Nicole Kidman famously made a pledge to work frequently with female directors, and the erotic drama Babygirl (B+), helmed by Helena Reijn, demonstrates exactly why such collaboration is so potent. From the first frame to the stirring conclusion, this movie successfully explores the long-simmering carnal desires of a powerful woman. As a CEO who becomes embroiled in an extramarital age gap relationship with one of her company interns (Harris Dickinson), Kidman is dynamite, showcasing vigor and vulnerability in intriguing doses. The movie is fascinating in its portrait of sexual and power dynamics, with many elements shocking and surprising. Amidst the foreboding and forbidden, there’s also fun and flirtation; and for children of the ’80s there are excellent montages set to INXS and George Michael tunes. Reijn leaves room for Dickinson to make distinct choices in his role-reversed portrayal; he’s fairly mesmerizing in his part. Only Antonio Banderas playing the oblivious husband strikes some curious notes, and there are also a few beats at the end of sequences when our heroine darts a silent soliloquy with her eyes that remove her from the realism. Despite the playful title or the perceived promise of conventional thrills, this is a serious film about the importance of female sexuality: frank, raw and insightful.
Director Clint Eastwood, career action star turned elder statesman of the thinking person’s dramatic film, returns to the scene of the crime — and punishment — in the sturdy and somber Georgia-set procedural Juror #2 (A-). Nicholas Hoult plays a novelist and expectant father serving as a juror in a prominent murder trial and finds himself struggling with a serious moral dilemma capable of swaying the verdict and potentially convicting or freeing the accused killer. Hoult is fantastic in the nuanced role, relatable and believable in service of a somewhat far-fetched premise. Many of the tropes of courtroom thrillers are present in the story but presented with multiple points of view as the scales of justice prove to be complex forms of measurement. Eastwood artfully and efficiently dispatches the story with wonderful performances all around, including Toni Collette as a showy district attorney, Gabriel Basso as the accused and J.K. Simmons as a wily colleague in the fraught deliberations. The movie quietly observes and subtly exposes vulnerabilities of the justice system and hearkens back to the director’s other Savannah-set feature Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It’s an excellent companion piece to some of his best and most thoughtful morality plays such as Million Dollar Baby, Sully, Unforgiven, American Sniper and The Hereafter. It is old-fashioned on the surface but resonates splendidly in modern times and is highly recommended fare for adults and thoughtful teens who want to see (along with other films like Conclave and The Brutalist) what it used to look like in Hollywood’s heyday to craft and consume a deft and deliberate drama.
Bob Dylan is lit — literature, in fact, to those lauding this iconic poet laureate of the folk music scene. But James Mangold’s moribund biopic A Complete Unknown (C) gives scant clues about what inspires and motivates the musician and man of mystery. What we are left with in a reverential but otherwise by-the-books look at the artist as a young man in 1960s New York is a very lived-in imitation by Timothée Chalamet in terms of voice and vibe. The talented actor capably inhabits the role of the rebel but not the cause: Watershed events ranging from violent global uprising to civil rights upheaval to high-profile assassinations are simply static on TV and radio snippets, and there’s nary a connection to why the troubadour is tuning into the pulse of any of this for inspiration. A few tepid love affairs (with squandered actresses Elle Fanning as Sylvie Russo and Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez), some minor conflict with festival organizers (including a sunny Ed Norton as Pete Seeger) and a petulant penchant for not playing what his crowds want to hear comprising most of the film’s run time. Oddly for the same director as Walk the Line, Mangold casts Boyd Holbrook as Johnny Cash, a spiritual guardian of Dylan’s transition from eclectic to electric. And there’s an unnecessary framing device offering little extra clarity. Some of the movie’s music sequences contain verve, but the whole enterprise is strangely one-note save the uncanny authenticity of the central performance. The film’s seeming thesis of not giving in to expectations is thwarted by never being all that grounded in any rules in the first place. Nothing dusty or gusty is blowing in the blustery wind of this interpretation. Instead of this feckless non-origin story, consider watching Martin Scorsese’s documentary No Direction Home.
Malcolm Washington didn’t choose the easiest adaptation — nor did he make much cinematic sense of it — with his directorial debut, The Piano Lesson (C), based on the August Wilson play. Instead of simply or conventionally translating a work already imbued with storied drama, the new director experiments with form and frenzy to unearth a bevy of resonant themes, and the overstuffed result doesn’t strike a consistent chord. A family clash over the heirloom of the title pits brother and sister — he hopes to sell it, the she refuses to give it up — sets the stage for a story unleashing haunting truths about how the past is perceived and who defines a family legacy. Unfortunately abrupt tonal shifts, a decision to open up the story with ghost story and horror motifs and a veil of fussiness between flashbacks and dialogue scenes continually obscure the workmanlike skills of an impressive acting ensemble. There’s interesting craft on display in terms of cinematography and music, but the symbolism is often heavy-handed. John David Washington and Danielle Deadwyler are the standout siblings whose tense reunion is a catalyst to conflict and discussions centered on tradition and collective memory of historical trauma. Ray Fisher is also fantastic in a hard-working and stacked cast. The actors do an outstanding job even though the film’s awkward approach doesn’t always do them justice.
A classic adage proclaims the art of writing about music is akin to dancing about architecture; conversely, critiquing a movie featuring a modernist minimalist designer upending conventions is a particularly apt parallel for unpacking Brady Corbet’s ambitious 215-minute period piece The Brutalist (A). Filmed especially for 7O millimeter VistaVision large-screen formats including narrative divided into two acts and a well-placed 15-minute intermission, this is a consummate cinematic banquet and in nearly all ways an absolute masterpiece. Like the iconic building style of its title, the film’s characters captured by Lol Crawley’s creative cinematography are angular and exposed, and the movie’s lens on the historic American immigrant experience bitingly bleak. Escaping postwar Europe, fictional visionary architect Laszlo Toth (Adrien Brody) emigrates to rebuild his life, his career and his marriage to Erzsebet (Felicity Jones) in the US of A. On his own in a strange new land (Pennsylvania), Laszlo encounters industrialist magnate Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) who recognizes his talent. There are twists and turns along the journey, which is consistently imagined in full. The film’s length and one-two punch structure adds to the epic nature of watching the main character’s vastness of experiences across decades. The production design by Judy Becker evokes authenticity in the story’s primary epoch of the 1940s through ’60s, and there are some stunning building and room configurations on display in the story, worthy of the titular architect. Daniel Blumberg’s urgent music adds to the intrigue and pageantry. The performances are roundly amazing with Brody in career-best mode as a complex man who is both optimistic and mercurial. This film is a grand experience, and even the loose ends from its labyrinthine plot will stimulate conversations. This will be a movie categorized with some of the great modern classics such as There Will Be Blood and The Power of the Dog.
The palace intrigue and visual effects both get mighty upgrades — albeit with fewer iconic declarations of dialogue — as Ridley Scott returns to the ring for a highly enjoyable Gladiator II (B+). While many of the story beats represent a retread of the Best Picture winning 2000 original film, Paul Mescal steps comfortably into the sandals of the protagonist role and draws viewers in as his character watches Roman emperors (Pedro Pascal among the leaders) conquer his homeland before he endeavors to return a legendary land to glory. As an empire-adjacent antagonist, Denzel Washington is also a highlight as a complex power broker with constant surprises around every turn. His scenery chewing rivals Joaquin Phoenix from the first film. The sequel’s action set pieces including a clash of warriors on ships within a coliseum are stunning. After one questionable sequence involving fake CGI monkeys early on, the film’s visual effects are roundly glorious. There’s a lingering feeling of wanting just a little more emotionally from this film, but it’s hard to argue with the brutal bacchanal of pulpy violence and vengeance on display here. Overall the film is a marvelous and rousing adventure.
There’s probably a brilliant movie to be lensed using a stationary camera affixed on one single room of a house and chronicling what happens in that space on earth from prehistoric to pandemic times. Director/co-writer Robert Zemeckis hasn’t landed on the brilliant part of his cinematic science project. His Here (D+) is a filmed carousel of progress with some occasionally lovely compositions but an absolutely inert set of artificial storylines. It has the effect of an old vacation slide show presented by your most cringe-worthy relative. The nostalgic object lessons, told out of order in a taxonomy of themes, include vignettes of Native American rituals, Benjamin Franklin’s relatives, a crackpot inventor, a greatest generation couple, boomers delighting and struggling with modern family life (Tom Hanks and Robin Wright in various dreadful levels of de-aging effects) and the African-American family of the here and now. The only surprises along the journey are the effective use of pictures-in-picture delineated by rule lines, a late-breaking mirror effect and clever dissolves. Sometimes windows gracefully overlapping with the wilderness of bygone times or a novel show running on the family TV provide a welcome distraction from the human doldrums. The punishing pageant of various still lives accompanied by soaring Alan Silvestri music are comprised of such basic tropes that any moments of genuine drama are robbed of their gravitas. Latter stage Zemeckis films have been preoccupied with visual effects to the detriment of story, and this particular film finds little focus except for that omniscient camera in the same damn place the whole time. The film manages to be maddening and melodramatic when it was meant to be meaningful.
The behind-closed-doors election of a new pope plays out like a whodunit in Edward Berger’s superb drama Conclave (A-). Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), tasked with facilitating this secretive and ancient event and surrounded by powerful religious leaders from around the world in the halls of the Vatican, uncovers a series of deep secrets that could threaten the very foundation of the Roman Catholic Church. Stanley Tucci plays one of the most progressive papal candidates and Sergio Castellitto one of his most conservative rivals in a well curated ensemble of wonderful actors. Fiennes carries much of the weight of the dramatic narrative on his shoulders and is quite impressive in the lead role. Berger stages the story in orderly and disciplined fashion, allowing twists to naturally reveal themselves. He explores the nuances of human judgment without resorting to sensationalism or sentiment; it’s an intriguing story well told. This film is likely to have significant continued resonance with motivations and messages sure to ring true any time new power structures are sorting themselves out.
The debate over box office tally size may be a non-starter as a buzzed-about biopic won’t likely recruit many butts onto its golden seats. An unflattering origin story preceding modern times of the 45th presidency of the United States, Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice (C) stars Sebastian Stan as Donald Trump and traces his ascendant real estate career and moral ambiguities in New York in the 1970s and 1980s. Maria Bakalova appears as his wife Ivana, but that’s not really much of a focus; instead the film centers around Trump’s synergy with notorious lawyer Roy Cohn, played by Jeremy Strong. Both Stan and Strong are solid in their roles, and the imprinting of guiding principles about the importance of winning and the loose definition of truth make for an interesting exchange; but the film is heavy handed and provides few insights surprising to anyone who even slightly follows politics. Stan has the moves and mannerisms down like a champ for his portrait of a con artist as a young man. The movie wants to be like an Omen prequel but gives off “movie of the week” vibes with a little bit of language and nudity thrown in to make it edgier. It’s a film with neither the rage about the polarizing politician nor an effective character study about the men in full. The film gives both Cohn and Trump short shrift given the oversized drama of their real ambitions and back stories. Despite relatively competent filmmaking, this movie that looks to factor “bigly” into mass consciousness doesn’t measure up to much.
Earning high praise for ambition and scope but faltering in terms of story and tone, Francis Ford Coppola’s sprawling Megalopolis (C-) is a fever dream of a melodrama about characters contemplating the type of world in which they want to live. Seemingly primed to be prescient for election season, the contours aren’t colored with enough clarity to serve as a surefire clarion call. Adam Driver’s monotone character contemplates solutions in a conflicted fictional future U.S. city reminiscent of Manhattan with hints of Rome, and it’s not completely clear which characters are worth tracking at any given time. The movie is chock full of imaginative set pieces such as a press conference suspended over an urban diorama, a coliseum three-ring circus complete with a bacchanal and a virgin auction and an art deco skyscraper home of an invention lab, and yet the ponderous screenplay and insufficient visual effects consistently grind momentum to a halt. There’s ultimately a hopeful lilt to the proceedings about the quest for one’s personal utopia, but it’s too often blunted by characters finding themselves derailed (Dustin Hoffman), incomprehensible (Jon Voight), understated (Giancarlo Esposito) or underwritten (Shia LaBeouf). Actresses in the ensemble fare better including Aubrey Plaza who is witty and watchable as a spunky reporter, Talia Shire as Driver’s character’s sassy mom and Nathalie Emmanuel as his love interest from a rival family. The standout music by Osvaldo Noe Golijov punctuates the jarring proceedings with operatic bursts of bombast. The film’s tone careens wildly between sequences, rarely fixing itself upon a compelling narrative. There’s a singular interesting sequence of intrigue late in the film, one genuinely surprising jump scare and several lovely composite images, but the movie’s overall look and feel fails to match the scale of its set-up. Parallels between modern-day political shenanigans and Roman Empire machinations aren’t executed with consistent gravitas. And for its promise of a brave new world, much of the film is adrift, and the actors all seem to be occupying space in completely different movies. Neither meta conventions nor specific tiny details inspire the requisite alchemy to help this story cross the chasm to a place of either adequate art house or mainstream appeal. It’s clunky, well-meaning and may spark some conversations as an enduring curiosity from a cinematic master.
The show must go on for maximum security prisoners participating in a rehabilitative theatre troupe in Greg Kwedar’s tenderly humane and moving real-life drama Sing Sing (A). Colman Domingo marvelously anchors the story as a long-time inmate on the verge of a clemency hearing who has become the central journeyman performer in an acting class coached by a character wonderfully played by Paul Raci. Sean San Jose is also splendid as one of the central prisoners, and many such as Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin brilliantly play their true-life selves. Kwedar has a real eye for the humanity of the characters without ever overly sliding into sentiment, and there are funny touches in the original work the men rehearse and present (their populist work includes characters ranging from Hamlet to Freddy Krueger). Bryce Dessner’s cerebral music offers a wistful, delicate accompaniment to the story. Domingo steals the show with a feast of a performance, and the whole ensemble shines with poignancy and panache. It’s a remarkable tale encouraging viewers to rethink perspectives and engage differently with men who may not have otherwise gotten their second act of redemption. It’s a fantastic entry on the 2024 film festival circuit certainly en route to Oscar glory.
Director Greg Kwedar describes the film to Silver Screen Capture on the red carpet of closing night at the Atlanta Film Festival 2024:
Serendipitously, Coppola protégé Akshay Bhatia has made a short film about an offer that can’t be refused in the sophisticated and splendid cautionary tale The Preakness (A). One drunken night, a down-on-his-luck ranch owner and horse trainer (Jeffrey Pierce) receives a visit from a mysterious and insistent lobbyist (Gena Shaw) with a proposition that could change his personal destiny and possibly history. The movie begins with a soliloquy about slaughterhouses with enough extraordinary exposition to fill a meatpacking district; it’s fascinating stuff that transcends the two-hander form. Soon a deal with a devil is on the proverbial table. There is rich subtext in the dialogue between the hunter and the prey, and both Pierce and Shaw give masterclass performances imbued with mounting tension. Bhatia stages the hard-hitting chess moves of his compelling narrative with impeccable precision, set to the syncopation and paranoid pounding of Dan Deacon’s brilliant score. The literary luster of the work is evocative of “The Cask of Amontillado” or “Everything That Rises Must Converge” with cunning cataloguing of history, lyrical flashbacks and flash-forwards and searing consequences. The movie’s directing, writing, acting and crafts are top-notch and promise to intrigue and fascinate audiences in its grip. Topical themes and pop psychology collide in this spellbinding work.
