Kleber Mendonca Filho’s The Secret Agent (B+) is a B-movie with a purpose. Even its title is a disguise for what it actually is. The movie follows a former professor played by a towering Wagner Moura who is caught in the political turmoil of the final years of the Brazilian military dictatorship, attempting to flee persecution and resist an authoritarian deceitful regime. Time jumps, all-out action scenes, even fantastical sequences punctuate a ‘70s stone-cold simmer. Leveraging the conventions of a pulp picture or drive-in style film helps some of the director’s headier themes rise to the surface. Moura is a charismatic and expressionistic vessel for the director’s intentions. It’s an engrossing film with carefree detours and hot takes on the way to profundity.
In a year with legitimate soaring music in a film set in the music industry (the rap face-off plus the pop songstress finale in Highest 2 Lowest) and moving film-within-a-film (the virtuoso director character in Sentimental Value lensing truly moving footage), Director Bradley Cooper’s Is This Thing On? (C) manages to make stand-up comedy look about as boring as could be. Will Arnett’s protagonist is down in the dumps as his marriage to Laura Dern’s character crumbles, and he takes on open mics as a form of therapy. The cinematography gives a “you are there” quality despite it not being clear why any of us are there. The best sequences in the film are opposite child actors (they’re great). The film is neither funny nor insightful enough to stand out as either root word of “dramedy.” Arnett and Dern embody authenticity as real people, but they’re forced into scenarios and situations that don’t feel incredibly thought out. No star is born here nor any act of a maestro is on display. This one feels a little like they’re making it up as they go along.
You can call it playing a character “similar to himself” all you want, but George Clooney isn’t stretching all that much as a veteran actor regretting some of his choices in Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly (C). To flee an incident likely to get him bad press, the protagonist and his longtime manager (Adam Sandler) step away to Europe, where there’s reflection on his legacy, a look back at his cinematic canon and a flurry of memories about choices he made related to his daughters (Riley Keough and Grace Edwards). Baumbach fills the film with insider elements about the movie business but fails to paint an intriguing central character. With not much interesting to see related to the titular character and the sidelining of an inciting incident, Sandler gets a few moments to shine as he laments whether he’s a friend or a cost center in a few sequences opposite Laura Dern as a similarly underappreciated publicist. This meta narrative treads very little new themes and isn’t particularly insightful or funny. There’s a moment during a film retrospective that was kind of embarrassing in its awards season thirst. This year alone, the film Sentimental Valueis a far richer film on the gulf and intersections between art and humanity.
Writer/director Jafar Panahi’s It Was Just an Accident (A-) traces a chance encounter at a body shop between two men in modern Iran who may or may not share fraught history; and as other characters enter the fray too, memories of the background between the two primary men become even more blurry. This is like a heist movie without the bounty: as the band gets together, the pieces of a political puzzle coalesce. Vahid Mobasseri is the standout main character, and viewers get to watch his vacillation over remembrances and feel his penchant for vengeance against an oppressor. Expect vigorous debates and revelations and sparse use of artifice like musical score. Panahi, who has risked his life and liberty for his anti-regime filmmaking, gets a stellar auteur showcase with this movie. It comes together beautifully in the final passages and is sure to spark discussion.
Amanda Seyfried has been an unconventional film presence throughout her career and sinks her everything into the controversial title subject of Mona Fastvold’s historical epic The Testament of Ann Lee (B+). The actress elevates her every screen sequence as a 16th century pioneer of The Shakers religion, from awakening to ascent to persecution and more. The film explores fascinating areas of faith, mysticism, sexuality, independence, modernity and grief in mighty measures. Like their collaboration on The Brutalist, Fastvold co-wrote the film with Brady Corbet, but this time she directs – and she is well suited to the material. It’s an oddity for sure, with full-fledged musical moments and peculiar twists and turns. William Rexer’s cinematography is solid, although the music is a bit repetitive and the narration sometimes cloying. Fastvold and Seyfried take their tale to the limits and inject tremendous kinetic energy into what could have been straightforward and staid. It’s not for every palette but it’s more risky and twisty than your average religious drama.
Multiple generations have difficulty communicating except through their art in Joachim Trier’s methodical and exhilarating drama Sentimental Value (A). Set in and around a charming legacy family home in Norway, the film follows a fractured relationship between an acclaimed movie director (Stellan Skarsgard) and his two estranged daughters played by Renate Reinsve and Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas, which becomes even more complicated when he decides to make a personal film about their family history including an American actress played by Elle Fanning. This is one of the rare works in which the films within the film are of enough quality that viewers will realize the characters are exceedingly bright and talented even if they stumble at maneuvering through real-life human relationships. Gorgeously shot by Kasper Tuxen, the film gracefully discovers mature and intimate moments that add up to a most poignant portrait. Highlights include tension around stage fright in action in a high-stakes theatre, a revealing look at a charged script filled with revelations and a torrent of healing between sisters. The sterling acting ensemble including keen child actors does complex and nuanced work all around, especially Reinsve and Skarsgard as among the most deliriously damaged. There’s warmth and good music here too, amidst all the somber solemnity. In all he does within his marvelous framework, Trier fashions subtle and moving ways to show people pushing within their respective limits in the parts they are born to play in life.
Despite a promising premise, Hikari’s Rental Family (C) proves an undercooked and overly sentimental bunch of hokum. Brendan Fraser plays an American commercial and character actor working in Japan who is recruited by an unusual talent agency to portray fictional people in real life to compensate for something that’s missing. He’s like an emotional support animal to upend family dynamics. Whether it’s the single mother who needs him to play the long-lost dad to help her daughter get into a private school or the single and struggling bachelorette in need of a convenient and compensated groom to prove to her parents she’s suitably settled, the film is episodic and oddly clinical. Some of these matches offer more than each bargains for as the actor learns more about himself and the culture in which he’s engulfed. Although likable enough, Fraser plays his character at a distant low simmer, and the escapades are neither subtle nor arch enough to much entertain. It’s all rather restrained and predictable. As a meditation on loneliness, it succeeds in spurts, but it’s also tied in too tidy a package to expose much below the surface.
Take one iambic pentameter for your sadness, and call me in the morning. Set in the Elizabethan era, Chloe Zhao’s Hamnet (C) depicts two parents grieving the loss of a child in very different ways. Jessie Buckley offers a raw and harrowing reaction; and Paul Mescal, who plays William Shakespeare, addresses his sadness more obliquely through the presentation of a tragic stage play far away from the domestic despair. Despite Zhao’s penchant for painterly and geometric imagery, there’s not a whole lot going here: sequences of courtship, pregnancy, illness, loss and reaction play out in slow dollops. It’s a far better showcase for Buckley, doing very fine work here, than Mescal, who just doesn’t seem as ensconced in the devastation. The strained chemistry between the central pair doesn’t help; thus the final act, moving for many, rang like artificial Oscar bait. It’s a bitter quill with few breakaways or takeaways.
This is the film that finally answers the question, “If a tree falls down in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?” In this case, it makes both a sound and a statement. Gorgeously shot, gingerly paced and sneakily profound, Clint Bentley’s Train Dreams (A) stars Joel Edgerton as a logger, railroad worker and hermit in the early 20th century whose life might not have been outwardly remarkable but proves deeply worthy of examination as a universal allegory for the human plight on earth. The movie confronts time and modernity and observes how the human animal responds to stimuli and reacts across a lifetime. Judicious narration by William Patton evokes both the folksy language of the source novella from which this work is adapted and also that of a nature documentary as we watch Edgerton’s man of few words and even fewer outside influences process love, remorse and so much more within the confines of a sparse story. Adolph Veleso’s lush cinematography does a lot of the film’s heavy lifting, with natural wonders such as luminous sunsets, kaleidoscopic forest fires and gurgling river currents, punctuating lyrical passages with a free flow of landscapes and dreamscapes. Bryce Dessner of rock band The National provides a lovely, ethereal soundtrack to the proceedings. In small but critical parts of the ecosystem on display, an affecting ensemble including Kerry Condon and William H. Macy makes an indelible imprint, their tiny explosions inciting rousing ripple effects opposite the endearing Edgerton. This memory piece is film as poetry, worth a watch and a washing over you. Bentley channels the cinematic pioneer of this form, Terrence Malick, in effervescent use of natural settings to paint an impressionistic human portrait. The movie’s omniscient, elegiac beauty makes for one of the singular cinematic experiences of the year.
Director Jon M. Chu’s hat trick seemed to be nimbly splitting a Broadway musical’s two acts into a double whammy of film spectaculars. Trouble is, the first film was packed with confectionary creativity and a veritable bandstand of bops, so stretching this half adaptation into a sprawling opus simply enhanced the delight. The second installment is as empty as the antagonist wizard’s promises, padding a paltry batch of dirges and a virtually choreography-free display with most of the characters distant, deceitful and depressed. So it may bill itself as Wicked: For Good (C+), but it’s definitely not nearly as good. Much of the sequel replaces its signature girl power with Dynasty-style lady slaps, shoulder pads, back-biting, in-fighting and wedding cliffhangers. The witches and lovers who were once dancing through life and defying gravity seem generally bored this time around. Even the CGI animals are pretty much over the bull-shiz. Both Ariana Grande’s Glinda and Cynthia Erivo’s Elphaba get new Stephen Schwartz songs which are showstoppers only in the way they stop the film dead in its tracks (Erivo doesn’t even get to finish her subpar number). Much time has passed since the origin story for this origin story, and a bunch of characters seem to now be behaving badly to help fill in the nightmarish narrative between the witches’ time at school and Dorothy’s house dropping into the scene. The formerly spry Jonathan Bailey gets little to do this time around; and Michelle Yeoh and Jeff Goldblum are dreadful double-threats in both the acting and singing departments as a pair of insipid villains. The Fiyero/Elpheba pop anthem “As Long as You’re Mine” and the Glinda/Elphaba ballad “For Good” are the only good musical numbers in the mix. Those who haven’t seen the stage show may enjoy some of the surprising backstories to the yellow brick roadies, but most of the magic goes up in smoke. Grande makes the most of her character in what is otherwise a much more grim fairy tale this time around.
With a game all-star cast ranging from Glenn Close to Andrew Scott to Daniel Craig as the series’ intrepid detective, Rian Johnson’s Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery (B-) fixes its grimacing gaze on a peculiar place of worship where Josh O’Connor and Josh Brolin as warring priests have a spiritual score to settle. The set-up is protracted and so is the finale, but there are delights dotting the way as a droll tale of the undead unravels. Johnson imbues his story with equal parts lore and lark as viewers discover the connections between characters within the creation of his unsettling congregation. Characterizations could have been more compelling and the central premise more intriguing, but it’s still a nifty entry in a sturdy franchise. As the most fascinating denizens in the cast and the cloth, O’Connor and Brolin shine brightest in crafty confessions and sparring matches; they both have great fun with their roles. The film contains requisite twists and turns and a handful of surprises, and there may even be some looming lessons bubbling in the subtext. Prepare to get to the core of this stained glass onion this fall on Netflix.
Rose Byrne plays a beleaguered mom in Mary Bronstein’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You (C-), but its protracted, insistent vibe of showing the horrors of motherhood will likely prove an endurance test for audiences in the process. Bronstein makes some big swings such as never actually showing the main character’s daughter, instead representing her as a shrieking off-screen nuisance. Then there are the all-too-obvious allegories like a gaping hole in the ceiling of their residence, where endless water flows forth. Byrne is committed to her role and acting her heart out of all the maternal madness in the threadbare plot. It’s a lot of heavy acting and heavy-handedness adding up to not much. The film erodes its own summons to empathy with each passing frame, and even Conan O’Brien playing a counselor can’t cushion the film’s blunt force. In some ways it’s the Reefer Madness of movies about deciding to have a kid, and yet it’s unclear if that’s even the point it’s trying to make.
