Esteban Arango’s rollicking rollercoaster of a Sundance Film Festival entry Ponyboi (B+) features an unconventional intersex protagonist who shows there’s no clear pathway to forge between point X and point Y when it comes to the thrill of a crime caper. This neon-illuminated film glides successfully on the resplendent and deeply touching performance of River Gallo who is a force to be reckoned with and also the writer and producer behind the work. Gallo plays a resilient Jersey Shore sex worker caught up in a series of misadventures on a berserk Valentine’s Day; soon life on the streets of the turnpike becomes an all-out getaway and a big choose-your-own-adventure between a full escape and an unexpected invitation home by a formerly unsupportive parent. Other familiar cast members are Dylan O’Brien as a vile pimp and drug dealer (he’s magnificent), Victoria Pedretti as a wannabe ally and Murray Bartlett as a mysterious cowboy who may or may not be the titular character’s saving grace. Arango consistently raises the stakes through locales ranging from laundromats to diners and nightclubs; there’s an absorbing sequence in a pharmacy where favors are traded for hormones mid-way through a gangster chase, and viewers simply haven’t seen this exact series of predicaments before. This film is poised to be a gritty hit indie and will hopefully break through for those up for something radically different in a familiar genre.
Mirroring awards season darling The Zone of Interest, a film about what’s not happening at the Holocaust, the top prize winner at the 2024 Sundance Film Festival – featured at Out on Film – traces the lives of two sisters over two decades through four brief summers visiting their alcoholic father and omits off-screen the other dozens of seasons comprising umpteen collective years of their more consistent formative experiences. A poetic and humanist glimpse at growing up while mesmerized and repulsed by traits of an erratic father figure whose frailties they certainly don’t wish to emulate, Alessandra Lacorazza’s In the Summers (B) features lovely performances and sensitively maps the topography of the human heart in the unexpected terrain of desert town Las Cruces, New Mexico, with a predominantly Latino cast. Like Moonlight, the kids growing up are played by different actors in each of the film’s successive chapters, capturing a vibe if not a precise facsimile, with urban music star René Pérez Joglar (aka Residente) the constant with a marvelous lived-in portrayal of the troubled father. Each pair of actresses builds a successive solid foundation, paying off in anguished final act performances by Sasha Calle and Lio Mehiel. Along the bittersweet journey are suggested sexual awakenings and implied chemical dependencies, but viewers may find themselves at a distance with only snapshots disclosed along the sisters’ through lines. Despite a relaxed pace, some critical junctures are rushed or unresolved. Some of the movie’s metaphors about decay and distrust, evident in the unkept family pool and literal scars from skirmishes, become a bit too obvious as the film is revealed to not have a huge head of steam in the plot department. Cinematographer Alejandro Mejía creates delicate frames for an often moving series of portraits, including lovely chapter dividers depicting souvenirs of each epoch of summer times when the living isn’t easy. Viewers will find they deeply care about these girls growing up even if the film’s format doesn’t always dwell on the most decisive parts of their stories.
Just as moviegoers are debating whether the recent film title Maestro refers to its male or female lead, I can reasonably proclaim Michael Mann’s Ferrari (B-) refers to Laura Ferrari played by Penélope Cruz who absolutely steals the show from the film’s intended subject, her character’s husband and the mastermind behind the iconic sports car company Enzo Ferrari played by Adam Driver. Cruz is absolutely magnetic as a business partner, grieving mother and jilted wife who dominates the film’s most powerful sequences. She shows up with a gun in a grand entrance and is number one with a bullet every time she’s on screen. Driver is good too and rather fantastic in some signature speeches, but Cruz gives a performance for the ages. It’s one thing to be eclipsed by Cruz’s tour de force; and it’s another thing altogether to be the miscast Shailene Woodley in a thankless and oddly accented role as Enzo’s mistress Lina Lardi. Surprisingly, racing sequences are few and far between as a Godfather style historic melodrama takes center stage, sometimes reaching intended operatic heights but other times meandering a bit. The film is best when a study of contrasts – between spouses, balancing relationships and love, navigating public and private life in Italy, and experiencing the thrill and terror of racing itself in the med-twentieth century. The story of a man’s two families, his battle against the tyranny of time itself, his tragic familial and wartime losses and his unswerving eye on impeccable design and victory is satisfying and often quite absorbing. The sequences on the race track are well done too and filmed from cinematic perspectives rarely captured, but everything that’s not Cruz in the film is simply second fiddle. Another familiar face in the cast is Patrick Dempsey as driver Piero Taruffi; it would have been nice to explore more about the men behind the wheel or even a fairly formative incident merely referenced in the post-script. Mann doesn’t fully summon or realize his thesis here, but the parts that work in the film hum with precision.
Traditional disaster movies can veer toward the exploitive or sensational, but if anyone was up for the challenge of thoughtfully dramatizing the 1972 Andean mountain range plane crash in which only a third of those aboard survive (formerly told in 1993’s Alive), it’s the skilled director of the tsunami thrillerThe Impossible, J.A. Bayona. His Society of the Snow (aka La sociedad de la nieve) (B+) is grueling and rewarding, crafted with epic filmmaking skill and an ample running time and showcasing a stirring spiritual side to the story of resilience. Those stranded by the downed plane have various conflicting perspectives about how to handle their struggle, which escalates as they face hunger, avalanche and much more. Told with desaturated colors and realistic sound mixing against a formidable icy landscape, it’s a profound and immersive work. The film’s Uruguayan and Argentine cast members, most of whom are newcomers, include talented actors Agustín Pardella, Matías Recalt, Fernando Contigiani García and Enzo Vogrincic Roldán as rugby teammates who take on key roles to overcome their dire situation. Visual effects supervisor Laura Pedro and cinematographer Pedro Luque do wonderful work to depict muscular action and wilderness survival against a rugged, stark setting as we watch the characters waste away while keeping inventive options open. The film also honors those who were lost in the tragedy with poignant visual overlays to Michael Giacchino’s evocative music. As survivors become one another’s best hope and face moral questions and rare moments of levity, Bayona creates a gripping drama and demonstrates why the story is so worthy of telling.
A brilliant new film imagines a world in which people outlast a system that makes outcasts. Writer/director Ava Duvernay’s cerebral drama Origin (A-) unfolds like a procedural as its central character, writer Isabel Wilkerson (sublime work by Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), sets herself on a path of global investigation while authoring the book Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents about how civilizations ranging from Germany to India to the U.S. have oppressed and dehumanized certain groups in their societies. Watching the protagonist’s intellectual discoveries while she simultaneously grapples with tragedy makes for an unusual structure that summons evocative flashbacks and compelling side stories to demonstrate the interconnectedness of peoples’ plights around the world. It sounds heavy and is, but the journey is essential and the work has the ability to move and enlighten audiences in unexpected ways. Duvernay is in complete command here of her vision and builds on her compelling documentary moviemaking style to fashion a type of neo-parable that should be shown and discussed in every classroom around the world. The lush cinematography by Matthew J. Lloyd and the urgent music by Kris Bowers help propel a conversation-filled movie into a very watchable experience. Matching the majestic Ellis-Taylor are ensemble members ranging from the filmmaker’s muse, the exquisite and funny foil Niecy Nash-Betts, to a very nuanced performance by Jonathan Bernthal. Audra McDonald, Nick Offerman and many other familiar faces show up in the globetrotting adventure of enlightenment. There’s a quiet child performance in one sequence that alone is one of the most heartbreaking captured on film. As the director shows the man-made obstacles that block empathy and a shared destiny among people, she points out optimism of a push toward collective freedom. The film is stirring and essential.
Even if the great radioactive reptilian monster didn’t actually make an appearance in the movie – and he does, spectacularly, Godzilla Minus One (aka Gojira Mainasu Wan) (B+) would still be a fascinating epic exploring survivor’s guilt and overcoming collective trauma. This Japanese kaiju film directed, written and with visual effects supervised by Takashi Yamazaki, takes place in Japan during the late days of WWII and the ensuing years as a kamikaze pilot played by Ryunosuke Kamiki must reckon with his own failure to act when faced with his own fear of mortality. The narrative weaves in real-life historic events such as the bombing of Tokyo and nuclear tests at Bikini Atoll which lend gravitas to the proceedings, plus there’s a tight domestic drama as well opposite exquisite actress Minami Hamabe providing an emotional center of gravity to the existential scare of a giant beast emerging. The film is smart when it comes to the physics of trying to thwart the threat and authentic in its depiction of characters overcoming obstacles. When the towering terror does make a series of signature appearances, the effects are tremendous and the destruction on a gargantuan scale. The film’s crafts are impeccable with standouts including cinematography by Kōzō Shibasaki and music by Naoki Satō; the film plays more like an intimate historical drama than a creature feature and will undoubtedly reward those who experience it on a big screen.
The protagonist Adam superbly played by Andrew Scott has some unfinished emotional business to reckon with in Andrew Haigh’s intimate, immersive dramatic fantasy All of Us Strangers (B+). The hero’s journey involves a new romantic partner in the form of Paul Mescal and an interlocking plot in which Adam’s parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) come back into his life despite having perished in a car crash three decades earlier. Given the intricacy of the film’s structure and the cerebral presentation of an unlikely premise, Haigh guides his characters masterfully with a transfixing wisdom and wistfulness. The film’s bending of time and space works so effectively because Scott keeps viewers so grounded in his emotional arch; he delivers a quietly revelatory performance. Mescal continues his streak of interesting indie roles with a strong portrayal of a character just out of reach. And Foy and Bell are wonderful as the flawed but fabulous couple who get to tie up some loose ends with the adult son they never knew. The film is a talky tearjerker that ponders some big issues including loneliness and abandonment and is sure to provide tender recognition to those who have lost loved ones. Haigh continues to traverse unexplored territory about gay characters and doesn’t serve up easy answers; he blazes new emotional and filmmaking landscapes. From its effective use of evocative pop music to its stunning close-ups of interlocking characters thrust into unexpected disclosures, the film is a lovely discovery and a must-see for cinephiles.
It’s pretty and patriotic, which may be just enough for some moviegoers seeking old-fashioned family entertainment. But director George Clooney can scarcely salvage The Boys in the Boat (C-), a true-life Depression era tale of a ragtag Washington State rowing team on a potential collision course with the Berlin Olympics. The stakes should feel rightly leviathan and rarely do. A rudderless coach/mentor story, an undercooked love story and most notably a lack of depth in showcasing team camaraderie are among the central failings of a movie about winning. The crew sport doesn’t quite provide sufficient cinematic gusto either; there are only so many ways to row, row, row one’s way to so-so dramatic results. The coach character played by actor Joel Edgerton, usually a fascinating screen presence, rarely rises to the occasion. Callum Turner is fairly effective embodying the steely, stoic protagonist and makes the most of his underwritten central role. As his love interest, the plucky Hadley Robinson provides the radiant working definition of a role being sidelined. The epic score over oars, head-scratching pivots in plot and pacing, lack of clarity about the hard scrabble kids’ disadvantages against their well-heeled East coast contemporaries, an arbitrary monologue about crafting a seaworthy vessel and the nonchalant arrival of Hitler as a Hail Mary to raise the stakes are all on the low-simmer punch list as the story drifts. There’s a particularly inconsequential passage of the characters fundraising that fails the Dr. Evil test of putting financial figures in proper context. Forgive it the clunky present-day bookends under murky makeup, the unfinished plot points or a number of squandered opportunities, though, as there’s a decent family story about the value of personal integrity and hard work buried within Clooney’s film. The movie definitely needed elements as propulsive as its real-life heroes.
There’s very little resisting Alice Walker’s most iconic work in any of its forms: the 1982 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, the 1985 Oscar-nominated movie, the elaborate Broadway 2005 musical stage show or its even more acclaimed stripped-down 2015 revival. So don your lavender, orchid, magenta and violet hues and grab your best friends to enjoy another inspiring telling of this ode to sisterhood in a crowd-pleasing auditorium. Nobody ever told Shakespeare he’s been interpreted too much. Director Blitz Bazawule’s 2023 film adaptation of the book-turned-musical The Color Purple (B) does show some signs of wear, despite some jubilant applause-worthy moments. His fresh lens on the tale gets a little lost in translation as he tries to plumb the depths of the sharply drawn characters while giving them their due as singers too. For those just hopping on the bandwagon, the story traces forty years in the life of Miss Celie (Fantasia Barrino) who is torn from her sister and children in the rural South in the early 1900s and faces hardships including an abusive husband “Mister” (Colman Domingo). With support from a sultry singer named Shug (Taraji P. Henson) and her stand-her-ground stepdaughter Sofia (Danielle Brooks), Celie ultimately finds extraordinary strength in the unbreakable bonds of a new kind of female empowerment. This new production includes three iconic and melodic moments of sonic uplift so potent and a final reel so tearjerking and triumphant viewers may forget the film’s sluggish start. Bazawule reveals his exposition a bit too much like a “greatest hits” for those who know the story rather than discovering it fresh as the characters would experience it. He also doesn’t land exactly how to effectively execute the musical numbers – are they real or fantasy? lived-in or larger than life? – until he hits the stride of barnburners “Hell No,” “Push Da Button,” and “I’m Here.” This re-imagining is handsomely photographed, poignantly acted and has a stirring finale. Barrino is so good in the final reel that one might wish she was extended more of a showcase early on in the film. This new Purple is recommended for the timeless story, the strength of the ensemble and bursts of greatness that blossom just when you need something beautiful to savor.
Wrapped in the ring-slinging theatrics of the wrestling world in its heyday, Sean Durkin’s biographical sports drama The Iron Claw (B) is ultimately a moving meditation on brotherhood. Chronicling the true story of the Von Erich family wrestlers, all bred to be polite, strong warriors by their domineering father (a fierce performance by Holt McCallany), an ensemble including the very committed troupe of Zac Efron, Jeremy Allen White and Harris Dickinson experiences the highs and lows of the dangerous sport. Efron gets maximum screen time and, aside from his brotherly bonding, is most engaging opposite Lily James as the woman who tries to draw him out of his single-minded shell. The movie never rises to heights of astonishing creativity or breakthrough filmmaking craft, but you will believe in the hard-scrabble tale of this family, and Durkin extracts earned emotional beats out of the brothers’ cursed existence. As the film depicts small-town Texas origins colliding with the hefty machinations of a federation in the making, those who have grown up watching this particular form of glam-macho entertainment will find its story engaging and its happenings nostalgic. Credit Efron in particular for drawing audiences into a tale of hometown boys lured into a larger than life scenario, reminiscent of tragic tales like The Outsiders or Boogie Nights. Even though the actors are ostensibly faking it, you will see their reality clearly.
There’s a lived-in performance at the center of Bradley Cooper’s latest opus about a troubled artist, even if the film’s construction doesn’t capture its subject quite as closely or precisely as the moviemakers would like to think they do. Cooper stars in and directs Maestro (B-), a quasi-biopic about the complicated composer Leonard Bernstein, especially seen through the lens of the heterosexual love of his life and mother of his children, Costa Rican TV actress Felicia Montealegre, played with grace and charm by Carey Mulligan. The film toggles between black and white and color largely to match the chronology of its time periods, with magical monochrome origins giving way to a more murky, rusty “Hollywood in the 70s” aesthetic. The two central actors are superb, but their soapy plot and tragic trajectories don’t reveal much about them as artists. The humanity of how they bond when the stakes are highest makes for some of the most affecting sequences. The film will largely be remembered for the intimacy of several loving conversations and one bombastic sequence of the master musician conducting. Otherwise it’s caught in a kind of middle ground with impressive performances at not much service of a theme.
There’s rampant NIMBY sentiment, a dubious quality of life and hardly an HOA covenant that holds up under scrutiny in the most bizarre suburb depicted on screen since Stepford or Skinamarink. Jonathan Glazer’s sanctimonious historical drama The Zone of Interest (C+) operates under the high-concept conceit of what it was like to be next door to the Auschwitz concentration camp in the height of its horrors. The film is an austere, distanced dissertation on human complicity in an evil enterprise that rarely transcends its largely plot-free existence. The commandant of the concentration camp (Christian Friedel) and his wife (Sandra Hüller) nonchalantly go about their day-to-day life in a house and garden next to the site where mass genocide is taking place. Friedel and Hüller have thankless parts, with Hüller’s real-life Weimaraner dog the only sympathetic creature in the film’s foreground. Inert as it is, the movie is nonetheless gorgeously lensed, and the sound design is incredibly exacting as viewers constantly sense the shrieks and struggles going on outside the fences of the Nazi family’s pristine oasis. It’s unsettling, to be sure, but it doesn’t get any more interesting as the film progresses. There have been many Holocaust films with actual protagonists and various you-are-there techniques, but this is a POV first: depicting the human horrors at a distance with no sequences depicting good and evil interacting in the same frame. The premise of a home sweet home minutes from atrocity succeeds only in activating one’s mind about what’s not on the screen. It’s a noble notion and curious experiment, but it’s a sterile and staid sit.
