It’s hard to get a word in edgewise versus the toxic female powder keg at the center of this family drama: and by bringing to life one of his film catalogue’s most indelible personalities, director Mike Leigh and muse Marianne Jean-Baptiste create a character for the ages and an instantly relatable series of events. Hard Truths (B+) centers on middle-aged British mum Pansy played by Jean-Baptiste and how, stricken by grief, she verbally abuses everyone within shouting range. At first the effect is jarring then a little funny and mostly sad or appalling, depending on the set of characters around her. She’s winning the battle of words, no matter the situation. The actress is incredible in absolutely embodying this woman and still providing shades of gray to make her a character and not a caricature. Kudos to the full ensemble, especially David Webber and Tuwaine Barrett as her long-suffering husband and son and Michele Austin as her sister and cheery polar opposite. These characters are often simply left to wear devastated reactions on their faces and do so with expressive aplomb. Leigh has something to quietly say here though about the simple ways people can treat each other to diffuse or elevate situations and to turn down the temperature when interactions get heated. Because so many of the sequences in the film are dialed up to a delirious decibel, the scenes of quiet and generosity are fittingly touching and sometimes heartbreaking. The movie is as delicate as the flower Pansy is not and quietly observational in its brisk running time about how depression can overwhelm and constrict. While lovely, Gary Yershon’s melancholic music felt a little on the nose for generating the film’s off-kilter mood, but overall this was an effective and absorbing character study with something to say to anyone in the world with that emotional glass half empty or full.
This is another one of a trend of “miracle drug movies” with unseemly side effects, although writer/director Aaron Schimberg doesn’t ground his dark comedy in either the realm of the realistic or the fantastical in enough doses to keep his audience completely on the hook. The resultant movie, A Different Man (C), is full of interesting ideas, but the characters’ intentions have to shape shift to bend to the whims of his thesis. Sebastian Stan plays an actor with a deformed face caused by neurofibromatosis, and when he is treated to a cure giving him the matinee idol looks he craves, he inexplicably auditions for a part in a play loosely based on his own life pre-surgery. Renate Reinsve is the non-judgmental woman in his life who becomes playwright about his life; and soon another deformed man played by Adam Pearson enters the scene and further complicates their lives. It’s the kind of off-kilter meta satire Charlie Kaufman could fully commit to; alas, here the rug keeps getting pulled out, and the second and third acts become more tedious and preposterous. All three primary actors are committed to their roles and turn in interesting performances, even when asked to bend to the will of an untenable story. The music by Umberto Smerilli is a lovely complement to the tone and a standout, along with the make-up work. Ultimately the film’s potential as high comedy, searing drama or even a happy medium remains largely unfulfilled.
Just two years after the disturbing Danish horror film of the same name, a twisty and much more broadly comic 2024 American remake of Speak No Evil (B-) provides a highly watchable cautionary tale about two families who become friends on vacation and discover an altogether different relationship when they reunite on one couple’s home turf. James Watkins adapts the story from the austere foreign language template and directs this new version with gusto, offering a witty waltz through modern mores in which tensions rise on the grounds of a remote farmhouse. James McAvoy is the larger than life standout of the story as a burly alpha male who looks like he wandered off the set of a Brawny commercial. The actor relishes the wily role and brings a smoldering menace to the tale, dialing up the gamesmanship until the film’s flimsy final act. Scoot McNairy is effective in a thankless part as the wimpy, reticent foil, and Mackenzie Davis is far more interesting and nuanced as his sometimes steely spouse. The film is less an exercise in terror than a mash-up of comedy of manners conventions and home invasion conceits. The child actors land some intriguing moments in their own right as the fractured families realize their escalating riffs until all are rendered mute. The plot gets far-fetched and careens deeply into high camp, devolving from competent paranoid thriller into a “throw everything including the kitchen sink” showdown. All the while, McAvoy makes his mark, including some witty role play in a restaurant and crooning ballads of ’80s pop songstresses. If you like watching awkwardness get amplified, see this flick in a packed theatre and expect a surround sound of bewildered reactions at many characters’ bad decisions. It’ll have you at “oh, hell no.”
Just because it debuted at Sundance doesn’t mean it’s any good. And co-directors Daniel Hoesl and Julia Niemann’s German dark comedy Veni Vidi Vici (D+) certainly doesn’t seem to be here to make any friends. It’s a stark portrait of a billionare crime family living in its own bucolic bubble, unimpeachable in every way as they go about terrible activities such as furtive sniper shootings of local innocents. Photographed beautifully but soulless in spirit, the film is dead-set on shocking viewers about these aristocrats without a moral compass but neglects to offer a story or counterpoint to yield any intrigue or interest. The ensemble including Laurence Rupp and Ursina Lardi as the twisted parents and Dominik Warta as a potentially intriguing outsider aren’t given much at all to do. It looks like and is sometimes filmed like a social satire but only tells part of one side of a story. For all the fuss, it ends up a great one-note bore.
A rambling Rorschach Test of psychological perceptions takes the spotlight as characters experience the twisty limits of Method Acting in the peculiar new Todd Haynes dark comedy May December (A-). Natalie Portman plays an actress visiting Savannah, Georgia on an indie film research mission to study a real-life woman played by Julianne Moore and her much younger husband portrayed by Charles Melton the details of their notorious tabloid romance which started when he was underage. The movie presents an escalating series of off-kilter sequences, bombastic music and brazenly theatrical conceits ranging from melodramatic monologues to acting in front of mirrors to speaking about technique to acting classes. Portman’s character finds herself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of intrigue and investigation, with increasingly thorny and unnerving results. She gets an iconic moment when she describes what filming an intimate scene in a movie is like and loses herself in the notion that sometimes it’s highly technical and sometimes you don’t want to admit you felt a little chemistry. All three primary actors are fabulous with the women trading secrets and lies and an increasingly similar appearance and relative newcomer Melton providing an object of unusual sympathy. Moore plumbs great depths of her sex offender character loosely based on the true story of Mary Kay Letourneau the audience may think it knows. Haynes has built a career on opulent domestic stories often with subtext of social persecution, and his latest is a brilliant remix of some of his most austere and audacious themes. This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it will undoubtedly keep viewers guessing where one person’s scandal starts and another’s art fills in the gaps.
If you’re hankering for that sensation of having your head smashed with a mallet for three hours, this is your film. Director Ari Aster parlays his skills at horror moviemaking into an absurdist examination of trauma in the bloated, tonally challenged folly of Beau is Afraid (D). What starts out promising wears out its welcome quickly as the mawkish title character played with commitment by Joaquin Phoenix endeavors against great madcap odds to visit his controlling mom, portrayed briefly with campy relish by Broadway legend Patti LuPone. There’s no denying Aster’s mastery of the camera, and he orchestrates occasionally clever and sometimes whimsical sequences illustrating the video game style obstacles thwarting the protagonist’s mental health – but the shrill outweighs the droll in his prolonged one-note allegory. A handful of delirious dark comic laughs can’t fully compensate for the extended and sometimes pretentious march into the mental abyss. Whatever thesis statement Aster is trying to present about the peculiar familial relationship afoot in this tale is buried in distracting artifice. It’s a disappointing miss, cynical and nightmarish without proper payoff to its downhill slide.
The future in plastics once predicted in the ‘60s comes full circle in Noah Baumbach’s absurdist ‘80s-set dark comedy White Noise (C), in which airborne toxic events, misbegotten drug deals and the power of suggestion in consumerist culture swirl in the whirling dervish of a day-glo college town. This is far from linear or logical stuff, and it only works in spurts despite lots of creativity. Based on Don DeLillo’s notoriously unadaptable postmodern novel, this go-for-broke movie introduces all sorts of intriguing ideas which are equal parts fascinating and face palm worthy. Adam Driver is the assured oddity at the center of the proceedings as an eccentric professor of Hitler studies, surrounded domestically by a bunch of loquacious, precocious offspring from multiple marriages. His current wife played by a wryly funny Greta Gerwig is largely defined by a penne pasta meets poodle inspired haircut and a possible secret. Another talky teacher friend played with relish by Don Cheadle harbors awe for Elvis and supermarkets. The plot is a series of strange events, some that linger too lovingly long on their source material roots. The ensemble’s commitment to a hilariously heightened vibe is admirable though and makes for an uneven but readymade cult sensation, a bonkers love child of Robert Altman, Steven Spielberg and Kurt Vonnegut. Perhaps the film should be accompanied RockyHorror style with a survival kit baggie of edibles. If you make it to the end, enjoy a closing credit musical sequence that’s somewhat more thematically cogent than the feature overstaying its welcome preceding it.
There’s nothing more delectable than watching bad people get their comeuppance, and many may have guessed that just such social commentary is on The Menu (B) directed by Mark Mylod. Ralph Fiennes plays a despotic chef at the helm of an exclusive restaurant that’s the sole tenant of an island, and its ensemble of guests ranging from Janet McTeer to John Leguizamo have no idea what kind of meal is coming their way. Anya Taylor-Joy and Nicholas Hoult are a treat as the central odd couple, she with no interest in high-minded cuisine and he obsessed with every morsel. The story’s chapters are also food courses with life lessons attached, with only one that looks as delicious as described. There are a bunch of flawed characters with too many greedy, grubby hands in the veritable gobstopper jar. The allegory loses steam as the story progresses and doesn’t fully quench the appetite it hypes. The film is entertaining but may not stick to the ribs as much as intended.
Now playing in select theatres from Searchlight Pictures.
Whether interpreted as a peculiar fugue on male loneliness, a reflection on the origins of conflict or simply a dark comedic lark about an “unfriending” on a fictional Irish isle in the 1920s, Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin (A-) is a fulfilling comedy-drama well told with excellent acting, keen insight and glorious atmosphere. McDonagh makes a largely talky story fully engaging and cinematic by showcasing the tinges of violence simmering under the surface among his carefully drawn parochial, sometimes spiteful island denizens. Lush cinematography by Ben Davis and a lyrical score by Carter Burwell help punctuate the environment of a pretty but isolated rural village where good-natured Pádraic (Colin Farrell) finds one day his BFF Colm (Brendan Gleeson) has abruptly resolved to stop interacting with him. Farrell’s protagonist, provincial and blissfully unaware he is cramping the style of his grumpy bud, simply can’t get out of his own head about the confounding situation. The battle of wills following this fissure of friendship amasses complicated, unexpected and near-mythic implications, with the eerie, elderly Mrs. McCormack (Sheila Flitton) holding court over the island’s history as if guarding the temple to the Underworld. Farrell, all hound dog expressions and sad sack emotions, and Gleeson, gruff and troubled with few words and a mournful fiddle, are in top form at the center of the existential struggle. Those who enjoyed this duo’s past collaboration with the director, In Bruges, will likely appreciate this story as a counter companion piece. Also delightful as foils to Farrell’s character are Kerry Condon as feisty sister Siobhán and Barry Keoghan as troubled and uncensored local boy Dominic. The film is a rich work full of perfectly drawn humor, expected to be rewarding to cinephiles and possibly a bit of a head scratcher to those who don’t hop immediately on its vibe.
The title of Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness (C) refers to the fleshy polygon between one’s brows where expressed emotions unfurl on the faces of the “have nots” or stoic unwrinkled beauty is showcased among the Botoxed. Despite intriguing milieus for his human animals to act out their heightened histrionics, Östlund keeps a satirical distance from his mostly unpleasant ensemble. Much of the action takes place aboard a luxury yacht, with the most recognizable actor Woody Harrelson amusing in a glorified cameo as the lackadaisical captain. Harris Dickinson and the late Charlbi Dean play insufferable models on an influencer trip; they and most of the characters have very little to add to society aside from wealth or beauty. Dolly de Leon is wonderfully droll and dry as an emerging character who may be onto their ruse. The comedy is broad but regretfully redundant. The director knows his targets are obvious, and he literally drops grenades and gross-outs with gleeful anarchy to his wishy washy tale almost destined to polarize. The message in his bonkers bottle is pretty clear early, and it feels like the injections of his thesis treatment come in too many doses.
After an intriguing appetizer of a first act including a charming Meet Cute in a grocery store, Mimi Cave’s dark comedy Fresh (C) outstays its welcome through course after course in a twisty tale about the dog eat dog world of modern-day dating. The horror of contemporary courtship depicted here is a bit more audacious than even the vastly superior Promising Young Woman, and it’s not just toxic and terrifying because of the male love interest’s penchant for the musical catalogue of Peter Cetera. Daisy Edgar-Jones is game enough and committed to character, even though the direction and script render her lead performance a bit unremarkable. Sebastian Stan as the love interest is also a bit one-note in the tonally inconsistent film. It’s ultimately an allegory in search of a story and not funny or dark enough to traverse much new territory. Devour or delight in it at your own risk.
A filmmaker’s ability to manipulate viewers to root for despicable characters is the grift that keeps on giving. A scorching dark comedy about modern day capitalism wrapped in the trappings of a dark comedic bonbon, J. Blakeson’s I Care a Lot (B) coasts on the chain-vaping, stiletto-spiked, impeccably-bobbed charisma of Rosamund Pike who absolutely demands your attention in a sharklike lead role. Her swaggering character works the system, a veritable wolf of independent living as she gains guardianship over elderly victims and then scams them with abandon. She gets more than she bargained for when a character played by a feisty Dianne Wiest becomes her latest prey, and mean-spirited highjinks ensue. The antihero’s machinations are so clever that the events of the final acts have a hard time measuring up, even though much of the escalating action is indeed quite thrilling. The punchy verve of the storytelling and amusing encounters with icy adversaries such as Chris Messina and Peter Dinklage draw the audience in deeply to the intrigue. Eiza González is also gently effective as Pike’s love interest and partner in crime, in a duo not likely to win any GLAAD Awards (hey, villainesses deserve love too!) The film ultimately swallows a few too many poison pills; but in its essence, it’s a madcap ride tracking the escapades of this brilliantly played scheme queen.
