are forces with which to be reckoned.
This topical directorial debut and central duo of female performances will undoubtedly turn heads. Rebecca Hall’s delicate drama Passing (B) is a puzzle-box of ambiguity shot in 4:3 aspect ratio and overexposed, over saturated monochrome. Unlike some other movies shot in black and white simply to augment prestige factor especially in Oscar season, the cinematography here actually factors in heavily to a story about ideas, ideologies, identity and insecurity and especially framing the interior conflicts boxing these female characters into specific stations in life. In 1920s New York City, a Black woman Irene played by Tessa Thompson finds her world upended when her life becomes intertwined with former childhood friend Clare, portrayed by Ruth Negga, whose fair skin and blond hair helps her maintain a lifestyle “passing” as white. While Irene identifies as African-American and is married to a black doctor played by André Holland, Clare is wed to a wealthy and very racist white man portrayed by Alexander Skarsgård. Hall employs a near stage play environment within her commanding cinematic lens to present mounting tensions between the characters. At times the austere direction keeps viewers at a slight distance or surface level obscuring some underdeveloped sub-themes, but Hall never loses sight of her keen observations as she wields this curious lens on race and class. It’s a slow burn; this film makes Carol look like a potboiler. Thompson and Negga are towering in their nuanced performances, and Hall at the helm has accomplished quite a feat in her audacious first film.
It’s a mob against the masked man in this not especially terrifying continuation of a retconned timeline horror mythology. After his successful 2018 reboot, David Gordon Green further builds his boogeyman opus with the second of a proposed trilogy, Halloween Kills (C), but this follow-up proves to be a rather routine slasher film despite being competently made. There’s a bit of a big chill in the air as reuniting survivors of violent attacks by serial killer Michael Myers form a vigilante squad to thwart him once and for all, or at least until the next planned sequel, while the largely sidelined Jamie Lee Curtis character Laurie Strode recovers in a hospital after a failed attempt at offing Myers. Judy Greer and Andi Matichak get little to do as the descendants of the Strode bloodline. Will Patton as a sheriff deputy and Anthony Michael Hall as one of the kids Laurie used to babysit also get few contributions aside from Hall’s frequent exclamation that, “Evil dies tonight!” The brute force body count and candied cornucopia of creative slayings should thrill hardcore fans of horror films, but the musings that the Town of Haddonfield is now basically cursed by fear that turns neighbors against one another, Purge style, doesn’t really stick. The only mild inspiration is that Michael’s childhood home is now occupied by a gay couple (Scott MacArthur and Michael McDonald) who view the domicile for its camp value; if only the irony were carried through in other vignettes, there might have been more cleverness amidst the carnage. This installment basically confirms a tradition of inferior sequels, treads water for most of its duration and portends a “Shape” of things to come.
Welcome to sci-fi succession as director Denis Villeneuve unleashes a new Dune (titled onscreen as Dune: Part One) (A). The futuristic plot centers on political intrigue surrounding a rare natural resource on a desert planet and a protagonist who, despite featherweight appearance, may indeed be a messianic super-being with the capacity to unite warring factions of the universe. Timothée Chalamet is the aforementioned nebbish who rises to the occasion in both his acting and action; he is quite magnetic in the lead role. There’s also a charming trio of more traditional movie stars – Jason Mamoa, Oscar Isaac and Josh Brolin – present and accounted for in space scuffles of their own, and these guys bring great energy to their sequences. Rebecca Ferguson is also a highlight as the hero’s mother who teaches him the ways of a mythical magic. Absorbing from the get-go, the film overcomes some pacing awkwardness as it judiciously chronicles the first half of the book. The cinematography and effects are marvelous and fully transport viewers to this otherworld. There are rousing battles and intriguing revelations around every bend of the breathtaking planetary landscapes. The source material may be more than a half century old, but under the direction of a true visionary, this text certainly has some substantial spice left in it.
Despite many isolated moments of grandeur, the overlong 25th James Bond movie and purported final installment of Daniel Craig’s tenure in the role, peaks early and struggles in patches to find its pace. There are several “first act” action sequences so effective in Cary Joji Fukunaga’s No Time To Die (B) that a viewer may wonder if the film will be able to maintain its momentum (the answer is not quite). Front-loaded highlights include an eerie origin story involving a villain and love interest and a spectacular 360 vehicular ballet to buttress against baddies in an Italian piazza. There’s also tremendous possibility in a plot involving a bioweapon full of lethal nanobots coded to an individual’s specific DNA. Plus, a trio of intriguing female characters including Lashana Lynch, Ana de Armas and Léa Seydoux play well opposite Craig’s anguished protagonist. So it’s a bit of a missed opportunity amidst gorgeously photographed and well staged episodes that the enterprise doesn’t pop even more. Partly to blame is a half-baked villain in Rami Malek who, with clipped speech cadence and vague dastardly plans to turn personal trauma into global vengeance, fails to deliver on his creepy promise. And mid-way, there’s a series of bloated plot points which seem perfunctory at best. There’s also scant subtext under the posh proceedings, even though the action generally packs a wallop. For series stalwarts, though, the film pays fan service to nearly all beloved tropes from island lairs to inventive spy-jinks; and in many ways it’s as Bondian as a Bond film can be. Fukunaga leaves a stylish and singular directorial stamp on the franchise just as Craig has made the brooding hero’s role indelibly his own. Overall it’s a sturdy entry into the series and a fitting tribute to the actor who has shaken and stirred the series for the past decade and a half.
Notorious televangelists Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker get a mixed blessing of a big-screen biography treatment in Michael Showalter’s The Eyes of Tammy Faye (B-) with Andrew Garfield and Jessica Chastain in the lead roles. Chastain commands her every sequence and is the central protagonist as the preacher, singer and puppeteer who becomes an empathetic television personality despite her husband’s Faustian bargains leading to their public downfall. Showalter consistently struggles in this piece with tone; it’s never completely clear if this is serious drama, featherweight cautionary tale or historical diversion. Cherry Jones as Tammy Faye’s staunch mom and Vincent D’Onofrio as fellow Christian influencer Jerry Falwell also get some authentic acting moments as foils to the central duo. Chastain is the revelation here.
Although it joins Eyes Wide Shut and Die Hard in the “I guess it’s a Christmas movie” pantheon, Pablo Larraín’s biographical psychological drama Spencer (A-), about the Yuletide weekend in which Princess Diana chooses to split from the royal family, is a melancholy masterpiece. Kristen Stewart is luminous in the lead role, brilliantly humanizing a public figure we think we all know and plumbing the depths of her spiral into despondency. Larraín’s frenzied fever dream frames its troubled protagonist with such a splendid mise-en-scène of mounting formal and claustrophobic environments, a viewer could well believe it’s a slo-mo horror film as much as a tragedy. The film is often quietly observant, which makes the moments of rage and revelations pulse all the more. For every nightmarish sequence around the corners of her lonely world, there are also tender moments depicting the fun and games Diana furtively plays with her sons. Several supporting performers stand out: Timothy Spall is a hoot as Equerry Major Alistair Gregory, with a constant puss on his face as he tries to reign in our heroine to do her duty, and Sally Hawkins is a delight in a small role as a confidante and royal dresser who whispers into her wanderlust. Deck these halls with Oscars already!
As the fictional John Wick demonstrated across an infamous action trilogy, it’s unwise to meddle with a man’s companion animal! In writer/director Michael Sarnoski’s 2021 cult drama Pig (B), a titular truffle pig is the pet of note and his owner a loner woodsman played by Nicolas Cage. Although its inciting incident indeed involves the kidnapping of the vintage swine, the film centers on the unraveling and reveal of Cage’s withdrawn character through the underbelly of the Portland dining scene, brought into focus by the actor’s singular performance opposite the likes of Alex Wolff and Adam Arkin. Unkept and potentially unhinged, Cage’s character is mesmerizing and buoys this farm to table fable into something quite noteworthy. It’s a return to grizzly form for an actor who has drifted through a rogue’s gallery of unremarkable roles. Sarnoski has undoubtedly tapped into his spirit animal, and his film is absorbing and unexpected.
Tunefully tackling mental health, cancel culture and the nature of truth in the Internet age – and none of these topics with much dexterity – Stephen Chbosky’s mixed bag musical movie of Dear Evan Hansen (B-) nonetheless provides an absorbing showcase for an ensemble of female actress/singers who wave into a window of emotions more authentic than that of the film’s male lead. Call it Medicated High School Musical, and call it like it is that Ben Platt’s character translates awkwardly from the Great White Way to the silver screen. Platt is mostly crooning to the mezzanine balconies while Chbosky lenses the actor’s histrionics in awkward close-ups which reveal he is powdered in age-reducing prosthetics to reprise the lauded teenage performance he created nearly a decade ago on stage. The cinema canvas also surfaces flaws in the Broadway source material, namely that the audience is meant to sympathize with a character whose mounting lies prove to undermine his perceived good intentions. The characters breaking out into song isn’t really explained or consistent and can be confusing when one of them actually plays guitar as a plot device; and since emotion is already heightened, there’s often not much higher to go in some pedestrian presentational soliloquies. Were the YouTube fans meant to like the speech or the song? One must suspend a good bit of disbelief. However, let’s get to the good stuff, because there are many highlights in this overlong but often moving enterprise. First, the music is flawless, including two solid new songs to add to favorites such as “You Will Be Found.” The film is chock full of stunning female talent: Amandla Stenberg as an activist classmate whose tune “The Anonymous Ones” is a highlight, Amy Adams and Kaitlyn Dever as a mother and daughter recoiling from tragedy in earnest songs such as “Requiem” and “Only Us,” and Julianne Moore whose final reel “So Big/So Small” is a heartbreaker. Platt does indeed shine in many of his scenes of comedy and intense singing, even though the director should have reigned him in and clarified many aspects of the character. And Colton Ryan as a troubled classmate is so captivating in his two major sequences that it’s surprising he didn’t nab the lead role. Still, the parts of this story that work and surprise have the capacity to genuinely touch hearts and minds about the tug of war of man versus his worst instincts in a quest to belong. The film and its protagonist are often a tangled mess, but musical fans will likely grant Chbosky, Platt and company a full pardon for some of their missteps in bringing such an emotional wallop to the screen.
This head-scratcher of a horror movie is announcing its intentions as a new realm in terror, but its terrain of dreamscapes and damaged souls feeds on lots of tropes which have already been around for a while. A woman’s premonitions about a deranged killer’s next murders are just the beginning of the story in James Wan’s twisty thriller Malignant (B-), a slow burn of a tale that gets pretty unhinged in its final reel. In the protagonist role, Annabelle Wallis is effective as a troubled woman who may just have a connection to the gilded dagger wielding villain, but amidst many underwritten parts and plot threads, the sometimes hokey film often feels like the work of a first-time filmmaker rather than one who has been making Hollywood horror for some time. The psychobabble that bubbles up fairly far into the movie’s running time is evocative of early Brian de Palma films even though the camerawork and choreography rarely deliver much of a creative spark. It’s all more eerie than scary, and the film often seems enchanted with special effects and stunts that don’t add much to the storyline. Still, it casts a peculiar spell and keeps bringing in ways to keep things exciting, and the promised plot twists do indeed ratchet the proceedings up to a whole new level.
Julia Ducournau’s bleak and difficult French language drama Titane (B+) is a fascinating glimpse at finding love and redemption in an age when it is hard to distinguish human from machine and in which genderfluidity is the engine powering even more creative sparks than ever before. This is tough material, no doubt, but it will reward adventurous filmgoers with an indelible fable of finding shelter and dignity in unexpected ways. Once viewers get past the romantic coupling of a woman and a showroom vehicle resulting in a complicated pregnancy, there are many wonders to behold in France’s controversial entry into Oscar season. Agathe Rousselle gives the mighty performance in the film’s center, a raw and bruised portrayal of a dancer and occasional killer on the run and in absolute turmoil and often in conflict with her own body as she morphs from sexy siren to tight-lipped first responder and back again while the plot machinations mount in blistering bursts. Vincent Lindon is a fantastic foil to her character, portraying a man damaged in his own way seeking someone for whom he can be a caretaker and desperate for ways to showcase his own take on modern masculinity within a twisted and toxic culture. Ducournau blends provocative body horror film and hypnotic domestic family drama in a nightmarish series of surprising episodes, and she never wavers from a singular vision. Her unflinching film displays ethereal energy on the wide canvas of exposition halls and mosh pits and in the intimacy of tight quarters adds to the layers of the story and its original atmosphere. The film’s graphic and nihilistic spirit will be tough for some audiences, but it’s an indelible and engrossing experience built on a complex character.
