Ratings
Most Recently Rated
Reviews
Ban wo chuang tian ya (1989)
Worth Hunting Down
The partnership of Ringo Lam and Chow Yun-fat has resulted in some brilliant films. Their first collaboration, 'City on Fire,' helped establish Chow as a Bonafide action star, influencing many Western films, notably 'Reservoir Dogs.' Their second, 'Prison on Fire', as well as its later sequel 'Prison on Fire II', kept the box office roaring, while 1992's 'Full Contact' was so blisteringly intense that a 2014 Time Out poll ranked it among the greatest action films ever made.
Their third film, 'Wild Search,' is an electrifying, wildly entertaining ride. A very, very loose remake of Peter Weir's 'Witness', it follows widowed detective Lau Chung-pong, better known, for reasons never quite explained, as Meow-Meow. After a botched raid leaves a young girl orphaned, he finds himself protecting her while forging an uneasy alliance with her aunt Cher. Sparks fly- not just from gunfire, but from unexpected romance. However, with ruthless criminals closing in, sentiment can be as dangerous as a loaded gun.
Screenwriter Yin Nam's narrative is a delicate balancing act. While the film delivers bursts of intense action- expertly staged with Lam's signature grit- it also carves out space for humour, romance and surprising tenderness. The relationship that develops between Meow-Meow and Cher is refreshingly organic, unfolding through shared responsibility rather than forced melodrama.
The trio of Meow-Meow, Cher and Ka Ka, the orphan, anchors the film, their bond growing through small moments- gentle humour, unspoken understanding and the kind of trust that doesn't come easily in a world as unforgiving as theirs. Lam never overplays the sentimentality though, keeping emotions grounded in the characters' lived experiences. This restraint makes their connection all the more affecting, ensuring that when the bullets start flying, the stakes feel personal.
Despite its lighter touches, 'Wild Search' never loses its edge. Lam keeps tension simmering, using the looming threat of violence to remind us that sentimentality can be dangerous in a world where criminals don't hesitate to exploit weakness. This constant push-and-pull between warmth and brutality makes the film richer than a straightforward action thriller, elevating it into something more nuanced.
Visually, it is one of Lam's most striking films. Wai Keung Lau's cinematography embraces a naturalistic aesthetic, capturing both the grittiness of urban crime and the softer, more intimate moments with equal finesse. The film's action sequences, though not as bombastic as those in 'Full Contact' or 'City on Fire', are impeccably choreographed- fluid, impactful and always serving the story rather than overshadowing it. Shootouts crackle with tension, and Lam's skilful blocking ensures that even smaller-scale confrontations feel kinetic and immersive.
Moreover, Tung-Nei Chow's editing keeps things tight and propulsive, balancing clarity in action with breathing room for emotional beats. Chow cuts for impact rather than chaos, ensuring the film never feels bloated or indulgent. In addition, Lowell Lo's moody, atmospheric score enhances both the film's tension and its quieter moments. Avoiding the dramatic swells of typical Hong Kong action films, his music subtly underscores the romance while hinting at the ever-present threat of violence.
Chow Yun-fat, known for his effortless charisma, dials back his usual cocky bravado to play Meow-Meow as a world-weary but compassionate cop, a man whose tough exterior softens as he bonds with Ka Ka and her aunt, played with warmth and depth by his frequent co-star Cherie Chung. She brings quiet strength to the role, making the budding romance with Chow feel natural rather than obligatory. Their chemistry adds an emotional core to the film, giving the quieter scenes as much weight as the shootouts.
Alongside them, Cheuk Yan Chan is fantastic as the young Ka Ka, demonstrating a natural ability and emotional intelligence quite beyond her years. Ku Feng does sterling work as Ka Ka's ornery Grandpa, while Kwong-Leung Wong is similarly good as Meow-Meow's partner Nam. Further, as the villains of the piece, Paul Chun and Roy Cheung ooze menace, bringing a ruthlessness to proceedings that keeps the tension simmering.
In conclusion, Ringo Lam's 'Wild Search' is a marvellous crime flick, expertly balancing romance, comedy and drama. Boasting striking cinematography and a fine score, as well as pulse-pounding action sequences, it fires on all cylinders. Featuring brilliant performances across the board- especially from Chow Yun-fat and Cherie Chung- it is well worth a watch, especially for fans of Hong Kong cinema. In short, 'Wild Search' is worth hunting down.
Haute tension (2003)
The Danger of Unnecessary Twists
Sometimes, a twist can make a good horror all the better. Films like Alfred Hitchcock's 'Psycho,' Bong Joon Ho's 'Parasite' and Park Chan-wook's 'Oldboy' each contain unexpected twists in their respective tales that heightens the impact of their narratives. However, tepid efforts like Joseph Ruben's 'The Forgotten,' Sylvian White's 'I'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer' and many of M. Night Shyamalan's offerings prove that not every story warrants a last-minute curveball. Sometimes, a predictable but well-executed scare is far better than a forced 'gotcha'.
Alexandre Aja's 'Haute Tension' (known in English as 'High Tension,' or by the far better title 'Switchblade Romance') falls into the latter category. It follows Marie and Alex, two friends on a trip through rural France, who are targeted by a vicious serial killer. What begins as a taut, brutal slasher with genuine suspense ultimately stumbles under the weight of a twist that strains both logic and patience.
Written alongside Grégory Levasseur, Aja's film begins as a relentless, nerve-shredding experience, paying clear homage to the brutal, no-frills exploitation horrors of the 1970's. Thriving on stripped-down simplicity, there's little in the way of excess, just pure, unrelenting suspense. The kills are visceral, bloody and executed with a savage intensity that will satisfy even the most hardened horror fans.
For much of its runtime, the film is a masterclass in sustained dread. However, instead of delivering a knockout blow in the final act, Aja stumbles at the finish line. The film's momentum comes to a screeching halt, derailed by a twist so absurd it retroactively undermines everything that came before it. Instead of elevating the horror, it forces one to re-evaluate the entire story- not with shock or awe, but with frustration and disbelief.
When this twist is finally revealed, it feels not only unnecessary but out of place, turning what had been a tense slasher into a convoluted mess betraying its earlier effectiveness. The carefully crafted atmosphere of dread is shattered, leaving viewers questioning the film's logic and whether the horror was ever truly genuine. What had been a terrifying experience collapses under the weight of its own contrivance, and the emotional stakes feel cheapened.
This is only worsened by the fact that the characters themselves are thinly drawn, lacking the depth needed to make their fate feel truly impactful. With little to latch onto beyond the immediate terror of their predicament, the film struggles to sustain emotional investment once its central conceit begins to unravel.
In the end, despite a strong start, 'High Tension' becomes a cautionary tale about the dangers of forcing a twist into a story when there is no need for one. Having said that, it does contain some bloody brilliant scenes of gory grotesquerie. From its opening moments, the film throttles one with scenes of unrelenting brutality. The kills are savage, designed not just to shock, but to immerse you in a Thomas Hobbesian world where life is nasty, brutish and short.
Additionally, it is visually striking, with Maxime Alexandre's stark cinematography contrasting the serene beauty of the French countryside with claustrophobic, blood-soaked interiors. This juxtaposition heightens the unsettling atmosphere, amplifying the film's tension.
Complementing this is François-Eudes Chanfrault's minimalistic and urgent score, mirroring the narrative's escalating terror. His use of songs by the likes of Muse and Ricchi e poveri also creates an ironic contrast, adding a layer of dark humour that deepens the film's dissonance.
Furthermore, the performances are strong, especially that of Cécile de France as Marie. Her ability to shift between fear, determination and terror adds emotional depth to her character, making Marie a (mostly) relatable and sympathetic figure amidst the brutal violence. Her performance anchors the film, grounding the escalating chaos even as the narrative grows increasingly outlandish. She elevates the material, making the most out of Levasseur and Aja's scant characterisation.
Maïwenn isn't given much to do other than scream and cry in the role of Alex- though she does that quite brilliantly. In addition, Philippe Nahon makes for a most menacing and memorable villain, elevating a criminally (and perhaps purposefully) underwritten part.
Ultimately, Alexandre Aja's 'High Tension' is a missed opportunity- a brutal ride sabotaged by its own twist. It bears comparison to Greg McLean's far superior 'Wolf Creek', both following a similar premise of two women being stalked by a serial killer in a rural location. While 'Wolf Creek' excels in its seedy realism, sustained tension and pitch-black humour, Aja's film falters with an unnecessary, convoluted twist that detracts from its terror. In the end, despite good performances, an evocative score and some creative scenes of bloodshed, it is high tension in name only.
The Last Showgirl (2024)
A Bittersweet Beauty
When you think of Las Vegas, an odd assortment of images comes to mind, generally harkening back to another time: classy casinos draped in neon cutting into the night sky, Elvis Presley resplendent and sweaty in a rhinestone jumpsuit, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra smoking and joking on stage. At the heart of all that spectacle, strutting through the haze of old-school glamour, is the showgirl, the stunning, dancing fixture of Vegas that seems to have been around for as long as time itself.
It may be surprising, but the showgirl has actually all but vanished. 'Jubilee!', the last grand revue, closed in 2016 after 35 years at Bally's. Cultural shifts, changing tastes and finances all played a role- audiences now favour superstars like Adele and Garth Brooks over sequined spectacle. When casinos stopped subsidizing productions in the 1980's, producers ditched the risk, paving the way for residencies, Broadway imports and the odd allure of Cirque du Soleil. While showgirls haven't disappeared entirely, the era of grand, glitzy revues has faded, leaving only traces of its former glory.
With the showgirl now a relic of Vegas's past, Gia Coppola's 'The Last Showgirl' steps in to explore what's left of that glittering legacy. Inspired by the closure of 'Jubilee!', the film follows Shelly, a veteran performer in Le Razzle Dazzle, a classic French-style revue. After three decades on stage, her world is upended when the show's closure is announced. Unsure of what comes next, Shelly must navigate an uncertain future while confronting what it truly means to leave the spotlight behind.
It is a touching drama, resonating on multiple levels. Kate Gersten's screenplay deftly examines the waning days of the showgirl era, serving as both a love letter to classic Vegas and a poignant meditation on aging in showbusiness. Much like Coralie Fargeat's 'The Substance'- though far less grotesque- it explores the physical and emotional toll of an industry built on youth and beauty.
At its core, it is a character study, anchored by Shelly's journey from center stage to a foot-note in the wings. Coppola lingers on the quiet moments- empty dressing rooms, fading lights, the weight of sequins that once felt like armour- painting a deeply human portrait. Through Shelly, the film contemplates the inevitable question for any performer whose identity is tied to the stage: when the curtain falls, who are you without the spotlight?
Beyond Shelly's personal reckoning, the film also explores the toll of her choices on those around her, particularly her strained relationship with her daughter. The screenplay excels in these interactions, with sharp, lived-in dialogue that adds depth to both Shelly and the richly drawn supporting cast.
In this way, the film shares DNA with Darren Aronofsky's 'The Wrestler', Bob Fosse's 'All That Jazz', and again, in a less grisly sense, 'The Substance'. It also has striking real-world parallels to the life of star Pamela Anderson, who, like Shelly, once embodied an era's idea of beauty and spectacle, then to see her status dwindle. Anderson's recent return to Broadway in 'Chicago' was a reclamation of her own narrative- proof that reinvention is possible, but never easy.
These intimate character moments are further elevated by the striking cinematography from director of photography Autumn Durald Arkapaw, as well as Natalie Ziering's lush production design. The neon glow of old Vegas flickers like a fading memory, captured in warm, nostalgic hues that contrast with the stark, impersonal corporate sheen of the city's modernity.
Moreover, Jacqueline Getty and Rainy Jacobs's costumes- especially Shelly's extravagant stage attire- serve as both a reminder of past glory and a symbol of the identity she struggles to hold onto. Complementing it all is Andrew Wyatt's evocative score, full of dreamy, melancholic undertones, mirroring Shelly's own emotional highs and lows. Together, these elements don't just recreate the lost world of the Vegas showgirl- they immerse one in it, making the film not just a story of one woman, but an elegy for an entire era.
Yet, without a strong lead, the film could have easily faltered. Pamela Anderson delivers a career-best performance as Shelly, capturing her fragility beneath layers of feathers and rhinestones. As Shelly- a woman who spent decades in the spotlight, now struggling to find her place in the shadows- Anderson is quietly devastating. While her own public persona adds an intriguing meta-layer to the role, it's her vulnerability, grace and effortless authenticity that make Shelly feel so achingly real.
Furthermore, Jamie Lee Curtis does typically fine work as Shelly's friend Anette, a feisty cocktail waitress whose best years are behind her. Brenda Song and Kiernan Shipka bring nuance and depth to their roles as younger showgirls at different crossroads, while Billie Lourd is equally impressive as Shelly's estranged daughter Hannah. Additionally, Dave Bautista brilliantly underplays the role of Shelly's producer Eddie, and Jason Schwartzman makes a delightfully insidious cameo as a seedy casting director.
Much like the fading neon of old Vegas, 'The Last Showgirl' glows with a bittersweet beauty, paying tribute to an era that refuses to be forgotten. With a spectacular Pamela Anderson at its heart, Gia Coppola's film is both elegiac and deeply human, capturing the quiet heartbreak of life beneath the greasepaint. Showgirls may no longer rule the Strip, but if Shelly- and Anderson's luminous performance- prove anything, it's that true stars never really fade. They just find a new way to shine.
Broken Rage (2024)
A Cinematic Rorschach Test
Takeshi Kitano has never played by the rules- unless it's just so he can break them. Ever since his directorial debut 'Violent Cop', he's been defying expectations, twisting genre conventions and reinventing himself with every film. From the melancholic brutality of 'Sonatine' and 'Hana-bi' to the quiet poetry of both 'A Scene at the Sea' and 'Kikujiro', as well as the sharp-edged chaos of his 'Outrage' trilogy, Kitano is a truly unpredictable force in cinema.
'Broken Rage,' his 21st project as director, is as enigmatic and offbeat as the man himself. It is a film of two halves- quite literally. The first half follows stoic hitman Mouse, who becomes embroiled in a plot to bring down a powerful Yakuza family. The second tells the exact same story, except Mouse is now a bumbling, fumbling disaster on legs.
A self-referential piece- much like 'Takeshis'', 'Glory to the Filmmaker' and 'Achilles & The Tortoise'- it playfully satirises the polar opposites of Kitano's career: the deadly serious and the absurdly comedic. The first half, played straight, can also be seen as a parody of Yakuza films, revelling in the clichés of the genre- stoic hitmen, shadowy alliances and betrayals. It's a greatest-hits reel of genre tropes, inviting viewers to laugh at the melodrama we've been conditioned to take seriously.
The film's second half is a frenzied festival of comedic chaos, full of pratfalls, visual gags and the occasional collapse of everything. Mouse's hits devolve into slapstick ballets, and no piece of furniture is safe from the weight of his carriage. Fans of Kitano's wackier works, like 'Getting Any', will feel right at home, though slapstick sceptics may find the humour more hit-and-miss.
However, while intermittently entertaining, the film as a whole doesn't really come together. The first half is too weighed down by the clichés it aims to satirize, while the light-hearted second half- though far more engaging- remains rather uneven. Additionally, some scenes in both halves drag- a shame, as at 62 minutes, it is not a lengthy film by any means.
Having said that, it features some great moments. The first half has some very strikingly shot scenes of assassination, while the second features a brilliantly madcap interrogation scene that is as wild as it is wonderful. There are also intertitles throughout that play as if they were snarky messages from the audience- all of which are negative, and most of which are hilarious. In fact, that running gag may be the film's sharpest.
Additionally, it is well-shot by Takeshi Hamada, who also served as cinematographer on Kitano's 'Kubi.' Here, he largely avoids flashy stylizations, creating a cool, cold world for Mouse to navigate. In the first half, Hamada's stark compositions echo the film's homage to gritty, no-nonsense yakuza dramas, emphasizing the sombre inevitability of violence. In the second half, those same cool, controlled visuals serve as a deadpan counterpoint to the chaotic comedy unfolding on screen. It's a clever juxtaposition, quietly underscoring the absurdity at the film's heart.
Moreover, Shin'ya Kiyozuka's score adds yet another layer, feeling like a playful nod to Kitano's past collaborations with the likes of Joe Hisaishi, Shinichirô Ikebe and Keiichi Suzuki. While Kiyozuka's score maintains its own character, it shares their melodic, atmospheric style- a resemblance that feels intentional. This subtle similarity becomes another layer of self-referential humour, as though Kitano is poking fun at his own legacy, not just through narrative and visuals, but through sound as well. It's another reminder that 'Broken Rage' isn't just a film- it's Kitano reflecting, refracting and laughing at his own career.
Kitano's central performance as Mouse is another standout element. He seamlessly toggles between menacing stoicism and bumbling hilarity, embodying the film's thematic split. It's as though he's parodying his own career, oscillating between the enigmatic auteur and the playful comedian we've come to know. His supporting cast also do fine work, particularly semi-regular collaborators Tadanobu Asano and Nao Ômori.
Although 'Broken Rage' may not reach the heights of Takeshi Kitano's best films, it is entertaining, and showcases his singular vision. Ultimately, it feels less like a cohesive film and more like a cinematic Rorschach test: what you see in it might depend on how you view Kitano himself. Is he a brilliant provocateur, poking fun at his own legacy while delivering a wild ride? Or is he simply indulging in his quirkiest impulses without worrying too much about coherence? Either way, 'Broken Rage' is pure Kitano, and love it or not, there's no one else quite like its director.
Companion (2025)
Sex, Lies & AI
Not so long ago, artificial intelligence was more of a sci-fi punchline than a powerhouse. Robots were clunky, glitch-prone and about as emotionally intelligent as a toaster. They were exceedingly unimpressive, tripping over their own circuits, while repeating themselves like broken records. They gave us a glimpse of a future that always seemed just out of reach- while reassuring us that the robot uprising was at least a few centuries away.
Then, seemingly overnight, AI levelled up. Gone are the days of mechanical goofballs- today's AI can chat, create and even mimic human emotions with eerie precision. It's evolving at a pace that makes Moore's Law look sluggish. What once felt like the distant future is now at our doorstep, knocking- perhaps a little too confidently.
Once, this was the stuff of sci-fi horror. Now, it's a frightening reality. Drew Hancock's darkly comic 'Companion' taps into these anxieties, spinning them into a nightmare that might be closer than we think. It centres on Iris and her boyfriend Josh, who are spending a weekend getaway with some of his friends at the home of a Russian billionaire. Soon, events take a dark, unexpected turn; and none of their lives will ever be the same again.
It must be said upfront that the film suffers from one of the most spoiler-heavy trailers in recent memory. Much like the ones for 2024's 'Abigail,' it divulges far too much of the plot, undercutting moments that would have otherwise been shocking. Again and again throughout the film, scenes meant to be surprising lose their edge when you already know what's coming. While 'Companion' still manages to build tension in other ways, one can't help but wonder how much more effective it would have been had the marketing held back.
It is a shame, as, despite that, the film is suspenseful and entertaining. A little like the cinematic love-child of 'The Stepford Wives' and Spike Jonze's 'Her,' it is a delightfully dark trip from start to finish. Hancock has a good ear for dialogue, and his central two characters are believable creations. In addition, interesting themes are explored, such as empowerment, the complexities of relationships and the blurred line between technological convenience and human dependence.
The film explores how people seek connection, the ways in which technology fills emotional voids and the unsettling possibility that, at some point, we may no longer be able to distinguish between real intimacy and artificial affection. It also examines the ways in which AI, designed to serve and assist, can just as easily manipulate, control or replace human agency entirely. The film raises questions about autonomy- how much control we truly have over our own lives when technology becomes deeply ingrained in our daily existence.
At its core, however, the film is a story of female empowerment. The film follows Iris, a woman navigating oppressive dynamics, whether they be in her relationship with Josh or within a broader system seeking to control her. Hancock's narrative explores the idea of breaking free- not just from AI-driven manipulation, but from toxic relationships that strip women of their independence. Iris- as well as Kat, the other female character- is not just a victim of circumstance; they are active participants in reclaiming their agency, making choices that challenge the forces trying to confine them.
Yet, while the film is thematically rich and often gripping, it isn't without its flaws. Beyond the aforementioned issues with the trailers, the film isn't exactly unpredictable. Even without prior knowledge of the plot, many of its twists feel telegraphed, especially for seasoned genre fans. Additionally, some secondary characters come across as caricatures rather than fully realized individuals, which lessens the emotional impact of their fates. Given the strength of its themes, a little more narrative unpredictability and character depth could have elevated 'Companion' even further.
Visually, the film is just as striking as it is thematically compelling, boasting a sleek, polished aesthetic mirroring its exploration of technology's grip on human lives. Eli Born's cinematography plays a crucial role in establishing mood and tension, with sharp, precise framing often isolating characters, reinforcing themes of control and surveillance. The lighting choices are equally effective, contrasting cold, artificial tones with warmer, more natural hues to reflect the struggle between human connection and technological dominance.
Moreover, Scott Kuzio's production design further amplifies the film's themes, with sleek, minimalist interiors feeling both luxurious and unnervingly sterile- environments that seem designed more for observation than comfort. In addition, Brett W. Bachman and Josh Ethier's editing is tight and purposeful, maintaining a brisk pace while allowing tension to simmer in quieter moments. Complementing all of this is the score from Hrishikesh Hirway, which pulses with an eerie, electronic undercurrent of unease. He also makes great use of songs from the likes of Labi Siffre and The Turtles, among others.
At the heart of the film is a standout performance from the lead, Sophie Thatcher, as Iris. She brings a palpable sense of vulnerability and strength to the role, capturing Iris's internal conflict as she navigates the oppressive forces in both her relationship and the world around her. There's an authenticity to her portrayal of a woman slowly realizing her power- her nuanced performance elevates the emotional stakes, especially in scenes where Iris battles between autonomy and submission.
Jack Quaid is similarly good as Josh, playing a character whose outward "nice guy" persona may hide more complex and troubling layers. Quaid subtly explores the tension between Josh's surface-level charm and the insecurity and control he struggles to conceal. Lukas Gage and Megan Suri both do strong work as Patrick and Kat, two of Josh's friends, even if their characters lack depth. Furthermore, Rupert Friend is terrific as Sergey, the Russian billionaire, clearly having a ball with the material and character.
In conclusion, Drew Hancock's 'Companion' is an entertaining, if not particularly unpredictable, dark-comedy. Although it might want for unexpected moments, and some of the secondary characters lack depth, Hancock's narrative is engaging, and his exploration of the themes therein are compelling. Boasting fine cinematography, as well as a stirring score and terrific performances- especially those of Sophie Thatcher, Jack Quaid and Rupert Friend- 'Companion' is a timely reminder that, while we may fear AI, it's really humans we should watch out for.
Ôdishon (1999)
A Masterpiece of the Macabre
There is no one quite like Takashi Miike. His films drag you kicking and screaming into the bowels of the subconscious, wading through the darkest recesses of the mind to a place where sanity fears to tread. Unsettlingly unique, with a twisted sense of humour that often feels like it's laughing in your face, Miike's vision is as disturbing as it is unforgettable. Over the years, his films- from 'Visitor Q' and 'Gozu' to 'As the Gods Will'- have defied genre conventions, electrifying audiences with their marvellous madness.
Miike's penchant for defying expectation reaches its peak with 'Audition,' a film that lulls you into a false sense of comfort before pulling the rug out from under you. What begins as a seemingly innocent tale of romance and second chances morphs into a terrifying exploration of obsession, manipulation and the dark side of human desire. Here Miike's mastery of suspense and psychological horror truly comes to the fore, leaving one both mesmerized and petrified.
Based on a Ryû Murakami novel, and with a screenplay by Daisuke Tengan, it follows Shigeharu Aoyama, a widower whose friend suggests a peculiar way to help him find a new wife: by holding auditions for a role in a fictional television series. The women who try out are unaware of the true purpose behind the casting call. Shigeharu eventually chooses the soft-spoken Asami Yamazaki, setting in motion a twisted game of deception and violence that will inevitably lead to disaster.
At its core, the film is a masterclass on how to slowly unravel a narrative, building tension and suspense without relying on conventional horror tropes. Miike takes his time, establishing Shigeharu's loneliness and sincere longing for companionship. The film lures the audience into a false sense of security, mirroring Shigeharu's delusions around his search for love. While hiding the darker reality beneath the surface as the story progresses, the sense of dread becomes palpable, shifting from subtle unease to outright terror.
'Audition' also explores the complex themes of desire, control and the power dynamics at play in relationships, especially those rooted in objectification and manipulation. Shigeharu's superficial approach to finding a partner- viewing his auditionee wives as interchangeable- serves as a critique of the commodification of intimacy. Asami, on the other hand, embodies a darker form of agency, using her past trauma and quiet demeanour to manipulate, ultimately controlling the narrative. Their twisted dance of dominance and submission drives the film towards its nightmarish climax.
On a deeper level, the film also functions as a profound meditation on the complex psychological dynamics between its central characters. Shigeharu, driven by grief and loneliness, initially approaches his search for a wife with the same detached objectivity as a casting director. His blind desire for companionship renders him complicit in the very horrors he unknowingly sets in motion.
Asami, in contrast, exemplifies a darker form of agency. Having internalized her trauma, she uses it as a means of control. Her silence and reserve are deceptive, masking a raging inner world. She is all too ready to manipulate Shigeharu, ultimately shaping their shared fate. The film suggests that the consequences of human desire are not just about the object of that desire but the desperate lengths one may go to, to satisfy it.
Miike also taps into the cultural undercurrent of late 1990's Japan, where traditional views on marriage and the commodification of women were being questioned in the face of modernization. This social context adds an extra layer of critique, positioning Shigeharu's objectification of the women he auditions as a reflection of broader societal attitudes toward relationships, intimacy and gender roles. The film's eerie depiction of marriage as a transaction- rather than a partnership based on mutual respect- resonates with these cultural critiques, making 'Audition' a chilling commentary on the commodification of love itself.
The film's atmosphere is one of its most potent weapons. Miike expertly shifts from serene, almost ordinary moments to escalating chaos, often without warning. The tension between the mundanity of Shigeharu's life- his attempts to fill the void left by his wife and the horrific events brewing beneath the surface- keeps the audience constantly on edge. The film's deliberate pace allows dread to build as we slowly uncover the dark realities of both Shigeharu's search for companionship and Asami's tortured past. This slow burn makes the eventual explosion of violence all the more shocking and impactful.
Alongside cinematographer Hideo Yamamoto, Miike's use of sound and visual style is crucial in creating the film's suffocating atmosphere. The muted colours and empty spaces of the early scenes are contrasted by the sudden, jarring violence that erupts later, making each disturbing moment all the more visceral. Moreover, Kôji Endô's haunting, unsettling score and the quiet, eerie silences contribute to a pervasive feeling of unease. Miike's decision to focus on small, often uncomfortable details- a close-up of a hand, a long, lingering shot of a man in a wheelchair- forces one to become complicit in the horror, deepening the nightmare.
Ryo Ishibashi stars as Shigeharu, opposite Eihi Shiina's Asami. Ishibashi gives a nuanced performance, subtly embodying the character's growing desperation and vulnerability. His portrayal of a man who, while seeking genuine companionship, remains oblivious to the dark forces at play, draws one in, making his eventual fate all the more chilling. Ishibashi's ability to shift from a seemingly benign, fatherly figure to a man trapped in his own naïve desires heightens the emotional stakes of the film.
Shiina, meanwhile, delivers a hauntingly quiet, yet intensely unsettling performance. With minimal dialogue, she conveys a wealth of emotion through her eyes and body language, imbuing Asami with an air of mystery and quiet menace. Her transformation from a seemingly delicate, almost fragile woman to a vengeful force of nature is chilling. Shiina's performance is key to the film's eerie atmosphere, capturing the tension simmering beneath the surface until it erupts into full-blown terror. In addition, the supporting cast do routinely strong work, notably Jun Kunimura and Renji Ishibashi as Shigeharu's friend and a wheel-chair bound creep, respectfully.
Comparing it to other psychological thrillers of its time, such as David Fincher's 'Seven', Miike's film stands out for its unflinching commitment to horror transcending mere shock value. Unlike other films relying on conventional narrative arcs, 'Audition' takes its time unravelling the tension, making its violent payoff all the more harrowing. It remains one of the most unique, unnerving psychological thrillers of its era, cementing Miike's legacy as a director who not only defies genre conventions but also reshapes them, with a pickaxe to the head.
In conclusion, Takashi Miike's 'Audition' is a masterpiece of the macabre. Well-written and strikingly shot, it draws you into a nightmare where escape seems impossible. Hard to forget, the performances- especially Eihi Shiina's as Asami- are remarkable. Miike doesn't just push the boundaries of horror; he shatters them, leaving behind a film that is as unforgettable as it is unsettling. 'Audition' stands as a testament to his unrelenting creativity, proving that horror can be both terrifying and thought-provoking- an experience that lingers long after the credits roll.
Presence (2024)
Doesn't Leave An Impression
Throughout his career, Steven Soderbergh has dabbled in many different genres, to varying degrees of success. Take a glance at his filmography, and you'll see thrillers, dramas, comedies- an eclectic mixture of movies. From the tantalizing intrigue of 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape,' to the silly hijinks of the 'Ocean's Eleven' movies and the brilliant biopic 'Behind the Candelabra,' Soderbergh refuses to be pigeonholed. Although sometimes he faulters- 'Full Frontal' didn't really work and 'The Laundromat' was exceedingly underwhelming- generally his films are worth a watch.
His newest, 'Presence,' is not. Billed as a psychological horror, the film follows the Payne family's move to a new home. From the outset, there are cracks in their individual relationships, which become heightened when the daughter, Chloe, starts feeling a presence within the building. Is the mysterious entity a mischievous ghost, is Chloe suffering from some kind of mental illness, or is something completely different afoot?
David Koepp wrote the screenplay, and, in fairness, he eschews many of the traditional tropes found within haunted house flicks. However, he also avoids anything remotely thrilling, profound or engaging. It is less horror and more teen drama, and a slow-moving one at that, with caricatures instead of characters as well as dialogue that sounds like bad improv. Further, proceedings come to a halt so abruptly it makes one feel that he lost the pages for his original ending, deciding to make one up on the spot.
As an aside, there is a serious problem regarding the film's marketing. Watch the trailers, and you see ads for a horror movie. You are promised it will "terrify" and is "frightening." You are not told it is about as frightening as a tortoise chasing a snail, and somehow not as fast-paced. The trailers are deliberately misleading, which can only lead to disappointment. (Anecdotally, during the screening this reviewer attended, two people walked out after the first twenty-five minutes, while a young woman loudly denounced Soderbergh for lying during the end credits, claiming she was more scared when she looked in a mirror).
The film does not deliver what it said on the tin. It is a melodrama, essentially, with a ghost thrown in for a bit of flavour. Despite that, there are some interesting moments and canny observations. The portrayal of the mother's complex relationships with her two children rings true, capturing the nuances of family dynamics with authenticity. Similarly, her strained interactions with the father provide a poignant look into the cracks that form in a marriage under pressure.
In addition, Soderbergh's cinematography is striking. Each scene is captured in a single, unbroken take, immersing the audience in a continuous flow of tension and unease. This technique cleverly blurs the line between observer and participant, making the audience feel as if they themselves are the Presence, silently witnessing the unravelling of the Payne family's life like some kind of ghostly voyeur.
However, the scene transitions are jarring, each capped off with a cut to black that feels like the work of a film-student who hasn't got the hang of editing. This feels disjointed and less polished than one would expect from a director of Soderburgh's calibre. In addition, the pacing is laboriously slow, meaning the film suffers from a dearth of momentum or drive. At 84 minutes, it is a short film; Soderberg's editing makes it drag.
Conversely, April Lasky's minimalist production design deserves mention. She and her team have meticulously crafted the Payne family's new home to be both inviting and subtly disquieting. The house itself feels lived-in, cluttered bedrooms full of personal touches giving it an air of authenticity. Imogen Lee's set decoration, from the furniture to the family photos on the walls, helps ground the story in a palpable reality. Furthermore, Zack Ryan's muted score is quite brilliant, subtly creating an eerie sense of dread (that Koepp's narrative sorely lacks) drifting throughout the film like a malign wind.
Moreover, Lucy Liu delivers a compelling portrayal of the mother, grappling with her strained relationships and the growing tension within the family. Her nuanced performance captures the emotional turmoil and complexity of her character, bringing an authenticity that grounds the story amidst the supernatural elements. Chris Sullivan is similarly strong as the father, bringing to life his insecurities with ease. He creates a character that feels well-rounded, despite Koepp's limited characterisation.
On the other hand, as Chloe, Callina Liang comes across as a bit wooden, lacking the emotional range to fully engage the audience. Although by no means terrible, Liang's overall performance feels flat and she fails to elevate the character into someone compelling. Eddy Maday's work as her brother is similarly unexceptional. Further, West Mulholland is insidiously smug and one-note as Ryan, an acquaintance of Chloe's. He isn't given much of a chance, though, lumbered with the most awkward lines in the film; which he recites unconvincingly, as if he were in a bad school-play he didn't fully understand.
In conclusion, Steven Soderbergh's 'Presence' is far away from his best work. Although there are some notable elements, such as striking cinematography and strong performances from Lucy Liu and Chris Sullivan, the film ultimately fails to deliver on its promise of psychological horror. David Koepp's screenplay lacks both thrills and depth, resulting in a slow-moving teen melodrama with caricatures instead of compelling characters. In short, despite a few praise-worthy elements, 'Presence' doesn't leave much of an impression.
Ace in the Hole (1951)
An Extravaganza of Exploitation
Unequivocally, Billy Wilder is one of the best writer-directors ever. His films not only entertained audiences but also provided incisive social commentary, as well as profound character studies. Known for his sharp wit, clever dialogue and ability to seamlessly traverse genres, he left an indelible mark on cinema. From 'Double Indemnity' and 'Sunset Boulevard', to 'Stalag 17', Wilder crafted stories that were both engaging and thought-provoking.
'Ace in the Hole' may be one of his best. A satirical noir, it follows journalist Charles Tatum, a jaded reporter with a tarnished career who lands a job at a small New Mexico newspaper. When he stumbles upon Leo, a man trapped in a cave while searching for Native American treasures, Tatum seizes the chance to revive his career by turning the rescue effort into a media circus. As Leo's situation becomes increasingly dire, the film explores themes of media sensationalism, ethical compromise and the human cost of ambition.
It is a seedy, beautifully written film, resonating on multiple levels. Wilder's screenplay- written alongside Lesser Samuels and Walter Newman- captures the essence of opportunism and moral decay in the face of disaster. Their narrative's stark portrayal of human frailty and the ethical compromises made for personal gain creates a gripping narrative that holds a mirror to society's darker inclinations. The characters are meticulously crafted, each representing a facet of moral ambiguity and the lengths people will go to in order to seize their moment of glory.
The protagonist, Tatum, is a complex anti-hero whose cynicism and ambition drive the story. His moral descent and eventual realization of his own corruption are emblematic of the film noir tradition. Meanwhile, Leo Minosa, the trapped man, is the innocent victim caught in the crossfire of media exploitation, his deteriorating condition highlighting the human cost of sensationalism.
Lorraine, Leo's wife, is opportunistically self-serving, her relationship with Tatum further emphasizing the film's theme of moral ambiguity. Moreover, the corrupt local sheriff, seeking re-election, becomes complicit in Tatum's schemes, illustrating the intersection of media manipulation and political ambition. Throughout, he plays with a rattlesnake in a box, teasing it, feeding it; keeping it alive for his own ends, like Tatum keeps Leo trapped in the cave.
Practically everyone in the picture seeks to gain by exploiting the trapped man's predicament. The film can thus be seen as a commentary on the commodification of tragedy, showcasing how jackals and vultures benefit from others' suffering. Moreover, the public's reaction to the cave-in is akin to attending a travelling carnival, satirizing the international obsession with real-life drama.
The area surrounding the cave literally becomes a circus, with Ferris-wheels turning and musicians singing, as Leo wastes away under the rubble. It is a spectacle of populist exploitation. In a modern context, mirroring our fascination with reality TV and docuseries. The reaction to Leo's plight in Wilder's film parallels the public's response to Netflix series like 'Making A Murderer' or 'Tiger King'. Whereas nowadays one can buy Joe Exotic t-shirts and tote-bags, in Leo's case one gathers outside his tomb with a hamburger and a coffee, like a scavenger awaiting scraps of carrion; awash in a voyeuristic frenzy, delighting in the extravaganza of someone else's despair.
Moreover, the dialogue is filled with deliciously pulpy lines like "I don't go to Church. Kneeling bags my nylons," crackling with noiresque cynicism. This sharp, biting wit is a hallmark of film noir, and the screenplay is peppered with memorable lines, reflecting the characters' jaded worldviews. The dialogue not only serves to entertain but also deepens Wilder's characterization, while enhancing the satirical tone.
On the technical front, Charles Lang's artful cinematography makes efficacious use of stark, high-contrasting lighting, while his utilization of shadows and confined spaces heightens the film's tension. He generates a palpable sense of entrapment through his dynamic camera movements and tight framing, conveying the claustrophobic atmosphere within the cave. This is juxtaposed with the bustling chaos of the circus above ground, creating a powerful contrast and enhancing the overall impact of the film. Lang's cinematography not only compounds the visual appeal of the film but also reinforces its thematic depth and emotional resonance.
In addition, Hugo Friedhofer's score heightens the dramatic tension, underscoring the emotional beats of the narrative. Ambient sounds of the carnival and the increasingly frantic rescue efforts add to the immersive experience, while highlighting the absurdity of the situation. Further, the set decoration and production design are meticulously detailed, grounding the narrative in a palpable reality.
Moreover, Edith Head's costume design plays a crucial role in defining the characters and their motivations. Tatum's routinely dishevelled appearance reflects his moral decay, while Lorraine's flashy, attention-seeking outfits symbolize her opportunistic nature. The sheriff's uniform exudes a false sense of integrity, masking his complicity in the exploitation of the tragedy. These visual details contribute to the film's overall critique of the human cost of ambition and media sensationalism.
Kirk Douglas stars as Tatum, delivering a powerful performance that ranks alongside his very best. Intense and charismatic, he perfectly captures Tatum's ambition and moral decline. Reminiscent of his frequent co-star Burt Lancaster's stellar performance as the eponymous 'Elmer Gantry': Douglas is unsettlingly captivating. His nuanced work ensures that Tatum remains a compelling, albeit deeply flawed, protagonist.
Jan Sterling is similarly good as the femme fatal Lorraine, a gusty broad with dreams of dollars. Sterling brings a blend of opportunism and vulnerability to the role, captivating Lorraine's survivalist instincts with aplomb. Her interactions with Douglas's Tatum are charged with tension and chemistry, highlighting the moral ambiguity and motivations of both characters.
In addition, Robert Arthur brings a believable naivety to the role of Cook, Tatum's accomplice. Ray Teal, as the corrupt Sheriff, captures the essence of a man willing to compromise his ethics for political gain, while Porter Hall does fine work as Tatum's editor, whose morality contrasts sharply with his subordinate's reckless ambition. All the rest- from Richard Benedict as Leo to Frank Cady as visitor to the site of despair- cannot be faulted.
In conclusion, 'Ace in the Hole' stands as one of Billy Wilder's most incisive works. Its biting satire and noir sensibilities offer a scathing critique of media sensationalism and the moral compromises made in the pursuit of fame and fortune. The film's expertly crafted narrative, coupled with strong performances, sharp dialogue and technical prowess, make it a compelling piece of cinema. In short, 'Ace in the Hole' is a winning hand.
Lake George (2024)
Smooth Sailing
Ever since his big screen debut in Joel Schumacher's 'Tigerland,' Shea Whigham has been a compelling force. Consistently reliable, he has delivered nuanced performances in everything, from Goran Dukic's 'Wristcutters: A Love Story' to the TV shows 'Boardwalk Empire' and 'Gaslit'. Ever versatile and understated, Whigham brings a captivating authenticity to his roles, always seeming perfectly cast.
That proves to be the case once more in Jeffrey Reiner's 'Lake George.' A comic crime drama, it follows Don, an ex-con. In debt to a gangster, he is hired to kill Phyllis, an ex-employee of the thug. Don reluctantly takes the job, though the savvy Phyllis proves to be more than she seems. She and Don team up, and as they navigate the sun-drenched streets of California, they dodge danger, scheming their way through tricky situations, as they develop an unexpected bond.
Akin to a Coen Brother film or an Elmore Leonard adaptation, it's a fantastic neo-noir, brimming with dark comedy. The narrative unfolds with a blend of wit and grit, with a careful balance of tension and humour. As Don and Phyllis hit the road, one is treated to a taut caper, full of strong dialogue and engaging moments. Reiner's characterisation is deft; every personality is well-rounded. Tense and darkly funny, the film is compelling from start to finish.
Moreover, beneath the surface lies a poignant exploration of redemption and human connection. Don and Phyllis, despite their criminal inclinations, find themselves reflecting on their pasts and questioning their futures in a world that's seemingly set against them. It's this emotional depth, woven seamlessly into the narrative, that elevates the film beyond its premise.
Reiner avoids the usual tropes found in films like this, subverting our expectations. Don is a sensitive soul, who wants nothing more than to get to the eponymous lake and rest. He isn't a stoic gunman, walking with steely determination like Lee Marvin in 'Point Blank.' He's an uncertain chap, struggling with an existential crisis- not exactly your usual main character in a neo-noir. He's a refreshingly atypical protagonist, who is hard not to root for.
In addition, Phyllis isn't just your usual smart-mouthed moll going along for the ride. She's clever, witty and resilient and will do whatever it takes to survive. Her relationship with Don is complex and layered, evolving from mere convenience to a genuine bond forged by their shared struggles. This evolving dynamic adds an emotional resonance, making their journey not just a thrilling romp, but also an exploration of trust and redemption.
One minor drawback is the third act, which feels slightly rote. As the narrative edges toward its conclusion, the film leans on familiar neo-noir beats, such as a predictable final confrontation, that is less inventive and unexpected than previous acts. However, even as it trades some of its earlier unpredictability for convention, the characters' arcs still land with a satisfying resonance, making the climax a powerful moment.
Furthermore, Tod Campbell's vibrant cinematography is striking, enhancing the film's tone and atmosphere. From the busy streets of L. A. to the serene landscapes approaching Lake George, every shot is meticulously crafted. Campbell captures the contrast between the chaos of urban life and the calm, almost dream-like quality of the destination Don yearns for. This visual storytelling not only enriches the narrative but also adds depth.
In addition, Stuart Blatt's production design heightens the film's immersive effect and noiresque qualities. Moreover, Rene G. Boscio's evocative score complements the visual storytelling, underscoring the tension and humour throughout. Brian Beal's editing is also a key factor, establishing a steady pace that never lets up.
Having said that, the film could have easily failed were it not for its two stars, Shea Whigham and Carrie Coon. Whigham delivers a layered performance, showcasing a man torn between his past and his desire for a peaceful future. He makes the fragile Don a compelling character, imbuing him with a sense of vulnerability that is both touching and relatable. Grounded and believable, Whigham is terrific.
Coon is similarly good, blending sharp intelligence with resilience and depth. Her Phyllis is not one to be fooled, and Coon brings a fierce determination to the role that is captivating to watch. She masterfully balances Phyllis's toughness with moments of vulnerability, creating a complex and multi-dimensional character. Her and Whigham's palpable chemistry ensures the film is a smooth ride from start to finish. Meanwhile, all in the supporting cast- particularly Max Castella as one of the gangster's henchmen- deliver strong performances.
With 'Lake George,' Jeffrey Reiner has made a gripping, darkly funny crime flick that is sure to please. Boasting striking cinematography and a stirring score, it works on multiple levels. Reiner reworks the archetypes of noir storytelling- offering a 'hitman and moll' dynamic that defies cliché. His narrative is engaging and the characters within compelling. Stars Shea Whigham and Carrie Coon are both brilliant, while their supporting cast don't let them down. In short, the clever crime caper 'Lake George' makes waves and sails smoothly.
A Complete Unknown (2024)
A Caricature of the Artist as a Young Man
Bob Dylan is one of the most well-known singer-songwriters in history. Ever since the release of his second album 'The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan' in 1963, he has been a household name. His influence is undeniable- whether one appreciates his music or not. Reflecting the hopes, struggles and aspirations of the times he helped to change, his songs struck a chord with the youth of the 1960's, becoming anthems for the civil rights movement and anti-war protests.
Throughout his career, Dylan continually reinvented himself, transitioning controversially from folk to rock (and even later to gospel). His ever-evolving music stylings have both delighted and bewildered fans, showcasing his refusal to be confined to a single genre. Yet, despite his fame, Dylan has remained an elusive, enigmatic figure; a man whom the world can admire but never really understand. In 2016, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, underscoring the profound impact of his songwriting.
In 2015, Elijah Wald's book 'Dylan Goes Electric' was released, exploring the cultural, political and historical context behind Dylan's appearance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965. Taking to the stage with an electric guitar, his appearance shocked the audience- and altered musical history forever. A finely written, well-researched book, it is a must-read for anyone interested in Bob Dylan, or even those who are not.
Sadly, the film adaptation of said book is not a must-watch. Directed by James Mangold, 'A Complete Unknown' charts Dylan's early years and rise to fame. Beginning in 1961, it follows the young musician as he arrives in New York City, immersing himself in the Greenwich Village folk scene. People think he is a genius; the next great hope for folk music. Time goes by and, as he evolves musically, those around him start to wonder: just who is Bob Dylan?
It's a fascinating question, as the man truly is an enigma. Mangold, alongside screenwriter Jay Cocks, can't, and don't, answer it. Dylan has been mythologised as long as he's been around, and the film does very little to demystify him. Unlike Todd Haynes strange, but engaging 'I'm Not There,' Mangold's film bills itself as a biographical drama, meaning- despite the title- one could reasonably expect to learn something from it. However, one learns nothing about Dylan that any stoned ex-hippie couldn't tell you with more clarity, insight and assurance.
Further, Mangold and Cocks have written the narrative from behind rose-tinted glasses, seeming hesitant to criticise Dylan- or even portray him as a mere mortal. They treat him with such deference it seems like they're canvassers trying to get the man a sainthood. When they do dare to include some criticism, it's trivial stuff that amounts to little more than him being an arrogant egotist. Biopics are rarely unbiased when it comes to their subject; but Mangold and Cocks don't even pretend to be.
Worse than that is how dull their version of Dylan is. It's hard to imagine that the exceedingly aloof character presented in the film could ever amount to- or care about- anything. He's so apathetic he might as well be dead. This means the supposed effect he's meant to have on people doesn't ring true. What is the allure he holds? He's boring when he isn't rude, and is both most of the time: the equivalent of a moody teenager, desperately wanting the world to think they're deep.
Love him or hate him, Dylan is a lot more interesting than the hollow, lifeless representation the film offers, as is his life story. The linear narrative is as dull as dishwater, with a pace so laboriously slow it would irritate a sloth. There really isn't much to the story; it is more akin to a lengthy succession of music videos than a fully-fledged biopic. Meanwhile, all the characters are little more than cardboard cut-outs, lacking characterisation and depth. Moreover, the dialogue throughout is so pretentious it would make Niles from 'Frasier' scoff.
The whole affair is paint-by-numbers filmmaking, resulting in a conventional, bland biopic underserving the icon at its centre. The narrative is frustratingly mediocre at best and, at worst, so mind-numbingly dull it would make you want to go knockin' on heavens' door. Mangold appears to think that by calling the film 'A Complete Unknown,' he can get away with not revealing anything of substance and audiences will accept it- which, going by its overwhelmingly positive response so far, many do.
Conversely, François Audouy's atmospheric production design is commendable. From the streets of New York City, to the Newport Folk Festival, every location looks accurate to the time period of the early sixties. The detailed set decoration compounds this sense of authenticity, bringing to life the small but bustling nightclubs and artsy apartments that populate Dylan's world. In addition, while Phedon Papamichael's cinematography may be a bit conventional, it does contribute to the realism of the venture. So too does Arianne Phillips' striking costume design, meticulously recreating the era's fashion.
Furthermore, the soundtrack, featuring Dylan's iconic songs performed by Timothée Chalamet, is a high point, although proceedings sometimes feel more like a tribute concert than a biographical drama. Moreover, Andrew Buckland and Scott Morris's editing, while competent, struggles to maintain a cohesive flow, particularly during the transitions between Dylan's different phases.
Starring as Dylan, Chalamet does a stellar job mimicking his unique singing voice. It subtly changes throughout, the way Dylan's changed from record to record. He also plays the guitar and harmonica more than capably. However, in the face of Mangold and Cocks's one-note characterisation, there's nothing he can do with the role. As written, Dylan is nothing more than a charmless narcissist; which is how Chalamet plays it. He may do a brilliant Dylan impersonation, but it's still just that: an impersonation. Chalamet fails to elevate the character into a fully fleshed-out person.
Elle Fanning stars as Dylan's on-again, off-again girlfriend Sylvie. Apparently based on his real-life former flame, artist and activist Suze Rotolo, Fanning brings an emotional intelligence and vulnerability to the part that is most affecting. Meanwhile, Edward Norton is thoughtful and measured as the ever-warm Pete Seeger, playing him like a banjo-wielding Mister Rogers. Instantly likable, he shines, overcoming the limited characterisation of the role.
Monica Barbaro does similarly fine work as Joan Baez. Not only does she sound quite like her, but she shares her allure. Barbaro also succeeds where Chalamet fails, in that she makes Baez feel like a real person- and a charismatic one, too. In addition, Boyd Holbrook nearly steals the show as Johnny Cash, even if he doesn't really look or sound like him, while Scoot McNairy gives a remarkably powerful silent performance as an ailing Woody Guthrie.
In conclusion, James Mangold's 'A Complete Unknown' is like a bad photograph of a shadow: the subject may be inherently elusive, but the quality of its portrayal should still be better. It is clearly Oscar bait, trading on the love for its subject matter in an attempt to win critical and commercial success- which it has largely been successful at doing. Unlike his previous 'Walk the Line,' which was a lot more accomplished and assured, Mangold's film doesn't explore the character at its heart in enough depth to truly make a mark or add anything of note to the discourse surrounding Dylan.
Despite striking production design, as well as fine performances, the film is underwhelming. Mangold and Cocks's dull narrative and the overly reverential approach to their subject results in a film that is decidedly uninspired. Although the music is rousing, the Bob Dylan biopic 'A Complete Unknown' is ultimately little more than a shallow caricature of the artist as a young man.
O.C.D. (Obsessor Coercio Deus) (2024)
Compulsively Compelling
For people suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder, life can be hellish. The affliction leaves individuals crippled by anxiety and the unyielding need to perform rituals. These rituals, meant to ward off perceived threats, dominate daily life, making even simple tasks insurmountable. This relentless cycle of obsession and compulsion causes significant distress, creating an overwhelming sense that failure to complete these rituals will lead to catastrophic consequences, as if the world itself is about to end.
In Luca Pizzoleo's short film 'O. C. D. (Obsessor Coercio Deus),' this torment is brought to life through the story of Owen, a neurotic delivery driver plagued by severe O. C. D. While in a convenience store, on the phone to his girlfriend, his compulsions escalate, manifesting themselves in the form of a menacing man known as The Agent. As the situation spirals out of control, Owen feels that his whole life is falling apart, and that everything is on the line.
It is a tense descent into a compulsive mind. Pizzoleo's screenplay, written alongside Conor Patrick Walsh, paints a frightening portrait of one afflicted by O. C. D. Owen literally feels as if the world around him is ending, and this sense of impending doom permeates every scene. The narrative cleverly intertwines Owen's internal battles with external events, seamlessly melding fantasy and reality.
Proceedings boast a claustrophobic atmosphere, mirroring Owen's trapped mind, heightening the tension as his compulsions escalate. The Agent, as a manifestation of Owen's anxiety, serves as a constant, oppressive presence, underscoring the severity of his condition. The film skilfully navigates the thin line between reality and Owen's distorted perceptions, making one question what is real and what is a product of his disorder.
A darkly amusing look at the absurdities of living with O. C. D., Pizzoleo and Walsh use black comedy to underscore the ridiculous lengths Owen must go to placate his compulsions. Owen's interactions with everyday objects take on a comically exaggerated significance, transforming mundane tasks into epic battles.
Additionally, Pizzoleo and Walsh satirize the influencer culture through the vapid and vain character of Owen's girlfriend, more concerned with her social media presence than with Owen's well-being. Her superficiality contrasts sharply with Owen's intense internal struggle, adding another layer of irony to the narrative. The film cleverly critiques the often shallow and performative nature of social media, highlighting how it can trivialize serious issues like O. C. D.
Moreover, it is very well-edited, with quick cuts and rapid transitions, creating a relentless, frantic pace, mirroring the incessant, intrusive thoughts driving Owen's actions. This approach not only keeps one engaged, but also provides a visceral understanding of the perpetual state of distress experienced by those with O. C. D.
In addition, director of photography Jeremy Basset's claustrophobic cinematography, characterized by tight framing and dynamic lighting, effectively mirrors Owen's sense of entrapment. The sound design and Alexander Arntzen's intense score further amplify the pervasive sense of dread, drawing one further into Owen's tumultuous world and viscerally conveying his anxiety.
Raz Fritz stars as Owen, delivering a standout performance that captures the intense desperation of a man at war with his own mind. More than effectively conveying the relentless anxiety and overwhelming need to perform rituals that O. C. D. Victims face, Fritz is terrific. The great Steven Ogg is marvellously menacing as The Agent, carrying with him a foreboding aura of violence. Like a wolf let loose in a hen-house- you never know just what he'll do next; but you know it won't be pretty. In addition, Ariel Martin brings to life Owen's vacuous girlfriend with aplomb.
In conclusion, Luca Pizzoleo's 'O. C. D. (Obsessor Coercio Deus)' is a tense, exhilarating journey into the mind of someone battling severe O. C. D. The film expertly balances psychological horror with dark comedy, providing a nuanced and empathetic portrayal of the disorder. Well-edited, and with outstanding performances- particularly from Raz Fritz and Steven Ogg- as well a keenly observant script, this compulsively compelling short film is a must watch.
A Real Pain (2024)
A Real Joy
In 2022, Jesse Eisenberg's directorial debut, 'When You Finish Saving the World,' was released. A comic drama about the contentious relationship shared by a mother and son, it was not exactly a commercial success, though garnered some critical acclaim. Time's Stephanie Zacharek noted Eisenberg as "a thoughtful filmmaker, devoted to showing his characters as multi-dimensional, flawed human beings," while The New Yorker's Anthony Lane opined that the film was "taut with unhappiness but allows itself to be funny."
Those same observations could also easily be applied to his second feature 'A Real Pain'. It follows two Jewish Americans, cousins Benji and David, who embark on a trip to Poland to visit their ancestral home. Benji is outspoken and free-spirited, standing in stark contrast to the reserved David. As they explore Poland with their tour group, they are forced to confront their relationship, revealing deep-seated pain and insecurity on both sides.
On paper, it doesn't sound like a comedy- in fact, it sounds rather dour. However, to describe the film as such would be to do a disservice to Eisenberg's nuanced direction and screenplay. It is a bittersweet examination of family, both funny and heartbreaking, as well as a sharply written character-study tackling important themes. Through his deceptively simple, straightforward story, Eisenberg crafts a universal tale that many will find relevant.
It is a film about family, about navigating the ties that bind- perhaps about the need to maintain connections with those we love. It is about more than that, though. It is a story about the past, and how we, as people, deal with it- past mistakes, past histories, shared past experiences. Through their journey, Benji and David confront not only their own personal histories but also the collective memory of their family and their cultural heritage. As they uncover layers of their shared past, they are forced to grapple with the weight of generational trauma and the impact it has on their present lives.
The film is beautiful in its subtlety, Eisenberg weaving these story-threads unostentatiously. Moreover, he has a great ear for dialogue, and the conversations between the characters sound like just that: conversations. The film is not just a barrage of quips heavily laced with sarcasm, as many comedies are today. Although at times hilarious, the dialogue isn't insincere: characters actually have discussions and debates about topics of import.
Furthermore, Eisenberg's characterisation is deft. Benji and David feel like real people, not cardboard cut-outs with one aspect to their personalities. They're not drawn in black and white, but in shades of grey. Practically every character in the film is a multi-dimensional one, and their interactions with one another brim with authenticity. It's a testament to Eisenberg's screenwriting prowess that every character, no matter how small or inconsequential, feels fully fleshed out; with a life going on after the screen fades to black.
The film is also a technical achievement. Director of photography Michal Dymek's cinematography is as subtle and unassuming as the tale itself. He captures some haunting imagery, from Poland's cobble-stone streets and grim, post-Soviet architecture to the cold cruelty of a concentration camp. These visuals not only ground the narrative in a palpable reality but also evoke a deep emotional response, underscoring the film's themes of trauma and history.
In addition, the music of Frédéric Chopin is interwoven cleverly into the film, becoming a character in itself, his melancholy melodies seeming to heighten the drama and power of proceedings. Further, Robert Nassau's editing ensures the film has a good pace, never wanting for momentum.
Kieran Culkin and Jesse Eisenberg star as Benji and David, respectfully. Culkin is utterly terrific, playing Benji with a winning blend of charm and charmlessness, masterfully displaying his vulnerabilities and complexities. As Kris Kristofferson wrote, "he's a walking contradiction," who can light up a room as easy as he can drain all the life from it. Compelling and multi-faceted, Culkin's may be the best performance of 2024; so completely does he embody the damaged, charismatic character.
Eisenberg is the straight man to Culkin's gregarious charmer, underplaying it expertly. David is the stable one of the two, but not without his own issues. Eisenberg brings a lot of nuance to the role, capturing the subtleties of a character whose outward composure belies an internal pain. Their supporting cast do equally strong work, from the likes of Will Sharpe as the cousins' tour guide to Jennifer Grey as one of the tour group; none can be faulted.
In conclusion, Jesse Eisenberg's 'A Real Pain' is an extremely accomplished piece of work. Through its blend of humour and heartache, the film offers a poignant exploration of family, heritage and the complexities of human relationships. Eisenberg's strong direction and screenplay, combined with stellar performances from the cast, make it an unforgettable piece. A beautiful and thought-provoking journey resonating on multiple levels, 'A Real Pain' is a real joy.
The Return (2024)
Doesn't Warrant A Return Journey
Homer's epic poem The Odyssey is the inspiration behind hundreds of works. First published around the 7th or 8th century BC, and first translated into English in the 16th century, its impact is incalculable. From novels, like James Joyce's 'Ulysses', to operas, such as Claudio Monteverdi's 'Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria,' its influence can be seen in all forms of media. There have even been some notable films based on the epic poem, such as Giuseppe de Liguoro's 1911 'L'Odissea', Theo Angelopoulos's 'Ulysses' Gaze,' and even The Coen Brothers' 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?'
Uberto Pasolini is the most recent to try his hand at an Odyssey adaptation, with 2024's 'The Return.' His film- based on the latter half of Homer's 24-chapter epic- follows a battle-weary Odysseus as he washes ashore on Ithaca. Unrecognizable as the mighty warrior-king that left decades before, his dominion has fallen into decay and debauchery. As his wife Penelope is forced to choose a new suitor, and by extension a new king, Odysseus must navigate a land that no longer recognizes him, battling both external foes and his own inner demons.
Although by no means awful, Pasolini's film is fraught with issues. While the narrative is engaging, the dialogue throughout is unnaturally stilted. Moreover, the whole affair lacks momentum and tension. Further, numerous secondary characters are badly miscast, negatively affecting the film's impact. However, through their depiction of the film's central character, the screenwriters make an interesting point about trauma. Their version of Odysseus is suffering terribly, laboured by survivor's guilt and posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) after his time battling in the Trojan War.
Pasolini, alongside screenwriters John Collee and Edward Bond, seem to be drawing from psychiatrist Jonathan Shay's two books, 'Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character' and 'Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials of Homecoming' in their portrayal of Odysseus as suffering from PTSD and moral injury. This modern interpretation adds a layer of psychological realism to the film, highlighting the timeless nature of war's impact on the human psyche.
By depicting Odysseus' struggles with PTSD, survivor's guilt and moral injury, the film not only stays true to the emotional depth of Homer's original work but also resonates with contemporary audiences familiar with the challenges faced by veterans. This approach allows Pasolini's film bridge the gap between ancient myth and modern reality, making Odysseus's journey both relatable and poignant.
While this is an interesting interpretation of the central character, others lack the same level of depth, and the whole screenplay feels oddly lacking, with an uneven pace that saps it of momentum. The film is full of brooding silences, which- more often than not- seem unnecessarily drawn out. Conversely, it lacks not for visual splendour. Cinematographer Marius Panduru captures the stark beauty of the landscape, emphasising its power. Although beautiful, everything on the island- from the trees to Odysseus' castle- is cold, mean, unforgiving.
Giuliano Pannuti's minimalistic production design helps ground the story, looking authentic and gritty, while Rachel Portman's subtle score compounds the drama of proceedings. Conversely, the costumes look like rejects from Zach Snyder's '300' and many secondary characters look and sound far too contemporary to be taken seriously; more like frat boys than Ancient Greeks.
However, at its heart, the film has one element that makes it worthwhile: Ralph Fiennes. One of the all-time greats, Fiennes embodies Odysseus' underlying trauma with subtlety and nuance. You can see the weight of his experiences bearing down on his shoulders, the pain of survivor's guilt. Fiennes demonstrates that vulnerability masterfully, conveying both the physical and emotional struggles of Odysseus with aplomb, while elevating the whole film around him (and, frankly, making it watchable).
Unfortunately, his supporting cast aren't up to his level, or don't get a chance to be. Juliette Binoche is completely underused in the underwritten part of Penelope, though does a lot with very little. Charlie Plummer doesn't seem at ease playing their son Telemachus, and is swallowed up by the role. Marwan Kenzari, meanwhile, deserved more to play with in an all-too-small role as one of Penelope's suitors; the same can be said for Claudio Santamaria as Odysseus' accomplice, Swineherd Eumaeus.
Ángela Molina also does nice work as Odysseus's old nursemaid, Eurycleia, although is similarly underused. On the other hand, the men of Ithaca are played by young lads completely out of their depth, who were clearly cast because of their muscles and not acting ability, of which they have none.
In conclusion, Uberto Pasolini's 'The Return' may look great, though is lacking in many areas. While Ralph Fiennes delivers a powerful performance as Odysseus, the film struggles with stilted dialogue, miscast secondary characters and an uneven pace. Despite its striking cinematography and attempts to add psychological depth to the narrative, it doesn't reach its full potential. Unfortunately, 'The Return' isn't one that you'll want to go back to.
Nightbitch (2024)
A Shaggy-Dog Story
In 2021, Rachel Yoder's debut novel 'Nightbitch' was released, to critical acclaim. Partly-autobiographical, the surreal story was described by The Guardian's Lara Feigel as being "an important contribution to the engagement with motherhood that rightly dominates contemporary feminism." Slate's Rebecca Onion, while acknowledging some of the story's faults, noted that "as a meditation on the radical evolution parenthood demands, it's perfect."
With such overwhelming praise, it was only natural that a film adaptation should follow. Written and directed by Marielle Heller, 'Nightbitch' follows a mother (known only as Mother) whose life has changed drastically after the birth of her son (known as Son). She used to be an artist of some renown, but now is a stay-at-home-mum. Her husband (guess what he's known as) travels frequently for work, leaving her to navigate the overwhelming demands of parenthood alone. As the pressures of her new life mount, something strange occurs: Mother believes she is turning into a dog.
On paper, it sounds like a darkly comic, Kafkaesque exploration of identity, motherhood and the primal instincts that lie beneath our civilized facades. However, Heller never allows the story run wild, holding back the leash, as it were. Although there are some comedic, inspired lines of dialogue, and perceptive moments- particularly during Mother's interactions with her group of fellow mothers- there is also quite a bit of pretension, from stilted, preachy monologues to the central character's names- or lack of them.
Additionally, the film doesn't add significantly to the discourse, leaving one out in the cold in the kennel. Heller's examination of female rage and the primal instincts of motherhood, while central to the narrative, don't feel profound or original. The film treads familiar ground without offering new insights or perspectives. Instead of delving deeper into the complexities of its themes, it skims the surface. The story's potential brilliance is diluted by Heller's reluctance to fully embrace the wildness of its premise.
In contrast, Coralie Fargeat's 'The Substance' demonstrated how feminist body horror can be both profound and innovative. While different in style and narrative approach, 'The Substance' similarly explores themes of female identity and bodily transformation, but does so with a raw intensity and originality that 'Nightbitch' sorely lacks. Fargeat's film doesn't shy away from pushing boundaries, providing a visceral, wildly entertaining and thought-provoking experience.
Heller's is simply not in the same league. However, while 'Nightbitch' may fall short of its potential, it is not without merit. It provides a platform for discussing the often-taboo topics of maternal frustration and identity loss, even if it doesn't capitalize on these themes. The film's attempt to balance dark humour with existential dread is ambitious, and although it doesn't really succeed, it does contain moments of genuine insight and resonance.
Moreover, from a technical standpoint, there are elements deserving of praise. Brandon Trost's cinematography is striking, while the score is generally stirring. In addition, Anne McCabe's editing is terrific at generating momentum, while emphasising the banality of Mother's day-to-day life. In addition, the make-up and effects- though not used to the same extent (or to the same effect) as in 'The Substance'- are commendable; if underused.
Furthermore, Amy Adams delivers a powerful lead performance. A consistently accomplished actress, she brings a nuanced blend of vulnerability and ferocity to the role of Mother. Her ability to convey the emotional turmoil of the character is a highlight, making even the film's weaker moments more engaging and impactful. The whole film, in fact, only works because of her; she carries it completely.
Scoot McNairy does typically fine work as Husband, elevating the underwritten part and making him compelling, despite his faults, while twin brothers Emmett and Arleigh Snowden, in their first credited roles as Son, cannot be faulted. Moreover, the great Jessica Harper is criminally underused as a mysterious librarian, stealing the too-few scenes she's in.
In conclusion, Marielle Heller's 'Nightbitch' is a bit of a shaggy-dog story. While it doesn't realize the wild potential of its source material, it contains brief moments of profundity and emotional resonance, and features a terrific central performance from Amy Adams. Boasting fine cinematography, as well as a stirring score, and cannily edited by Anne McCabe, it is worth a watch for fans of Rachel Yoder's novel, even if it will leave one howling for more.
Nosferatu (2024)
A Bloodsucking Blockbuster
Ever since F. W. Murnau sank his teeth into cinematic history with 1922's 'Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror,' the world has been obsessed with the vampire movie. His film, an adaptation of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula,' established most of stylistic and narrative tropes synonymous with the genre. A major hit, it was followed by numerous other bloody good vampire flicks over the years. From Tod Browning's 1932 'Dracula,' to Werner Herzog's elegiac 1979 'Nosferatu, Phantom der Nacht' and E. Elias Merhige's darkly comic 'Shadow of the Vampire,' there have been many memorable big-screen vampiric tales.
With 2024's 'Nosferatu,' Robert Eggers seeks to add a new chapter to this storied history of bloodsucking blockbusters. A remake of Murnau's original (and, by extension, Herzog's adaptation), Eggers originally began developing it in 2015, intending it as his second feature. However, like a vampire dodging sunlight, he eventually opted to postpone the project, going on to direct 'The Lighthouse' and 'The Northman' instead. Finally, in early 2023, filming began, and the finished product was released in December, 2024.
The end result is a visually striking, moody piece, roughly following the same plot as Murnau's film. It centres on Ellen Hutter, a young woman suffering from 'melancholia'. Her husband Thomas, a lawyer, is sent to the Carpathian Mountains to oversee the sale of a decrepit manor belonging to the reclusive, mysterious Count Orlok, leaving Ellen back in their hometown of Wisborg. Soon, it transpires that there is much more to the Count than meets the eye, and that Ellen may play a crucial role in stopping the ancient evil that Orlok represents.
Brimming with a macabre menace, the film is a worthy successor to the original. Egger's unique directorial style is evident in every frame, ensuring that the admittedly familiar story doesn't want for momentum. Although lacking the haunting beauty of Herzog's version, Eggers infuses the film with woe and nuance, while creating an atmosphere that is both chilling and mesmerizing. His inclusion of elements of traditional vampiric folklore adds an authentic, unsettling layer to the narrative, grounding the supernatural horror in a historical context.
The film delves deeply into dynamics of power, control and the supernatural forces that disrupt ordinary lives. Orlok's manipulation and dominance over the other characters can be seen as a metaphor for various types of power struggles, whether they be personal, societal or even gender-based. Moreover Ellen- navigating an oppressive and predatory being, as well as the patriarchal Victorian society surrounding her- could represent the resilience and strength required to face such malevolent forces.
However, this is not to say the film is without fault. The dialogue is very mannered and stilted at times, while Egger's characterisation, particularly of secondary characters, is slim. While Ellen and Thomas's ally Friedrich Harding are given some depth, most other characters are reduced to little more than caricatures, lacking personality. This is a particular problem with Orlok and Thomas, both of whom are one-dimensional characters, undergoing no real change or development throughout the film.
Conversely, the visuals are stunning. Filmed on 35mm, Jarin Blaschke's cinematography is highly evocative, capturing the eerie beauty of the Carpathian landscapes and the haunting gloom of the streets of Wisborg. He makes excellent use of what Herzog refers to as "the drama of the landscape," enriching the film's visual impact. Eggers and Blaschke pay homage to a variety of films, incorporating elements from classic German Expressionism, with its stark contrasts and dramatic shadows, as well as nods to more modern horror aesthetics; resulting in a film that looks timeless.
Moreover, the use of lighting, as well as a desaturated colour palette, amplifies the film's moody and eerie ambiance. Craig Lathrop's atmospheric production design further enhances this, creating an immersive environment feeling both familiar and otherworldly. From the decrepit Orlok castle, which physically withers as one watches, to the rat-riddled streets of the city, each location appears authentic and highly detailed.
Linda Muir and David Schwed's costume design is also noteworthy. The intricate details and gothic attire contribute to the film's realism and stark tone. Additionally, Orlok's makeup and prosthetic work is impressive, adding to the character's menacing presence on screen. Equally important is Robin Carolan's score. His haunting melodies and dissonant tones perfectly complement the film's eerie atmosphere, heightening the tension, while drawing one deeper into the pitch-black world of the vampire.
Lily-Rose Depp stars as Ellen, delivering an intense, highly physical performance that is the highlight of her career thus far. Holding nothing back, her portrayal of the torment Ellen undergoes is gripping. Depp cannily conveys Ellen's inner struggle and resilience, making her character's journey both engrossing and emotionally resonant.
Nicholas Hoult, as Thomas, provides a solid counterpoint to Depp's intensity. One of the finest actors working today, he brings a nuanced, steady presence to the role, balancing the film's emotional landscape. His portrayal of Thomas's growing concern and desperation adds depth to the story, making it all the more engaging. Although underwritten, Hoult imbues Thomas with a quiet strength and vulnerability, making him a compelling character.
Bill Skarsgård, no stranger to the world of horror and looking like a moustachioed corpse midway through putrefaction, is operatically sinister as Orlok. Reportedly working with a vocal coach to lower his voice an octave, he sounds like the devil on a moonless night. Although lacking the melancholy Klaus Kinski brought to the role, he makes for a terrific villain, whose presence is genuinely unsettling.
Furthermore, Aaron Taylor Johnson impresses as Friedrich Harding, making him an interesting, likable character. The great Willem Dafoe does typically excellent work as occult expert Prof. Albin Eberhart Von Franz, Eggers' version of Van Helsing. No-one can play a mad doctor as well as Dafoe, as he proves here yet again. Ralph Ineson is similarly good as Ellen's doctor, elevating a somewhat underdeveloped part. Conversely, Simon McBurney camply overplays the role of Herr Knock, Orlok's loyal servant, as if he were in a different film entirely.
Having said that, Robert Eggers' 'Nosferatu' is a visually stunning, emotionally intense addition to the vampire film canon. While it may have its flaws, such as some underwritten characters and mannered dialogue, its strengths far outweigh its weaknesses. Eggers' masterful direction, combined with outstanding performances from the majority of the cast, ensures that this remake is both a loving homage to its predecessors and a bold, fresh take on the classic tale. In conclusion, if Murnau's original 'Nosferatu' was the bite that started it all, then Eggers' version is the reinvigorating transfusion keeping the genre truly undead and well.
Conclave (2024)
A Papal Pleasure
Ralph Fiennes is a consummate performer. Since his big screen debut as Heathcliffe in Peter Kosminsky's 'Wuthering Heights' in 1992, Fiennes has electrified audiences. Bringing depth and nuance to every role- from serial killers to rat catchers- he never seems anything less than perfectly cast. That ability to subtly embody diverse characters with precision and authenticity makes him, arguably, one of the most versatile actors working today.
In Edward Berger's 'Conclave,' Fiennes stars as British Cardinal-Dean Thomas Lawrence, the leader of the College of Cardinals. After the Pope dies, it is up to Lawrence to organise a papal conclave, through which his successor will be chosen. Thrust into a complex web of secrecy while navigating the hidden agendas of those vying for the papacy, the weight of Lawrence's decisions will alter the future of the church, while testing his faith and moral compass.
Based on the novel of the same name by Robert Harris, 'Conclave' is an intriguing mystery thriller that is not without its flaws. Initially, the film offers one a compelling peek behind the velvet curtain into the Vatican's Machiavellian world, where gossip flows like wine and ambition reigns supreme. The dialogue is consistently strong and acerbic, and Peter Straughan's characterisation is deft. Characters are clearly delineated, each with their own personality, political inclination and, more often than not, dark secrets.
For the majority of its runtime, Berger's film is a triumph, cleverly exploring the intersection of universal themes such as faith, doubt and personal ambition. Faith is portrayed not just as a religious conviction, but as a guiding force that shapes the moral and ethical choices of the individuals involved. Personal ambition, on the other hand, is depicted as a double-edged sword that can drive one to greatness or lead to one's downfall, depending on how it is wielded. Doubt, meanwhile, is represented as a powerful force just as important as faith, challenging characters to question their beliefs and actions.
Through this intricate interplay of themes, Berger crafts a thought-provoking narrative resonating on both an intellectual and emotional level. Unfortunately, however, he doesn't stick the landing. The ending feels both rushed and cursory, offering very little closure. The tension and intrigue that has slowly built up over the course of the film comes to an abrupt halt, leaving several plot threads unresolved and proceedings feeling somewhat underwhelming.
Despite the finale not quite delivering on its promising setup, the film's engaging narrative makes it a worthwhile watch, as do its stellar visuals. It is a stunning looking picture, with opulent production design from Suzie Davies, emphasising the elaborate richness of the Vatican and its inhabitants. Silver crosses glint and glisten, while bloody reds and crisp whites contrast sharply. The sets and costume design are incredibly detailed and accurate; all captured masterfully by cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine.
Fontaine's cinematography plays a crucial role in supporting the film's narrative themes. His stark approach emphasizes the solemn, austere atmosphere of the Vatican, juxtaposing the grandeur of its architecture with the intimate moments of the characters' internal struggles. His use of light and shadow is particularly effective in highlighting the dualities within the film- faith versus doubt, ambition versus humility.
Furthermore, his keen eye for detail ensures that each frame is meticulously composed, with a crisp clarity heightening the film's heady atmosphere. The stark, almost minimalist visuals create a sense of foreboding and tension, mirroring the high-stakes environment of the conclave. This visual style not only enhances the storytelling but also deepens one's engagement with the film's exploration of power, morality and personal conviction.
In addition, Volker Bertelmann- who did such impactful work on Berger's previous 'All Quiet on The Western Front'- crafts a sublime score, both eerie and austere, compounding the themes within. Bertelmann's compositions mirror the film's emotional landscape, using haunting melodies and sparse instrumentation to evoke a sense of unease. Additionally, incidental sounds- namely breathing- seem to have been exaggerated, heightening the immediacy of the narrative and amplifying its tension.
However, while Fontaine's cinematography and Bertelmann's score are undeniably powerful, it is the performances, especially that of Ralph Fiennes, that truly elevate the film. Fiennes masterfully captures the internal struggles of a man caught between his duties to the church and his personal convictions. His presence on screen is commanding, yet he infuses the role with a quiet vulnerability, making Lawrence both relatable and compelling. Although Fiennes has never given a subpar performance in his life; his exceptional work in 'Conclave' is definitely a highlight.
Alongside him, Stanley Tucci impresses greatly as the liberal Cardinal Bellini, a decent man surrounded by gossiping cads. John Lithgow does typically fine work as the highly ambitious Cardinal Tremblay, while Brían F. O'Byrne is similarly impactful as Lawrence's right-hand man and opposition researcher Monsignor O'Malley.
Isabella Rossellini, meanwhile, elevates the comparatively small role of Sister Agnes, the cardinals' head caterer and housekeeper, into one of the most interesting in the film. In addition, Sergio Castellitto is superbly sinister as the far-right traditionalist Cardinal Tedesco, while Carlos Diehz and Lucian Msamati also shine as Cardinals Benitez and Adeyemi, respectfully.
In conclusion, Edward Berger's 'Conclave' is an entertaining, visually striking film exploring the complexities of faith, ambition and morality within the hallowed halls of the Vatican. Boasting strong performances from all in the cast- especially that of star Ralph Fiennes- as well as stunning production design and cinematography and a stirring score, it is gripping and thought-provoking. Despite the fact that the ending is something of a let-down, 'Conclave' is a papal pleasure.
Alien: Romulus (2024)
To Boldly Go
In 2013, the first feature film by director Fede Alvarez was released: 'Evil Dead,' a reboot of the gloriously gory Sam Raimi series. While some found it lacked the humour the franchise was known for- and most missed Bruce Campbell's demon-killing badass Ash Williams- it was a bloody good film, paying homage to Raimi's original three, while standing on its own two feet. It seemed Alvarez was a new master of the macabre; a notion his next film, the claustrophobic 'Don't Breathe,' compounded.
Having helmed a great new addition to a beloved franchise, and having proved himself adept at making grisly, tense features, Alvarez is the perfect choice to direct an 'Alien' film. 'Alien: Romulus,' set between the events of Ridley Scott's first 'Alien' and James Cameron's 'Aliens,' centres on a group of space colonists who come upon a derelict space station languishing amidst the stars. Intending to scavenge, they board, only to realize the station isn't really abandoned; and that which occupies it has murder on its xenomorphian mind.
It is a gripping horror, a worthy companion piece to Scott's brilliant original. Whether or not you loved Cameron's blockbuster 'Aliens,' its success ensured that all of the succeeding movies in the franchise have been focused more on action rather than dread, on spectacle rather than horror. Although Alvarez has time for action- the latter half of the picture contains some excellent fight scenes, especially one in zero gravity- 'Alien: Romulus' shares the same tone of foreboding menace as the original.
The xenomorphs are to be feared in Alvarez's film. They are not easily annihilated by myriads of weapons or exosuits. Similarly, the main character, Rain Carradine, is not an alien-killing-machine like Cameron's version of Ripley was. Rather, she is more like Ripley in her first cinematic outing: terrified, overwhelmed and in constant danger. She is a great conduit for the audience, as the film takes viewers on a journey into fear, in the confines of space; where no-one can hear you scream.
Alvarez and co-writer Rodo Sayagues craft a tale both engaging and frightening, though a cynical critic might suggest their characterisation is a bit cliched. The supporting characters are particularly ill-served; some are little more than cardboard cut-outs- especially Bjorn, a needlessly aggressive chap whose characterisation seems to have come straight from the pages of a Dummies Guidebook for Scumbaggery. However, Rain and Andy- her synthetic companion- are compelling: one cares for them.
The production design- headed by Naaman Marshall- is immersive and atmospheric, while the efficacious use of both special and practical effects generates many chills and thrills. Alvarez cleverly hired various set designers and decorators, as well as model makers and special effects crew, who worked on previous films in the series. Every location looks like it could have been used in the first movie, while the xenomorphs and other creatures look like they came straight from a HR Giger nightmare.
Furthermore, director of photography Galo Olivares does sterling work under Alvarez's direction. The cinematography is striking and headily evocative. Their use of light and shadow is particularly effective at generating tension and intrigue, while irregular angles are utilised to further the film's suspenseful atmosphere. Further, they juxtapose the vastness of space with the cramped interiors of the station, generating the palpably anxious fear that made the franchise's first entry so memorable.
In addition, they shoot the pulse-pounding action masterfully, leaving viewers on the edge of their seat throughout the film's two-hour runtime- which goes by swiftly, thanks to the fastidious editing from Alvarez and Jake Roberts. Furthermore, Benjamin Wallfisch's score is creepily unsettling, compounding the film's horror and heightening its apprehensive, unpredictable mood.
Cailee Spaeny stars as Rain, delivering a sturdy performance that echoes Sigourney Weaver's as Ripley, though is in no way derivative of Weaver's work. She makes Rain compelling, and is difficult not to root for. As Andy, David Jonsson is brilliant, bringing a humanity to the role that is quite affecting- especially considering he isn't technically human. His relationship with Spaeny is the heart of the film; the two demonstrate a fine chemistry.
Moreover, Archie Renaux does fine work as the leader of the boarding party, while Daniel Betts- with the help of CGI- is terrific, playing Rook, a science officer fans of the original will immediately recognise. Isabela Merced and Aileen Wu both also impress in smaller roles, though, conversely, Spike Fearn is incredibly irritating as Bjorn- although, since the character was surely written to be irritating, in a way, he fulfilled his brief more than adequately.
In summation, Fede Alvarez's 'Alien: Romulus' is a fast-paced, frenetic entry in the 'Alien' franchise that acts as a homage to Ridley Scott's original, while making its own mark cinematically. Boasting a gripping narrative filled with chills and thrills, as well as striking cinematography and a stirring score, it fires on all cylinders. Well-edited and strongly acted, it is a terrific film, that boldly goes in new directions, while honouring where it came from.
Kûki ningyô (2009)
It May Blow Your Mind
The best word to describe the films of Hirokazu Kore-eda is truth. Whether he's delving into the fantastical realm of 'After Life' or crafting a genre piece like 'The Third Murder', Kore-eda's work consistently reveals universal truths about the human condition. He often examines the everyday: how families interact, how people deal with grief; how we navigate the modern world. Contemplative and subtle, his films draw viewers into quiet, yet profound reflections on life, that one would be hard pressed to forget.
Based on the Yoshiie Goda manga of the same name, 'Air Doll' is a fantastical, yet grounded, nuanced drama about a blow-up doll that magically comes to life. As the doll Nozomi explores the world, she experiences life for the first time. Encountering various people, her interactions reveal deep aspects of human loneliness and connection. Nozomi's journey from being an object to developing consciousness serves as a poignant metaphor for the universal struggle for identity and meaning in a seemingly indifferent world.
Nozomi grapples with feelings of emptiness and a desire for a soul, mirroring the human quest for purpose and self-fulfilment. The relationships she forms with those around her- including her owner, who initially sees her as nothing more than an object, and a video store clerk who becomes an unexpected confidante- highlight the fragility of human connections and the profound impact of companionship and understanding.
While a devastating watch, it also contains humour. Kore-eda masterfully combines elements of whimsy and melancholy, underscoring the film's exploration of existential themes. Moreover, it challenges one to ponder the essence of humanity and the complexity of emotions defining our existence. It is a testament to Kore-eda's ability to craft films that resonate on a deeply emotional level, prompting one to reflect on one's own life long after the credits have rolled.
Ping Bin Lee's cinematography is integral to the film's impact. He makes use of dreamy, ethereal lighting, creating a surreal atmosphere mirroring Nozomi's childlike wonder and newfound sentiency. The muted colour palette enhances the film's melancholic yet whimsical feel, while Lee's careful framing and composition serves to highlight the vastness of Tokyo. This often dwarfs Nozomi, symbolizing her journey from object to being. Reflective surfaces, empty spaces and fluid camera movements help immerse viewers in her perspective, emphasizing themes of urban loneliness and self-discovery.
Moreover, Yôhei Taneda's production design creates a stark contrast between the drab environment of Nozomi's owner's apartment with the vibrant streets of Tokyo, again reflective of her journey. Additionally, the score from Katsuhiko Maeda (working under the name World's End Girlfriend) enhances it's emotional depth. Kore-eda's purposeful editing is smooth and contemplative, allowing one to lose oneself in Nozomi's world.
Bae Doona stars as Nozomi, delivering a nuanced performance that is a masterclass in understatement and physicality. Her expressive eyes and body language effectively convey Nozomi's wonder, confusion and eventual longing for human connection. Doona perfectly captures the innocence and curiosity of her character with subtlety, making her transformation believable and poignant.
Her co-stars also deliver. Itsuji Itao is both seedy and pitiful as Nozomi's owner, bringing a vulnerability to the role that is most interesting. Arata Iura, as the video store clerk, deftly displays the compassionate empathy of his character, while Joe Odagiri thoughtfully underplays the smaller role of Nozomi's creator, making him something of a philosopher-poet. In Addition, Masaya Takahashi does marvellous work as an old man Noriko befriends, and the rest cannot be faulted.
As is the case with many of his films, Hirokazu Kore-eda's 'Air Doll' is a touching, tender exploration of urban loneliness, emphasising the universal need for connection. Featuring stellar cinematography from Ping Bin Lee, as well as a stirring score, it has a lot to offer. Bae Doona delivers a powerful performance, while her co-stars are equally compelling. To cut a long story short, 'Air Doll' is so good it may just blow your mind.
Megalopolis (2024)
Preachy, Pontificatory Pretension
In Hollywood, even the best directors can spend years trying to get a project off the ground. George Miller first came up with the idea for 'Mad Max: Fury Road' 28 years before it was released; Clint Eastwood sat on the script for 'Unforgiven' for over a decade, as did Robert Duvall with 'The Apostle'. Martin Scorsese considered making 'Gangs of New York' as far back as 1970, while it took Terry Gilliam nearly 30 years to complete 'The Man Who Killed Don Quixote'.
Were it not for their director's relentless passion, projects like these would go unrealized, and the world would be missing some truly great cinema. Conversely, after such a long gestation period, there is a risk that that same passion can cloud creative judgment, resulting in works that are more self-indulgent than impactful. Such is the case with Francis Ford Coppola's 'Megalopolis,' a meandering, exasperating epic that took the great director over 47 years to make.
Coppola is undeniably a filmmaking genius, however his best works were done in the 1970's and early 80's. His output has been more miss than hit since then, and his semiretirement after 1997's 'The Rainmaker' seemed to indicate that he was tired of the movie business. For years, he appeared content to relax on his vineyard, making the odd low-budget indie flick, while sporadically reediting and rereleasing his older films whenever there was a bad grape year. However, 'Megalopolis' was never far from his mind and, after falling back in love with the idea, finally began filming in 2022, nearly half a century after he first thought of it in 1977.
Entirely self-funded, it is set in the not-too-distant future in the decadent, debauched city of New Rome, centring on visionary architect Cesar Catilina, the inventor of a miraculously versatile substance called Megalon. He has a vision for the future of the city, which is at odds with that of the Mayor Franklyn Cicero. Drawing heavily on Roman history, particularly the Catilinarian conspiracy of 63 BC, the film delves into themes of societal decay, corruption and the eternal struggle between progress and regression. On paper, it sounds fascinating, especially with Coppola at the helm.
Regretfully, Coppola's execution does not match his ambition. He aims to weave a grand narrative that merges historical allegory with futuristic vision, but stumbles with his storytelling. The plot meanders, losing focus amid its myriad subplots and philosophical digressions. This lack of cohesion leaves one adrift in a sea of ideas that, while initially intriguing, do not coalesce into a compelling whole.
Furthermore, Coppola's exploration of the aforementioned themes has been seen before in countless other pictures (perhaps most obviously Fritz Lang's 'Metropolis', which came out nearly 100 years ago and still feels more relevant) making the film feel oddly hackneyed. Coppola's ideas do not feel fresh nor innovative (when they are comprehensible, that is- which they frequently aren't) and the parallels he draws between ancient Rome and society today feel ham-fisted and obvious.
Additionally, proceedings are burdened with pretentious, stilted dialogue and banal narration that sounds like the semi-coherent mumblings of a majorly stoned student minoring in philosophy. Moreover, his characters aren't compelling and the tone is all over the place, oscillating wildly between self-serious drama and unintentional comedy. This tonal inconsistency further detracts from the film's impact, leaving one unsure whether to ponder deeply or chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Conversely, it is a stunning looking film; even though the heavy-handed CGI ranges from barely serviceable to incredibly obvious. Alongside director of photography Mihai Malaimare Jr., Coppola has crafted a world that is both striking and unsettling, blending the opulence of ancient Rome with the sleek, cold aesthetics of a futuristic utopia. Their use of light and shadow, as well as colour, creates a visual narrative arguably more compelling than the story itself.
This is compounded by Beth Mickle and Bradley Rubin's lush production design (both of whom exited the production before filming wrapped due to "creative differences"), as well as Lisa K. Sessions's intricate set decoration. Further, Milena Canonero's costume design is similarly stylish and effective, combining varying styles, contributing to the overall era-defying mise en scène.
Yet, visual splendour alone cannot save 'Megalopolis' from its narrative shortcomings. It is, quite simply put, a mess of ideas without a clear central point. The film's ambition is admirable, but feels like a collection of disjointed concepts rather than a cohesive story. Plot points aren't explored thoroughly, nor contribute to the overall narrative; namely Cesar's bizarrely inconsequential and pointless ability to stop time. Moreover, characters are introduced and discarded without much thought, leaving their arcs incomplete and unsatisfying.
Additionally, as alluded to above, Coppola's exploration of the grand themes at play, while interesting, lacks the nuanced execution seen in his earlier works. The film's philosophical digressions, rather than enriching the narrative, serve to muddle it, leaving viewers confused. Further, Osvaldo Golijov's score is unremarkable, and the lax editing ensures that it feels much longer than it is, suffering from a dearth of momentum or flow.
Despite its flaws, though, 'Megalopolis' does offer rare moments that remind one of Coppola's talent. There are scenes of breathtaking beauty and intrigue, hinting at what could have been with a more focused narrative. However, these moments are few and far between, making for an uneven glimpse into a brilliant mind rather than a fully realized masterpiece.
The performances, too, are uneven. As Cesar, Adam Driver comes across as detached from the material when he isn't grandiosely over-the-top. While Cesar is ostensibly a genius, Driver's portrayal makes him seem more like a tiresome diva than a visionary. As a central character, he lacks personality or charm, making him difficult to root for. Though he has delivered strong performances in the past, here Driver is as bland as unseasoned gruel.
As his love interest Julia, Nathalie Emmanuel, despite her best efforts, fails to create a compelling character in the face of Coppola's clichéd characterisation and weak dialogue. Similarly, Giancarlo Esposito, as Julia's father Franklyn Cicero, does not leave much of an impression. Neither of them elevates their roles beyond the superficial. One feels as if anyone could have played their roles with similar results.
Conversely, Aubrey Plaza, as the ludicrously named femme fatale reporter Wow Platinum, overcomes the terrible dialogue and cardboard-cut-out characterisation; delivering a terrific, tongue-in-cheek performance. Jon Voight seems content to overplay the role of Cesar's doddery rich uncle, while great actors like Talia Shire, Dustin Hoffman, Kathryn Hunter, Jason Schwartzman and James Remar are criminally underutilised; left with little more than nothing to do.
Additionally, Laurence Fishburne does fine work, even if his intermittent narration is so pompously portentous it sounds like he's in a Funny or Die sketch or a mockumentary. Meanwhile, as Cesar's cousin, Shia LaBeouf- who seems to be on a mission to outdo himself, giving increasingly terrible performances- is so self-indulgent, over-the-top and hammy that it's almost a parody of bad acting.
The film exemplifies the pitfalls of unchecked ambition. Without critical oversight, Coppola's vision sprawled into a self-indulgent narrative. The absence of external feedback and editorial control led to a lack of cohesion, while Coppola's reported choice to improvise scenes on the day led to ludicrous, stilted dialogue and inconsistent performances. Without anyone to tell him "No," it seems Coppola indulged in every whim and idea, no matter how tangential or underdeveloped. This means that what could have been a tight, impactful film instead became an overextended, indulgent spectacle of excess.
47 years in the making, Francis Ford Coppola's 'Megalopolis' is not in the same league as his best works. It is more akin to 'One from the Heart' or 'Twixt': a visually stunning film lacking narrative weight and cohesion. It's preachy, pontificatory pretension; a messy, bloated film failing to deliver on its grand ambitions. Although good-looking and showcasing Coppola's relentless drive and passion for cinema, if 'Megalopolis' is the future, it might be better to stay in the past.
The Local Stigmatic (1990)
Pacino's Problematic Passion Project
In the world of movies, the term "passion project" generally comes with negative connotations. More disparagingly known as "vanity projects", they refer to films someone gets involved with out of love or obsession, rather than financial gain. While some, such as Clint Eastwood's masterful 'Unforgiven,' or Robert Duvall's 'The Apostle'- both of which took years to get made- are brilliant, more often than not the end result is underwhelming, if not downright awful.
Films like Michael Flatley's deluded attempt to be James Bond 'Blackbird,' or Francis Ford Coppola's recent misguided melodrama 'Megalopolis' exemplify how personal passion can sometimes cloud creative judgment. These projects can suffer from a lack of critical oversight, leading to indulgent storytelling, uneven pacing and a disconnect with audiences. The passion that drives these films can become their Achilles' heel, resulting in works that are often comically self-indulgent rather than impactful.
For Al Pacino, 'The Local Stigmatic' falls somewhere between both camps. While it doesn't mark the nadir of the great actor's career (there'll always be 'Jack And Jill' for that) it has serious issues. It is based on Heathcote Williams play of the same name, which Pacino first performed as a workshop during his time with The Actors' Studio in 1968. A year later, he performed it off-Broadway and, unsatisfied with the results, did it again in 1976 alongside friend and frequent co-star John Cazale.
Eight years after that, while in London, Pacino got the idea of filming Williams' play, to "learn a bit more about it from that angle." The result, directed by David F. Wheeler, makes for an interesting short film, that, in some regards, is a successful adaptation. The film follows two English friends, Graham and Ray, who spend their time indulging in violent, nihilistic behaviour, while reflecting on society's decay and their own disillusionment.
As with the source material, the film examines the nature of fame, as well as the personalities of two sociopathic sadists. Graham and Ray's interactions reflect their deep-seated resentment towards society, and their violent tendencies serve as a manifestation of their inner turmoil. The characters' philosophical conversations about fame and its impact on human behavior paints a grim picture of individuals who feel marginalized and disconnected from the world around them.
It is an odd, ambiguous story, following a most toxic duo. At the time Williams wrote the play, disillusionment and nihilism were prevailing themes in many plays and films. The influence of playwrights like Harold Pinter is evident in the film's dialogue and atmosphere, with its cryptic conversations and undercurrents of menace. This tradition of exploring existential angst and societal disintegration situates 'The Local Stigmatic' within a broader cultural context, reflecting the zeitgeist of its era.
However, while interesting, the film is not without its flaws. Ed Lachman's cinematography is uninspiring, lacking interesting stylizations or techniques that would make the venture feel suited for the cinema. Apparently, this was intentional, aiming to retain the stark, minimalistic feel of a stage play. While this approach may enhance the film's unsettling atmosphere, it also makes the visual experience somewhat monotonous.
Additionally, the pacing is laborious. The slow, dialogue-heavy scenes demand a great deal of patience, which might not appeal to those expecting a more traditional narrative flow. This deliberate pacing, while thought-provoking, risks losing audience engagement as the tension ebbs and flows inconsistently. Conversely, Howard Shore's muted score adds a sinister undercurrent of dread, drifting through the film like a cruel wind.
The main issue with the film, however, is the casting. Although Pacino is menacing and malevolent as Graham, he looks like a bad Liam Gallagher impersonator and his accent is patently ridiculous. His best attempts at a Cockney accent fall completely flat, leaving him sounding like a stroke-victim with marbles in his mouth. His co-star Paul Guilfoyle is no better, sounding like a Swede feebly attempting an impression of Paul Hogan. Their truly godawful accents actually detract from the narrative, making Sean Connery in 'The Hunt for Red October' sound like a native Russian.
It is a shame, as the story is intriguing and the dialogue strong. Pacino's love for the material is evident, though because he didn't cast someone else in the lead roles, or move the action to Brooklyn, the film suffers as a result. Conversely, Joseph Maher, who starred opposite Pacino in the 68' and 76' productions, does fine work; his impeccable accent coming as a relief to the ears from Pacino and Guilfoyle's embarrassing attempts at same.
In conclusion, Pacino's problematic passion project 'The Local Stigmatic' is a mixed-bag. It has some serious issues, namely its uninspiring cinematography, laborious pacing and central casting. Although Pacino and Guilfoyle aren't terrible, their accents are, detracting from Heathcote Williams' intriguing, sinister story and brilliant dialogue. Despite its shortcomings, however, 'The Local Stigmatic' is a testament to Pacino's passion for his craft and his willingness to take risks- even if his Cockney accent makes Dick Van Dyke in 'Mary Poppins' sound like Bob Hoskins.
Heretic (2024)
A Revelation
Founded in 2012, production and distribution company A24 has become synonymous with quality. Generally, if a film or TV show bares the A24 logo, it is worth watching, and probably made by an auteur. The likes of Jonathan Glazer, Denis Villeneuve and Sofia Coppola have partnered with the company, to brilliant results. A24 is also now associated with- what some refer to as- "elevated horror," which, despite the pretentious title, basically refers to a horror movie that's actually good.
From Robert Eggers' 'The Witch' and 'The Lighthouse,' to Ari Aster's 'Midsommar' and Alex Garland's 'Men', A24 has consistently delivered original horror films that don't just scare, but explore deeper themes, evoking a sense of dread that lingers long after the credits roll. Their latest horror offering, 'Heretic,' follows two Mormon missionaries, Sisters Barnes and Paxton, who find themselves in a sinister situation after visiting the home of Mr. Reed, a reclusive Englishman. Does it live up to the A24 standard?
For the most part, it does. Written and directed by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, 'Heretic' is a suspenseful exploration of faith, fear and the unknown. An unsettling atmosphere is fostered for the first two acts, and one is unsure in what direction proceedings are heading. It's also got a little bit of dark-humour, mainly in the demeanour and dialogue of the Reed character; whose good nature and charm mask a hidden darkness.
Moreover, Reed's monologues about religion raise genuinely interesting points, exploring the conflicts between faith and doubt, and the struggle to reconcile belief with the harsh realities of the world. His comparisons between religion, boardgames and popular music are especially provocative, challenging the protagonists- as well as the audience- to reflect on their own beliefs and the societal structures surrounding them.
The narrative engages throughout, though loses steam in the third act, where things boil down to a predictable riff on classic horror tropes. While the initial buildup is masterful, the resolution feels somewhat rushed and less impactful compared to the film's earlier intricacies. This slight dip in momentum, however, doesn't overshadow the film's overall success.
Visually, 'Heretic' is stunning. Chung-hoon Chung's haunting cinematography ably captures the eerie isolation of Reed's home, creating an atmosphere that is both beautiful and eerie. Chung's use of extreme-close-ups heightens the film's ominous atmosphere, as does his utilisation of light and shadow. Furthermore, Philip Messina's intricate production design is arresting; the contrasting interiors of Reed's home being highly impressive artistically, while also speaking to the development of Reed as a character.
Initially, Reed's house appears quaint and unremarkable, much like the man himself. As the plot progresses and the Sisters venture further into his home, it undergoes a metamorphosis, becoming grander and more imposing, before sinking into base seediness. This transformation not only serves to heighten the tension but also symbolizes the unveiling of Reed's true nature; a canny piece of visual storytelling.
In addition, Chris Bacon's original score enhances the film's ominous tone, keeping viewers on edge, while he makes clever use of music from the likes of The Hollies and Radiohead, with the latter's 'Creep' being used to particularly strong effect. It is also a well-edited picture, rocketing along at a brisk pace (and feeling a lot shorter than an hour and fifty minutes).
Hugh Grant stars as Reed, and has arguably never been better. The character is a far cry from the charismatic rom-com heroes he's best known for, and he seems to really enjoy playing such a creep. Although over the last few years he has played quite a few villains- from a cannibal in 'Cloud Atlas' to a billionaire arms dealer in 'Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre'- few have been as calculating and as cruel as Reed. With a mischievous, menacing twinkle in his eye, Grant steals every scene.
Chloe East and Sophie Thatcher star opposite him as Sisters Paxton and Barnes, respectfully. East, as the uncertain, sheepish Paxton, is terrific, believably portraying her evolution over the course of the film. Thatcher is similarly good as the more assertive, self-assured Barnes, and the two share a believable chemistry.
In conclusion, despite the narrative losing steam in the third act, Scott Beck and Bryan Woods' 'Heretic' is another fine film flying under the A24 banner. Combining terror with thought-provoking themes, it stands as a memorable addition to the pantheon of so-called "elevated horror". Visually and auditorily striking, and with a marvellously macabre Hugh Grant at its centre, 'Heretic' is something of a revelation.
Cuban Rebel Girls (1959)
Flynn's Last Ride
On the 1st of January, 1959 at 3am, the infamous dictator Fulgencio Batista fled Cuba. Fidel Castro, then admired by the US, became the country's leader. The night Castro was informed of Batista's ignominious exit, there was but one journalist in his company: actor and notorious bon viveur, Errol Flynn. Flynn, whose fame was waning and fortune dwindling, was a fan of Castro, having gone to Cuba to write a series of articles for the New York Journal American about the Marxist-Leninist revolutionary. While there, Flynn made two low budget, propagandist films, the awkwardly named 'Cuban Story: The Truth About Fidel Castro Revolution', and 'Cuban Rebel Girls'.
Directed by Barry Mahon and written by Flynn, 'Cuban Rebel Girls' is an intriguing, though not exactly illuminating, or well-made, venture. A docu-drama, the film loosely describes Flynn's activities in Cuba, as well as the fictional adventures of the titular girls. Despite the fact that he was a fine writer, Flynn's narrative is not compelling, nor does he offer a nuanced or unbiased view of Castro or his revolutionary plans. Further, the dialogue throughout is overly expository and awkwardly stilted; made no better by the wooden performances from most in the cast.
In his wildly entertaining autobiography 'My Wicked, Wicked Ways', Flynn describes the film as "an interesting side venture", though there is little of interest offered to the viewer, beyond seeing the great raconteur making his last on-screen appearance. Though his narration throughout is spirited, Flynn's appearance betrays his decades of rabble-rousing and carousing. He looks older than his years; sadly, but unsurprisingly, he would die two months before the film was released.
Technically, it is an uninspiring watch. Director of photography Merrill S. Brody adopts a documentary approach, though the absence of professional lighting leaves proceedings ugly and dark. At times, it is genuinely hard to see what's going on, which is made worse by poor sound quality that leaves dialogue muffled and indistinct. This technical inadequacy detracts from the film's potential impact, making it difficult to engage with the narrative.
The whole affair appears cheap, like a quickly made puff-piece- which, one supposes, it was. Conversely, the inclusion of actual footage from the Cuban Revolution adds a touch of authenticity, though feels disjointed and out of place within the overall narrative. This blending of fact and fiction creates an uneven tone, leaving viewers unsure of whether they're watching a poor documentary or a melodramatic dramatization.
Despite this, the film aptly serves as a time capsule, capturing a unique moment in history when Hollywood intersected with global politics in an unexpected way. Furthermore, Flynn's fascination with the Cuban Revolution, and his involvement in making these propagandist films, speak to his complex, often contradictory personality. Known for his swashbuckling roles and amorous off-screen antics, Flynn's latter years were marked by a sense of disillusionment and a search for new adventures. 'Cuban Rebel Girls', despite its shortcomings, stands as a testament to Flynn's enduring charisma and his willingness to take risks, even as his star was fading.
Flynn's girlfriend Beverly Aadland stars opposite him as the main rebel girl, an American on a mission to supply weapons for the revolution. Aadland was not a natural actress, awkwardly delivering lines as if she was held at gunpoint. Jackie Jackler, as her co-conspirator, does marginally better work; though also seems out of her depth. John McKay is no more than adequate as Johnny, Beverly's boyfriend, and the rest of the cast fade into the background, leaving little impression whatsoever.
Had Mahon take a firmer hand directorially, instead of the lax approach he seems to have adopted, the film could have been rather interesting. Flynn's passion for the subject matter is evident, and his performance is noteworthy; even if he appears a little drunk towards the end. Despite the clumsy dialogue and cliched narrative, Flynn's (admittedly biased) attempts to educate his audience about the Cuban Revolution is commendable; if executed somewhat gracelessly.
In conclusion, Barry Mahon's 'Cuban Rebel Girls' is perhaps best viewed as a curiosity rather than a serious cinematic achievement. It offers a unique window into a bygone era, complete with all the imperfections and peculiarities that come with it. For fans of Errol Flynn or those seriously interested in the history of the Cuban Revolution, it's a film worth watching, if only for its historical significance and the swan song of a Hollywood legend.
Xiao cai feng (2002)
Needs No Alterations
In 2000, Dai Sijie's semi-autobiographical novella 'Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress' was released. An elegantly told story full of humour and emotion, it is set during the time of Mao's Cultural Revolution, and follows Ma Jianling and Luo Min, two young men sent to re-education at a small mountain village. One day, they discover a stash of forbidden Western literature, including works by Balzac, which profoundly impacts their lives and thinking. They also befriend a local seamstress, with whom they share their newfound knowledge, which in turn changes her outlook on life.
The novella received near universal acclaim (apart from the Chinese government, somewhat unsurprisingly) and went on to be translated in over nineteen languages. In 2002, a film adaptation was released, directed by Sijie. Often, when powerful, simple stories are adapted to other mediums, their impact and poignancy are diluted, if not lost completely. Some stories are just better suited for the page and not the cinema screen: with 'Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress,' this is not the case.
Sijie's story translates beautifully to film. His narrative is compelling, with plenty of humour, despite its emotional resonance and dramatic depth. As in the book, the film shows how education and literature empower, especially within the confines of a society such as that under Mao. The film can be seen as a cutting diatribe against censorship and the small-mindedness of those who fear knowledge, free speech and education.
It is also a story about friendship, and how shared experiences forge deep, enduring bonds. The relationship between the two young men and the seamstress evolves through their mutual appreciation of literature, becoming a testament to the human spirit's resilience and the transformative power of art. Moreover, the film delves into the concepts of personal growth and self-discovery, as- through the forbidden books- the characters embark on a journey of intellectual and emotional awakening.
This journey is mirrored through Jean-Marie Dreujou's evocative cinematography and the picturesque, yet harsh, setting of the mountain village. Much like Thomas Mauch, Dreujou captures what Werner Herzog refers to as "the drama of the landscape" astutely, portraying the environment as both beautiful and foreboding. Dreujou highlights the contrast between the idyllic landscape and the oppressive political regime, emphasizing the tension between freedom and control, adding another layer of depth to the narrative. This visual dichotomy enhances the story's themes, illustrating the characters' internal and external struggles.
Furthermore, Jiuping Cao's production design adds a layer of authenticity to the film. The detailed set pieces transport the audience back to the Cultural Revolution, creating a vivid and immersive experience. Additionally, Huamiao Tong's costumes reflect the era's austerity, while highlighting the characters' evolving identities.
Moreover, Pujian Wang's elegiac score enhances the emotional impact of the film. The music weaves seamlessly with the narrative, underscoring the characters' journeys and the themes of love, loss and discovery. In addition, Luc Barnier and Julia Grégory's editing ensures the film has a smooth, steady pace that keeps the audience invested throughout.
Ye Liu, as Ma, delivers an introspective performance, capturing the character's intellectual curiosity and inner struggles with aplomb, while Kun Chen, as Luo, is charismatic and dynamic. Xun Zhou, meanwhile, shines as the Little Seamstress, embodying a blend of innocence and burgeoning self-awareness. Her transformation throughout the film is well-realized, making her character's journey all the more impactful. In addition, their co-stars- particularly Shuangbao Wang as the head of the village and Zhijun Cong as the tailor- cannot be faulted.
In conclusion, Dai Sijie's 'Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress' is a poignant and visually stunning adaptation remaining faithful to the essence of his novella. A celebration of the power of literature and the enduring strength of friendship, it is engaging and thought-provoking. Boasting stellar visuals from Jean-Marie Dreujou, a fine score and strong performances from all in the cast, it is a fairly seamless affair. In fact, 'Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress' needs no alterations.
The Substance (2024)
Anything You Can Do, She Can Do Better
In 2017, Coralie Fargeat's directorial debut 'Revenge' was released. A subversive tale of vengeance, like 'Kill Bill' mixed with 'Wolf Creek,' it was greeted with overwhelming praise, going on to make just under a million dollars at the box office. A strikingly shot picture overflowing with thematic weight, it showed Fargeat as a filmmaker unafraid to push boundaries and challenge conventions; a visionary with bold ideas.
A notion compounded by her second feature 'The Substance'. A satirical body-horror, it centres on Elisabeth Sparkle, a fading Hollywood starlet. After her 50th birthday, she is fired from her job as host of an aerobics show; her producer reasoning she is past her prime. Circumstances introduce Sparkle to a new wonder drug, creating a younger, more beautiful and perfect version of herself- if she follows the instructions, that is.
'The Substance' is a wild film, most easily described as being like 'All About Eve,' or 'Sunset Boulevard,' if directed by David Cronenberg. It contains much thematic depth, perhaps most obviously about fame, objectification and the ridiculous beauty standards faced by females in Hollywood. Fargeat's screenplay delves into the perils of a society obsessed with youth and perfection, showcasing the lengths to which individuals are willing to go to, to maintain their relevance and desirability.
It is a sad truth that, traditionally, opportunities for actresses dry up after they reach a certain age. Famously, in the early 1960's, Bette Davis was having such a hard time finding work that she placed an advertisement in The Hollywood Reporter, offering her services. In it, she stated that she possessed "thirty years' experience as an actress in motion pictures" and was "mobile still and more affable than rumour would have it." With her narrative, Fargeat cuttingly satirises the Hollywood machine, as well as the fickleness of fame.
Furthermore, the film explores the duality of identity and the internal conflict between one's true self and the facade presented to the world, echoing Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' and Robert Louis Stevenson's 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde'. Moreover, it can also be seen as a metaphor for the internal and external pressures faced by women in the entertainment industry, while other notions, such as addiction, control and obsession, are also examined; interwoven cleverly into the narrative and explored with tongue firmly in cheek.
It is a visually arresting film, with Fargeat's signature style evident in every frame. Alongside director of photography Benjamin Kracun, her use of vibrant, contrasting colours creates a surreal world for Sparkle to navigate; like some kind of 1980's hellscape. Furthermore, canny homages to other filmmakers (including Roman Polanski and Stanley Kubrick) serve to heighten the sinister atmosphere of proceedings, which the use of wide-angle lenses and extreme close-ups compounds. Combined with Gladys Garot and Stanislas Reydellet's meticulous production design, as well as Emmanuelle Youchnovski's costumes, the visuals are unsettlingly artistic and powerful.
The sound design is similarly effective at generating a sense of macabre disquiet. Much like the lush visuals, sounds are heightened to have the upmost effect. Moreover, Benjamin Stefanski's score is eerie and evocative, generating much dread, while songs like Bernard Hermann's 'The Nightmare & Dawn' from 'Vertigo,' and 'Pump It Up' by Earl Gregory are used to particularly strong effect. Furthermore, it is a well-edited picture, moving at a fast pace throughout.
In addition, the special effects and make-up are disgustingly breathtaking. Much like Rob Bottin's incredible work for John Carpenter's 'The Thing,' or Chris Walas and Stephan Dupuis's similarly brilliant efforts for Cronenberg's 'The Fly,' Pierre-Olivier Persin's mostly practical effects are jaw-dropping. In the latter half in particular, they are on full display, and are never anything less than bloody amazing.
Demi Moore stars as Sparkle, and is startlingly intense. She goes all out, holding nothing back- both literally and metaphorically. There are parallels between herself and the character of Sparkle, which serve only to heighten the impact of the narrative and the power of her performance. "Fearless" and "brave" are words often applied to actors, and are usually inaccurate overstatements- they're only acting, after all, not firefighting. However, they are probably the best terms to describe Moore's work in the film. It's a gutsy performance devoid of vanity, that may be her best so far.
Margaret Qualley does similarly powerful work as Sue, Sparkle's alter-ego. Much like Moore, she gives everything to the role, and is equally compelling. She brings a vibrant energy and unsettling allure to proceedings, making her character sinisterly beguiling, and the film all the more gripping for it. In addition, Dennis Quaid- in a role originally meant for the late, great Ray Liotta- is magnificently manic as Sparkle's producer; clearly having a ball with the material.
In conclusion, 'The Substance' is a thought-provoking and visually arresting film that solidifies Coralie Fargeat's reputation as a bold and innovative filmmaker. By blending satirical commentary with visceral horror, Fargeat crafts a narrative that is as entertaining as it is unsettling, making the film a must-watch for fans of body horror and incisive social commentary alike. Boasting strong performances and incredible special effects, it fires on all cylinders and doesn't disappoint. So, buy the ticket and take the ride, because 'The Substance' is a trip worth taking.
Venom (1981)
Schlocky Snake Shenanigans
In 1981, Oliver Reed was in a tough situation. His days of drinking to excess and playing games with his mates from the pub had taken a heavy toll on his purse strings. Moreover, the upkeep on his palatial manor house Broome Hall practically crippled him financially. He was forced to choose film roles that, frankly speaking, were beneath him. It is somewhat disheartening that, by 1983, he had starred in two hammy films about killer snakes, William Fruet's 1983 offering 'Spasms,' and 1981's 'Venom.'
'Venom', directed by Piers Haggard, pairs Reed with the ever-eccentric Klaus Kinski, as a pair of bungling kidnappers targeting the grandson of a hotel magnate. They successfully snatch the child, holding him hostage in his home, but their plans slither into chaos. Unbeknownst to the criminals, the boy inadvertently brought a Black Mamba with him, which escapes. As the situation deteriorates, the police surround the house, while the Mamba, lurking in the ventilation system, stalks his prey; fangs poised to strike.
A schlocky flick, it makes for a highly entertaining watch- for all the wrong reasons. Haggard fails completely to generate tension. Like a drunk on a tightrope, he struggles to balance the thriller and horror elements. The film is neither suspenseful nor tense, and the threat of the snake never feels more menacing than a misplaced garden hose. The dialogue is stilted and unnatural, while the narrative is as predictable as the setting sun. Moreover, the police procedural elements are dull and cliched, while the interplay between the kidnappers and their quarry seems ripped from an 'Idiot's Guide To Storytelling'.
It is a ridiculous film, the appeal of which comes from the general incompetence of Haggard's direction, the tacky snake POV shots and the over-the-top performances from the cast. The cinematography from director of photography Gilbert Taylor- who did impactful work on numerous films, from Roman Polanski's 'Repulsion' to Richard Donner's 'The Omen'- is nothing to write home about. His shots lack visual flair or creativity, while the lighting is flat, and his compositions conventional.
Michael Kamen's score is similarly uninspired, while the editing is frequently choppy and disjointed. However, while the aforementioned snake POV shots- which were also prominently featured in 'Spasms'- are tacky, adding to the film's unintended campness, the fact that a real Mamba was used in certain sequences is commendable and effective.
There is an undeniable charm to the film's absolute absurdity. It's sheer, silly fun, bolstered by the central performances from Reed and Kinski. Reed, a maestro of brooding, silent thuggery, is terrific. He embraces the over-the-top nature of the film with gusto, yet plays the material utterly straight, delivering his lines as if he's performing Shakespeare. His commitment to the role is so earnest that you can't help but be captivated.
Kinski, probably the most temperamental actor to have ever graced the screen, seems to be in an intensity contest with Reed. To paraphrase Spinal Tap's Nigel Tufnel, he turns it way past eleven. Watching Kinski is like watching a live wire sparking dangerously close to an open gas line- rivetingly unpredictable. He is so over-the-top, he's practically orbiting Mars. Apparently, he and Reed did not get along during filming (what a surprise, Kinski not getting along with someone); explaining why the tension between them feels so genuine. Their eccentric duel of egos adds unique, unintentional comedy to the film.
Susan George also has a small role as their accomplice Lousie, seeming bewildered as to why she's in a snake-based chiller. Sterling Hayden, as the hotel magnate, looks like he's wandered onto the set by accident, and acts like it too. Sarah Miles, as a snake expert, plays the material with a hilarious seriousness, while Nicol Williamson, as the main cop, phones it in completely; though is such a fine actor, he actually impresses.
In conclusion, Piers Haggard's 'Venom' offers a glimpse into Oliver Reed's latter career, marked by financial desperation and a willingness to take on any role. As a horror and a thriller, it fails completely, though as an unintentional comedy, it works wonders. The over-acting from Reed and Kinski is a constant delight, while the Black Mamba POV shots are always good for a laugh. Although the narrative, dialogue and cinematography doesn't impress, it's still a fun film worth watching. In short, though 'Venom' might not slither to greatness, it does have a bit of unintentionally comedic bite.