Three barely interconnected satirical stories by writer/director Yorgos Lanthemos comprise the misbegotten anthology Kinds of Kindness (D) with the same ensemble of actors rotating through various roles. This trio of contemporary relationship tales unspools in descending appeal, and just as viewers may be throwing up one’s hands exclaiming, “At least it’s not boring,” it actually gets boring too. Jesse Plemons has the most success with droll characters in the first two acts: one man being manipulated by a wily Willem Dafoe and another being confused by one of Emma Stone’s personas. Story number three drags and does no favors to any of its actors. Throughout the film’s considerable run time, there are plenty of costume sight gags and visual shockers involving some daffy locales, but nothing here yields a compelling theme or takeaway. This is an altogether off-putting endeavor made worse by the fact that its intelligent auteur knows better. This simply feels like unfinished sketches, loosely spotlighting obsessive people in absurd situations without proper backstory or context. With little mystery to unravel or universal truths to extract, the film is often plodding and pointless and certainly values style over substance. And slight spoiler: it doesn’t all really connect by the end either.
The tradition of film protagonists who pine for prime time glory has whisked away a portly Baltimore heroine with fabulous flair and hair to break bandstand barriers, a Brighton Beach widow to risk addiction en route to game show gains and a failed comedian to pursue his darkest impulses with a sinister smile on a late night broadcast. The isolated adolescent characters played by Justice Smith and Brigette Lundy-Paine in Jane Shoenbrun’s psychological horror-drama I Saw the TV Glow (B-) dream of escape into a nostalgic supernatural girl power show to fight monsters of the week, but it’s unclear who’s the show-runner and if either is remotely in control of overcoming a series of traumas. Shoenbrun creates a luminous look for this movie, laced with ribbons of lavender haze and mesmerizing low budget creature effects, and a detailed backstory so fully fleshed out, you almost wish the show-within-the-show took center stage. As committed as both leads are to their roles, they bring similar ambivalent energy that doesn’t always fully enliven the pace but offer aching portraits of coming of age in a world of mixed signals. It’s a film full of creative ideas, many more fully rendered than others. A less than satisfactory final act fails to build on some of the most intriguing plot points, but the movie is overall an original with enough intrigue and whimsy to earn this mystery box a recommendation.
The young man who came of age celebrating dead poets gracefully plumbs a tantalizing tortured prose department where a next gen Hawke memorably portrays a legendary artist as a young woman. Ethan Hawke co-writes and directs, and Maya Hawke plays iconoclast author Flannery O’Connor in the soulful conversation-starter Wildcat (A). Dutiful Catholic O’Connor’s short life in mid-century America is marked by an epic struggle between becoming a great writer and loving God sufficiently. The albatross of her perpetual quandary is exacerbated by being an increasingly isolated woman who bucks social norms and whose writing is unabashedly ahead of its time. Her drive to produce fascinating work, her grappling with physical disability and her subsequent return to provincial living are the trio of crucibles undergirding the film’s narrative. Maya Hawke is absolutely captivating in the demanding central performance and projects herself into multiple roles in her stories, so much so it becomes vexing at times to ascertain where reality ends and the fantasy of fiction begins. O’Connor doles out signature prickly quips and delves head-first into a peculiar fascination with confessional stories tracing the fault lines between faith, transgression and salvation amidst the grotesquerie of the American South. Vignettes include unsentimental encounters with terrible men including an ex-con (Levon Hawke), a nomad ne’er-do-well (Steve Zahn) and a conflicted Bible salesman (Cooper Hoffman). The standout supporting turn is by Laura Linney as the writer’s holier-than-thou mother, whose prejudices and pieties clash magnificently with her daughter’s defiant sensibilities. At times Felliniesque with its fantastical interlaced characters, each Baroque in their own way, against the gray and rust tones of the film’s Southern Gothic terrain, Ethan Hawke successfully mind melds his own fascination with life’s mystical mysteries with O’Connor’s catalogue of complexities. The film plays like a page-turning fever dream and is a testament to the ensemble and the central father-daughter talents behind this passion project. Whether you’re steeped in her lore already or the film’s smorgasbord of stories is your gateway drug, there’s loads to learn from this literary patron saint. This is truly a “star is born” cinematic high watermark moment for Maya Hawke who is mesmerizing on screen and particularly effective opposite the likes of Laura Linney, Liam Neeson, Rafael Cassal and Christine Dye. This curiosity-stoking film should prompt stampedes to the local library to unlock the pleasures of the O’Connorverse.
It’s a love triangle with more than a touch of tennis envy as a palace intrigue story of sorts plays out court-side among the agile athletes of Luca Guadagnino’s smart, sassy guilty pleasure romantic drama Challengers (B+). Three characters are front and center in a plot that zig-zags and thirst-traps across nearly a decade and a half as two doubles tennis playing boarding school dudes find their fates as young adults en route to Grand Slam glory intertwined with a sporty force of nature played by Zendaya, who fully occupies her queen bee position in terms of fetching femininity, fitness and fashion. This is a great role for this iconic actress with much communicated in very few words. Josh O’Connor is perfection as the bad boy roustabout opposite Mike Faist’s more serene boon companion, and the chemistry on and off the court between the members of this trio is palpable. Guadagnino wisely casts his film with actors who can believably portray characters across high school, college and twentysomething years and augments the action with a fast-paced techno score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, pulling viewers deeply into a near-hypnotic trance. The twisty three-hander plot devices further reveal themselves with each escalating episode, and the film proves sexy in what it largely leaves to the imagination. This could very well become this generation’s Cruel Intentions or at the very least a double bill with Saltburn for adventurous moviegoers.
The central female of Ned Benson’s romantic fantasy film The GreatestHits (C) gets literally swept back in time to the moment her deceased boyfriend was still alive each time she hears a song, be they memorable tunes by Roxy Music, Beach House or the Tune-Yards or even a terrible ear-worm jingle about donating automobiles to help children. Lucy Boynton, incidentally a kind of dead ringer for Taylor Swift down to the haircut and outfits, isn’t given much to do but brood in the face of her melancholy powers; there’s little hope of transcending the punishing and underwritten character or her convoluted sci-fi trap. David Corenswet gets even less to do as her tragic beau in flashbacks; perhaps the filmmakers are keeping the handsome actor (and future Superman) at a distance so we can cheer the protagonist in moving on with her life. The affable Justin H. Min is appealing as our heroine’s new love interest; he gets to be genuine and goofy, thoughtful and fun, and his sequences with Boynton bring out the best in both. Benson has selected a pleasant if pedestrian visual pallet for the film, and the story similarly lacks spunk or surprise. It feels a little like a commercial for a depression drug, laced with rows of candy-coated vinyl sleeves. The needle drops don’t really take the characters on much of a journey nor do they help justify the titular title. There’s a better movie to be made about the songs punctuating seminal moments in our lives, but this one is destined to simply be played in the background.
Get ready to experience pulp friction of the edgiest order as a mismatched love story collides with a badass crime drama and all-out revenge and cover-up saga in the consistently surprising Love Lies Bleeding (B), directed by Rose Glass. Set in the 1980s, this often unhinged movie chronicles the sexy relationship between a gym manager played by Kristen Stewart and a nomadic bodybuilder portrayed by Katy O’Brian, with a powderkeg or two threatening the serenity of their sapphic world order. Both women are incredible in the roles; their unbridled feral chemistry is a necessary foundation on which the most outlandish episodes can take place. Ed Harris and Dave Franco are also compelling as outrageous and dangerous men; and it’s clear we the audience are settling in for some supernatural splatter when steroids stoke the kindling of the bonfire. After opening sequences ground the story in a very specific world, some of the plot lines admittedly become completely ridiculous. But Glass keeps the story taut and entertaining with a clever eye for detail and noirish nuances. This is a very fun indie walk on the wild side.
A case of a miraculously story told too conventionally, One Life (C), directed by John Hawes, splits its time between 1939 and 1987 with Johnny Flynn and Anthony Hopkins both portraying British humanitarian Nicholas Winton, who helped save hundreds of predominantly Jewish children from the Nazis on the eve of World War II. Hopkins is strong as always, channeling melancholy, but Flynn makes little impression playing what’s supposed to be a meticulous mastermind in the underwritten backstory. The most riveting parts of the plot about how Winton saved the children are only partially dramatized, leaving much of the history safely shared in overly talky sequences. The final act swells with emotion, but the overall film is simply not specific or gripping enough. The triumph of history doesn’t translate to a triumph of a movie.
Note: This screening was part of the 2024 Atlanta Jewish Film Festival. The festival’s theatrical movies run through February 26 with streaming films also available through March 7. Full line-up of offerings can be found here: https://ajff.org
Our heroine thwarts her antagonist in the most unlikely of places, right under his nose and abode, in Louise Archambault’s thrilling and often moving dramatic WWII-era film Irena’s Vow (B). Real-life Roman Catholic nurse Irena Gut, splendidly played by Sophie Nélisse, makes a life-changing decision to be resilient in the face of evil after she witnesses an atrocity in the streets of occupied Poland. Soon she finds herself sheltering and protecting twelve Jewish people during the Holocaust by hiding them in the cellar of the home where she is employed as a housekeeper by Nazi officer Eduard Rügemer (a somewhat thankless role played by Dougray Scott). The dozen refugees hidden below in this upstairs/downstairs scenario are largely secondary in a story that focuses on the suspense of close calls between Irena and Eduard. Polish actors Eliza Rycembel and Filip Kosior are among the supporting standouts, creative while confined. Andrzej Seweryn is wonderful as an ally and Maciej Nawrocki terrifying as an adversary. Archambault continually amps up the tension, allowing the protagonist to demonstrate her cleverness in the face of great danger. Nélisse is impressive and believable in the pivotal titular role. Some of the story’s payoffs play out better than others, but the overall miracle of the rescue of lives will undoubtedly move those who see the film.
Note: This movie was the opening night screening of the 2024 Atlanta Jewish Film Festival with theatrical movies running through February 26 and streaming films through March 7. An encore screening of this feature is scheduled for Wednesday, February 14 at the Tara Theatre. Full line-up of films can be found here: https://ajff.org
As more multiplex audiences get to experience the story of an author exploring his pseudonym in the mainstream hit and Best Picture nominee American Fiction, a Sundance Film Festival entry now at the Out on Film festival, depicts a young British novelist leading a shocking double life in Mikko Mäkelä’s Sebastian (B). Rharidh Mollica plays the indie film’s title aspiring writer who becomes a sex worker to land fascinating stories; and although the actor’s own part is a bit underwritten, his vantage point becomes a gateway to bridging his understanding of several generations of older gay men, with all its fights, frailty and fantasia. The film is very explicit in its bedroom scenes but also rich in honesty and humanity. Sequences opposite the great actor Jonathan Hyde demonstrate why films like this deserve a place in the discourse. Cinematographer Iikka Salminen’s London is one of deep isolation and loneliness, underscoring the austere and clinical viewpoint of its title character. There are also some titillating bits, so get ready. The movie falls into some of the typical traps of auto-fiction and gives scant development to characters such as the protagonist’s friend and colleague played by Hiftu Quasem. Ultimately the film escorts viewers to tender and touching revelations mostly more than skin deep.
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.
