Eva Victor announces her arrival on the independent cinema scene as sardonic writer, star and director of the tragicomic Sundance sensation Sorry, Baby (B+); and her raw, fragmented plot structure makes for a sneakily emotional knockout of an experience, set in and around New England academia. Given much of the narrative covers heavy subject matter, Victor wisely frames the film and starts it as a friendship story opposite the magnificent Naomi Ackie, with Victor’s grad student character’s signature wit and idiosyncratic outlook remaining center stage throughout, even during dark passages. The interplay between these two is hilarious and healing. The nonlinear story takes viewers through the protagonist’s variety of memories both playful and painful and sometimes overtly ordinary. It doesn’t depict the sexual assault that forever changed her life: in fact, it’s the clever scrambling of events that makes the film’s emotional and physical violations so potent and powerful. Victor’s unflinching near-soliloquy about the story’s inciting incident, tucked tenderly in a middle passage, is one of the best sequences captured on film this year. Reliable trauma film fixture Lucas Hedges and an adorable gray tabby kitten (not to worry, the feline survives) are enjoyable in small emotional support roles. It’s ultimately an uplifting and moving film about caring for one another from a perspective of someone who tells it like it is. Via these “Victorious” authorial hands, this movie is an apt exploration of how every day can be so much better than our worst day.
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.
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.
A discomforting topic in an obtuse format unfocused on any single character for long, punctuated with ambiguous outcomes, seems a formula for frustration; and yet Kathryn Bigelow imprints her signature hyper-realism with panache onto a fictional but not far-fetched situation, and the result – A House of Dynamite (B+) – is an intense, often riveting political think piece. Instead of a straight-up doomsday clock thriller, it is divided into three acts depicting the same critical moments of escalating activity as an unattributed nuclear missile careens toward the American homeland. The only edge-of-your-seat part is the first act from the White House situation room POV featuring an effective Rebecca Ferguson, who pulls viewers directly into the propulsive real-time plot. The remaining acts center on less interesting characters, a gruff general and an early-term commander-in-chief, embodied well by Tracy Letts and Idris Elba, respectively. These second and third parts pull back the microscope and introduce different degrees of decision making into the narrative, allowing viewers multiple portals for determining how they would react if faced with a similar scenario. These acts of subsequent diminishing intensity admittedly let some air out of the story momentum but not out of the argument against mutually-assured annihilation. Bigelow peppers in matter-of-fact moments of daily life to heighten the realism and emotion, which is helpful except in at least one location laden with heavy-handed symbolism. Viewers can’t help but confront the nuclear issue and how one would respond after viewing many competent and well-trained characters struggle under the spotlight of real impending terror. Noah Oppenheim’s script offers no easy answers. Volker Bertelmann’s stirring score is a standout feature. In total it’s a flawed but vital conversation-starter movie.
Indie auteur Richard Linklater sets the table for a French New Wave banquet complete with dishy performances, select servings of asides, a main course with temporal tastings, napkin scrawls as spontaneous cues and signature jump-cutlery in a tasty treat for cinephiles, Nouvelle Vague (A-). Expect to sleuth diligently on the Netflix menu come November for this obscure bonbon, a subtitled 4:3 aspect ratio black and white tribute to the rebel filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard as chronicled through the ragtag production of his unconventional and groundbreaking first feature film, 1960’s Breathless. Guillaume Marbeck is wonderful as the obstinate, improvisational iconoclast Godard, pioneering an on-the-fly guerrilla style; and Zoey Deutch is a sublime standout as his film’s glamorous leading lady Jean Seberg, often aghast at her helmer’s terse techniques. Among a delightful largely unknown supporting cast of real people behind a turning point in world cinema, Matthieu Penchinat is a hoot as accommodating and towering cinematographer Raoul Coutard whom, at one point on the shoot, hides in a tiny wagon to capture Parisian street crowds of accidental extras. This dramedy deftly covers the landmark high-flying act of Godard’s 20-day film shoot, complete with frustrated crews and producers and ample helpings of wit and wisdom. Linklater’s approach is that of admiration rather than mimicry or experimentation, although only a modern director this creative would conceive the go-for-broke concept and film it so elegantly in the French language. It’s madcap and maddening at times but a fun ride for those who care to hop onboard. The pace isn’t exactly breathless. The director overuses famous quotes as convenient stand-ins for more original dialogue. And some characters could have used more development. But the placemaking and insights are first-rate, with find crafts all around carrying on a grand tradition. It’s a film about the tempestuousness of artistry and the effect of timing in invention; and like Ed Wood and The Disaster Artist before it, serves up its own distinctive and layered souflee.
One of culture’s most enduring pop duos occupies an often fascinating double bill in Guillermo del Toro’s idiosyncratic retelling of classic gothic horror fantasy, marked by exploration of self-loathing and shared identity. The august director’s expansive Netflix adaptation of Frankenstein (B), is divided in half, focused at first on narcissistic Dr. Victor Frankenstein, played by Oscar Isaac, displaying epic rage, and then following the sapient creature’s perspective, embodied by Jacob Elordi, often more pensive and philosophical as he grapples with the dysphoria and isolation imbued in his cobbled together reanimated body. The presentation in two chapters, each from a different man’s POV, is almost too on the nose about the identity of the real monster. Call it ego then emo. The first half about ambition and scientific ethics is very much alive, with a very committed Isaac energized by experimentation, with grand production design and some grisly effects, plus some spry scene work opposite Christoph Waltz, a hoot as a curious benefactor. Horror staple Mia Goth is intriguing in her arrival but underused in this section, sidelined as the father figure tale takes full center stage. Chapter two largely tackles societal rejection through Elordi at the center and not fitting in very well; but this part of the tale is a letdown, downplaying action for more interior case study that just doesn’t pulse the same way as the preceding passages. The creature is a sympathetic character, born this way and yearning for answers, but the aesthetics and plot don’t do him any favors in emoting and connecting through the pancaked prosthetics to the audience. The towering Elordi looks the part, for sure, but his character just doesn’t land with intended gravitas. The directorial choice of how all this is framed drains life out of the film rather than amplify the intrigue. The film’s crafts are roundly impressive, ranging from Kate Hawley’s distinctive costumes to Alexandre Desplat’s lyrical score. There’s lots of good creative work here; it’s just put together in ways that don’t always elevate the familiar into the fantastic. For the two-chapter Netflix mentality, it’s one part binge, one part cringe and most parts a thing of beauty.
From discordant opening sequences to a transcendent finale, the Spike Lee’s latest operates in an auspicious plane as “most improved Joint.” Highest 2 Lowest (B-), playing in select theatres before streaming on Apple+, is Lee’s neo-noir remake of Akira Kurosawa’s 1963 High and Low, and Lee makes the story completely his own with contemporary themes about public image, wealth and morality. The director appears to have a lot on his mind, including how to spend one’s time making art and impacting society; there are artifacts throughout the protagonist’s home and world showcasing the giants of history on whose shoulders its characters stand. The plot is centered on a charismatic but stoic music mogul played by Denzel Washington, with small parts for his wife (Ilfenesh Hadera) and his chauffeur/henchman (Jeffrey Wright), who get much less to do. Together this trio confronts double-crosses in ways that feel at first overly melodramatic and ultimately cathartic. The ensemble also includes music artists ASAP Rocky and Ice Spice creating original characters plus basketballer Rick Fox, actors Rosie Perez and Anthony Ramos and pianist Eddie Palmieri inexplicably playing themselves. The film’s first act leans too much into subversive symbolism with sparse characters posed and juxtaposed against a towering NYC/Brooklyn borderland and an all-too-perfect family underscored by a fussy score. The Howard Drossin music massively improves and makes better sense as the film moves into more kinetic action; it’s soon downright rousing. There’s lots to recommend for viewers who hang in there for the full parable, not the least of which is another towering and nuanced performance by Washington. The parts of the film which are twisty are nifty; other lumpy portions work in circulative spurts. It’s esoteric, genre-defying and largely entertaining with a narrative examining modern anxieties and legacy.
As horror movie writer/director, Zach Cregger is best known for depicting the underbelly of a double-booked vacation rental home, but his widening scope to the milieu of eerie suburbia makes for a next fascinating filmmaking frontier. There goes the neighborhood in the suspense thriller Weapons (A) as the multi-hyphenate auteur (he’s also a very good composer here) unveils the intriguing premise that all but one elementary school classmates exit their homes via the front door in the middle of the night, never to be seen again, and a grieving community tries to piece together what the hell happened. This mystery/horror hybrid tells its vanishing act through violent vignettes tracing the travails of intersecting characters including Julia Garner as the kids’ feisty teacher, Josh Brolin as a hostile father of the disappeared and Alden Ehrenreich as a hapless policeman. Each episode folds gracefully into the next, giving viewers more clues and insights with each omniscient perspective. It’s like a secret being passed around. Along with the dynamite performances by the aforementioned trio, child actor Cary Christopher and Amy Madigan as “Aunt Gladys” also get to shine in intriguing and pivotal roles. There are genuine scares, for sure, interlaced with a few grisly acts; but for the most part, suspense and invention loom large, captured in the twisty dreamscapes of Larkin Seiple’s stunning cinematography. This is one of those stories evoking heartbreak one moment and hilarity the next, a veritable progressive block party to be discovered and savored together in movie theatres. That sublime sound of satisfaction is Cregger making house calls.
This is the summer sensation that’s equal parts singing and slaying. Canadian film director Maggie Kang taps into her Korean heritage with collaborator Chris Appelhans, best known as an American illustrator, to co-direct and write the musical fantasy Kpop Demon Hunters (B), an engaging and culturally rooted film about a trio of female singers who moonlight as monster assassins. The high production value style is inspired by the look and feel of large-scale concerts, promotional videos and globetrotting adventures with pop music sensations, blended seamlessly with aspects of mythology and demonology for equal parts authentic action. Arden Cho as lead vocalist of the fictional group Huntr/x, Ji-Young Yoo as the rapper/lyricist/knife specialist of the girl-group and May Hong as the rebellious dance lead are among the fresh voice talent delivering funny, contemporary dialogue and music, with assist from contemporaries such as the band Twice and veterans such as crooner Lea Salonga, plus Ken Jeong and Daniel Dae Kim, as agent and doctor, respectively. Ahn Hyo-seop also shines as the lead singer of a mischievous rival boy band, flanked by sly sidekicks: a grinning tiger and a cute bird with a hat The score composed by Brazilian pianist Marcelo Zarvos adds to the kinetic, electric atmosphere with a bevy of international talents contributing to bangers such as “Golden,” “Takedown,” “Soda Pop” and “Your Idol,” keeping audiences humming in sassy syncopation. Although it drags a little in the final act, the film is mainly breezy and exciting with infectious catchiness and colors. It is more finely and winningly observed than expected; and it’s no wonder this Netflix discovery has inspired sing-along cinema screenings.
One could fret this superhero reboot’s ambition is akin to Icarus soaring straight and unflinching into the Krypton sun. But fortunately in the hands of writer/director James Gunn’s singular craftsmanship, the new Superman (A-) is sufficiently earthbound and will keep viewers leaning in breathlessly, blissfully to trace its lofty legend. In keeping with his tuned-in, punked-up pop cultural sensibilities, the auteur tenders a mighty mixtape of everything currently intriguing him about comic books, comic book movies and life in the (mis)Information Age, and we as viewers are the beneficiaries of his visionary and occasionally cheeky gifts. Gunn’s candy-colored liberal arts curriculum of peculiar fandom and folklore sometimes careens into a pace oddity, but the boisterous blend of art, science and movie magic will surely reward repeat viewings. There’s a central theme simmering about the mysterious planetary protector being too good to be true and a hypothesis about what would happen if a supervillain pierced the perceived mythology he and we have come to expect. A constant hum of newspaper story uploads, breaking broadcast news, word of mouth buzz and social media posts fills the film’s vaguely contemporary Metropolis and surrounding dreamscapes. Gunn’s whiz-bang fortress of freneticism almost overwhelms and threatens to topple over itself, domino-style, like skyscrapers on a chasm: there’s more imagination per frame of this adventure than we’re used to getting in a summer blockbuster or even in a few twirls of a fidget spinner. From the get-go of its intriguing opening scrolls and multiple milieus, Gunn quickly plots the flight and fight patterns of his hero and those who love and loathe him. David Corenswet, graceful and earnest, and Rachel Brosnahan, wide-eyed and wordy, make an absolutely splendid Clark/Supes and Lois, respectively, with charming and too-infrequent screwball sequences straight out of classic Tracy/Hepburn mode. Nicholas Hoult is a deliciously diabolical Lex, always two steps ahead of his adversaries in his fastidious evil plotting. And Edi Gathegi is a solid standout as Mister Terrific, one of a series of DC Comics emerging characters who spice up subplots across various dimensions (he gets an amazing trick with a force field that’s a showstopper). Gunn raises the stakes with a title character vulnerable to physical and emotional pain, and the film is best when it spotlights this protagonist facing fear and fragility, including in tender moments with his nifty Smallville foster parents. The movie’s visual palette is unusual but inventive; not every effect gets “inked” with precision, but whisked in the whirlwind of super-breath, x-ray vision, heat rays and single-bound leaps, contours are maximized with thrilling panache. Once the action starts, with powerful pups and pocket universes hovering around each corner, the film sustains a rather relentless and surprising rhythm. It’s a run-on sentence no amount of diagramming can harness. The hopes and tropes powering this installment provide ample payoff in a superhero treatise with much on the mind. There’s also meta-textural material here about those who aren’t particularly keen on the filmmaker’s hokier, jokier take on the caped wonder plunged into a primary colored silver age universe; Gunn’s humor is preemptive disarming armor shielding against the haters, but sometimes his clever sensibilities do border on eclipsing the superhero himself. Regardless of the whirling dervish of it all, this movie definitely gets the Superman character right; he’s sure to be a fan favorite. It’s all a glorious calling card for a DC universe of possibilities (things are certainly looking up!), and it all makes for an invigorating and slightly exhausting time of fun under the Gunn.
Director Joseph Kosinski generally elevates the saga of another aging maverick with a need for speed in the polished sports adventure F1 (B+) set amidst the globetrotting Grand Prix of the Formula One World Championship, with its glam characters connected at the hip to the fastest regulated road-course racing cars on earth. Brad Pitt is an American pro driver on the last leg of a rough and tumble history recruited by an old friend and now team owner played by Javier Bardem as a last ditch effort to elevate his struggling franchise; and with the help of Irish actress Kerry Condon as the team’s technical director and British actor Damson Idris as a cocky rookie, they’re off to the races. The movie makes the motorsport majestic on screen, buoyed by the strength of this charismatic acting quartet and especially Pitt’s casual, grizzled grace. Character development by quip service and plot conflicts as largely obligatory obstacles rarely sideline Kosinski’s kinetic placemaking marked by wide open, brisk and bustling raceway vistas. This summer tentpole is an exercise in stargazing, lifted in all cases by the quality of the ensemble and film crafts including clutch cinematography by Claudio Miranda and spirited music by Hans Zimmer, as the flick’s flimsy contours hardly support its ample running time. But as an immersive action experience, it’s a lowkey lark, a technical tour de force to be reckoned with for fans of the charming movie star, a game director and the conventions of the racing genre.
Danny Boyle reclaims the director’s chair for the third entry of the dystopian future saga he originated with writer Alex Garland in which brave British citizens fend off hoards of “rage virus” infected humans (don’t call ‘em zombies!). Although still made with urgent, kinetic energy and exciting chases with graphic kills, 28 Years Later (B+) pulls a page out of A Quiet Place: Day One territory to culminate in a more internal and emotionally contemplative conclusion than possibly expected. This sequel centers on a very good child actor, Alfie Williams as Spike, whose stalwart loyalty to his parents played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Jodie Comer puts him in some precarious crosshairs. Boyle sets the action up on a British island with folksy townspeople who have successfully protected themselves from the encroaching undead. Several missions to a mainland connected by a narrow isthmus uncovered by the tide in brief spells reveal mysteries and open up Spike’s eyes to the ways of the world as he and his family face various forms of mortality. The movie is an enjoyably character-driven coming of age story with a dad intent on showing his son the power of the hunt and a mom grappling with a different set of demons. Both actors command attention and interact brilliantly with the young protagonist. Boyle blazes a sensational landscape for this journey and finds balm in the heart of darkness courtesy of a peculiar and too brief performance by Ralph Fiennes. Boyle certainly elevates the tropes of the genre in this outing, even as tone and energy mutate from time to time. His return to form in this series is welcome.
