Uncut Gems

​​​​​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 12/14/19

Throughout Uncut Gems there’s a visual motif of the “camera” diving into something, either a priceless stone or inside a character’s body, to show the unseen inner workings of that something, exposing us to a new world we were unaware of beneath the surface. While the motif has meaning within the film, it also explains, probably inadvertently, what the Safdie brothers achieve as directors. Like the camera plunging to depths unseen, it’s as if the Safdie brothers plunge into our bodies, grab hold of our hearts and minds and manipulate them as we watch. We feel at peace when they want us to, on edge when they say so, and no matter what the scene, there’s always an ever-present sense of anxiety. Josh and Benny Safdie take full control of how we see, and feel about, the world for two hours and 15 minutes. 

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Midsommar’s director, Ari Aster, does a similar thing, but where his tactic is to create an ever-growing sense of horror, building to an ultimate crescendo, with spurts of crazy along the way, the Safdie brothers pretty much do the inverse, keeping us in the realm of heart-pounding insanity most of the time, and providing only occasional respites. 

Howard (a brilliant Adam Sandler) is a Jewish jewelry store owner, selling diamonds and assorted bling to his clients. But he’s in the hole, owing 100 grand to a man who either walks around with, or sends, his hotheaded fixers looking to collect. Howard is always putting off his lenders, constantly promising to pay them back soon. At first Howard seems to be a gambling addict, placing huge bets on basketball games, but there’s more there that speaks to what he really needs to feel alive. His ticket out of debt is this ultra rare stone he now possesses mined from a village inhabited by Ethiopian Jews. So excited about his acquisition, Howard shows the stone to basketball giant Kevin Garnett, who is drawn to it and asks to hold it for his upcoming game. So many questions arise, like why Howard would show Garnett the stone at all, will he actually give it to Garnett, and why can’t Demany (LaKeith Stanfield), Howard’s connection to Garnett, give anyone a straight answer? 

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As deadlines pass for Howard to pay up, the movie ramps up to hyperspeed, so that at every second of the film it begins to feel like anything could happen. The whole of Howard’s life could fall off the rails at any moment. This is no more clear than in one of the scenes in Howard’s secondary apartment where the edge feels so palpable it’s as if you can sense yourself falling. It’s a masterclass in pacing, and having a clear vision for the direction of the story.

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Beyond the thrill of gambling, Sandler embodies someone who needs that adrenaline fix to feel connected to his life. That’s why he makes poor decisions. He’s smart enough to know when a decision is bad, but he may not know that he’s compulsively drawn to the chaos that his bad decisions bring. I can’t think of another character like him in film, which is why this movie is so unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Howard himself is an uncut gem, someone who has a lot more going on beneath the surface than even he probably realizes. And certainly more than those around him realize.

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The film is more than the sum of its parts, more than just a list of wild plot points. And it’s all connected to that recurring visual motif. Beyond the idea that Howard himself is an uncut gem, I think the film might be about how we don’t recognize the magic around us, and even in us, because we’re so consumed with making our way in the world, making money, and all the distractions that seem like a big deal, but really keep us from a more epic knowledge. We can be so close to the answers to the mysteries of the universe and life, but so far from ever really seeing.

Marriage Story

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Watched: 12/7/19

From the moment Scarlet Johansson emerges from complete darkness in the film’s first moments, I knew that I would probably love this film. The opening, a non reading of the kind notes Nicole and Charlie’s divorce counselor suggested they write to one another, matched with lovingly shot visuals of their life together, set up the important fact that these are two people who once were in love, and perhaps two people who would always love each other in some way. But it seems love is never enough to keep people together, so this marriage story is ending in divorce.

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At the same time that it establishes their relationship, the film also makes it unmistakably clear that this is a story crafted by someone who loves the medium, both literal film and the overall art of cinema making. Marriage Story is patient, aims to capture beauty, but at the same time is never style devoid of substance. With Marriage Story writer/director Noah Baumbach enters the ranks of directors whose works illustrate a reverence for the art form — directors like Tarantino, Del Toro, and Pawel Pawlikowski. These are people who, over the course of their very different careers, have refined a unique vision that seems to flow from a love for what film has been and can be, and an inextinguishable desire to discover how they fit into the story of film. 

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So far Baumbach’s films have been most reminiscent of Woody Allen’s work (I suppose he could be considered a member of that earlier group, though the allegations against him understandably taint his reputation), with it’s constant odes to New York life, New York Jewish life in some cases, plus mile-a-minute dialogue that contains a quota of witty quips per page. Here that is combined with notes of Paul Thomas Anderson, with its lush cinematic imagery. But it’s not simply imitation, although there is something that feels old in the way it hearkens back to a type of filmmaking we don’t see much of, but the creation of something singular.

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The film follows Nicole’s (Johansson) and Charlie’s (Adam Driver) divorce. It’s loosely based on Baumbach’s split with actress Jennifer Jason Leigh, which certainly lends a sense of realism to the story. Without giving away too much, the couple, a film-turned-New-York-stage actress and an avant-garde theatre director, split when Nicole decides to move to L.A. for a television pilot she’s offered. (The New York/Los Angeles battle is played up at every possible moment and it’s great) She temporarily moves herself and their son to the city of angels, while Charlie takes his play to Broadway. They had decided to keep things cordial, but it’s an impossibility once lawyers get involved. Questions arise regarding where the family is truly based, where the son wants to be, and which parent is most fit to raise the son. (Really without the kid everything would have been resolved quite easily). 

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The film uncovers something very true and real in the couple’s reasons for the divorce. Charlie wants to maintain his ability to grow as an individual in his career, but also wants desperately to be there for his son, which will be hard from the opposite coast if it’s decided that Nicole and their son will stay out West. On the other hand, it’s not just that Nicole always wanted to move back to L.A. In their marriage, Nicole felt her voice was shut out and that she constantly made way for Charlie’s desires and supposed genius. That’s something that would be an inherent fear for any independent single person entering a relationship, and I imagine a horrific nightmare for someone in a marriage with any sense of self. So while they agree to be civil as they split, Nicole is mad at Charlie, something he kind of sees, but doesn’t seem to fully understand.

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Nicole’s frustration is something her powerful lawyer understands, but also exploits. Nora (Laura Dern) could have just been a villain, the impetus for the escalating battle between the members of the dissolving couple, but she’s more than that. Dern, in an awards-worthy supporting role, has a villainous streak, but also is able to clearly synthesize and communicate her client’s struggle within the marriage. And Dern’s isn’t the only noteworthy performance. Without excellent leads, this dialogue-heavy film would never have worked. Driver is a true standout. He’s a man desperately fighting to maintain so many things: his career, his life in New York, his relationship with his son, and most importantly his own image of himself as good. When he explodes it’s not just because he has become angry with his wife, but because he is forced to hear, much thanks to Nora’s clarity, that he may be at fault. Charlie is an artist, someone who attempts to understand human feeling, so his own feelings are hurt and he’s understandably disoriented when confronted with the pain he’s caused. It wouldn’t be surprising if the depth of his character comes from the fact that Noah has had time to reflect on his own divorce and the failings that led to it.

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Marriage Story is triumph in its content and in a visual sense. And it all coalesces into one story, brilliantly told, and a story that makes us feel a heavy weight of sadness while giving us just enough of a sense of hope that everything might be alright. That balance can only be achieved when truth is at the center of the story. Not to say that only stories based on true events can achieve this, but rather stories where a sense of truth is central, and that’s very true of this, Baumbach’s latest masterpiece.

Queen & Slim

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Watched: 11/30/19

When I was in high school we switched churches. And back then the pastor used to do these things called illustrated sermons. It was essentially a play, where members of the congregation would play roles, and in between certain scenes the pastor would come up and preach a little, helping put what we were seeing in the play into context.

That’s how most movies about police violence and the black American experience end up feeling. Just thinking of a couple recent entries, last year’s The Hate U Give, which wasn’t bad at all, spells out how we should feel about everything we see unfold on screen. Specific scenes were written just to make it clear how one should interpret the movie. The more recent Netflix release American Son is far worse. The exposition in this movie, if it can be called one, is so exhaustingly pointed that the film becomes unbearable. These two movies may be examples of projects that should have remained in their original form (The Hate U Give was a novel, and American Son was very clearly a play). And to be fair to these films, the topics explored are so impossible to discuss without certain foundations being established. Then to approach the topic with nuance is a challenge in and of itself. So these movies end up feeling like illustrated sermons — a whole lot of preaching hiding under the thin veil of a story — and have not really elevated to the level of art because they struggle to deal with the topic artfully.

Enter Queen & Slim, a beautifully made and quietly profound art film. Written by Lena Waithe and directed by Melina Matsoukas, the film details the fictional story of two young, black people whose first date changes their lives forever. Nothing romantic pops off. Instead the two are stopped by a white policer for a minor infraction, only to be treated with hostility almost immediately. Slim (Daniel Kaluuya), a soft-spoken homebody, ends up with a gun in his face, as Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith), a lawyer and a loner, steps out the car to assert their rights. Suddenly violence erupts which leaves the cop dead, and two millennials on the run with no real plan. 

The film is a complete journey, one where two people who don’t have what it takes to make it to a second date are suddenly inextricably linked. As they head south, all they know is that they’d rather be with anyone else, yet they’re stuck with each other. 

At it’s core the journey these two characters take is less about how often they switch cars, who they can afford to trust, and what state line they’ve crossed most recently. It’s more about how they evolve. Individually we see Slim’s struggle to detach from the world he knew. At the beginning he seems like the more adaptable of the two, but that’s only because he’s comfortable living where he lives and being surrounded by his family. He becomes a much more nervous presence on the uncertain road. Then there’s Queen. She assumes an air of superiority on her date with Slim, and embraces her lonesome ways almost as a badge if honor. But she, more than Slim even, undergoes a complete transformation of character, learning how to trust and live a little more recklessly. On top of how they change on the way to the plane that will take them out the country, the two grow together. This is what’s most remarkable about how perfectly their relationship is handled. This  budding romance could have so easily felt sentimental and out of place in a film that features police violence. It also could have very quickly devolved into something corny, but their growth as a duo feels natural because it's consistent with the ways they grow individually while on the run. 

The question is, are Queen and Slim just getting together because they recognize that there’s no alternative but to rely on each other? I choose to believe no, but the film doesn’t necessarily answer that question. Maybe they develop feelings for one another because they literally have no one else. Does this make their relationship less valid in the absence of other choices? There are no easy answers and Waithe and Matsoukas don’t make those answers clear. And that’s the key to what makes this film a work of art. It’s not at all about tying together a string of events that makes sense so that we can reach a specific end or understanding. It’s not really about making a clear, pragmatic point. It’s not a sermon to be illustrated. It’s a chance for us to see how people might live in a world like ours in an extraordinary circumstance. The best way to watch is not to go in expecting an agenda to be fulfilled, but to watch the film as a story not knowing where it might take you. 

And when you do this, you hardly have a choice but to be completely consumed and invested in our heroes’ unorthodox quest. I wish I could watch the film for the first time again not knowing where it would end so that I could experience this heart-pounding pain of hope again. Waithe and Matsoukas build up so much tension as we wonder what end Queen and Slim will meet. I desperately hoped for their escape, but also knew tragedy could very well await them. 

(Aside: this is the problem with how most people watch movies. They watch them how they read a self-help book. They ask what can I get out this, when it’s really not about them. Most people will like a movie because of the themes it explores without ever really thinking about whether or not the filmmakers told the story, or explored those themes, well.)

Matsoukas proves herself to be a beyond-talented director in her debut. What she does, on top of creating a building sense of tension, is frame our characters as sort of new icons — two beautiful people inspiring a segment of the country to recognize their anger and longing for justice, all while constantly reminding us that they never desired to be this type of symbol for people. They’re caught in the middle, and in that middle space, Queen and Slim run for their lives, hope for freedom, develop as people, and learn to love. It’s simply astounding!

There was one part that I felt was handled poorly, and that was the events of a rally that was organized in response to Queen and Slim’s incident. It featured scenes we’ve seen in real life, but also one that we haven’t. Again, that’s fine, and perhaps even preferred because it’s a fiction film. But this incident just happens, feels unbelievable in a film so rooted in reality, and is never addressed again. It just feels thrown in. It’s great that the filmmakers did not want to tell us how to feel about it, but without revisiting, it didn’t leave us with enough to even draw our own conclusions about what happened.

Still, without a doubt, Queen and Slim is by far one of the best films of the year. It’s ambitious, gorgeous, meaningful, and most importantly, something you can feel.

Knives Out

​​​​★★★★★★☆☆ ☆☆ 6/10

Watched: 11/28/19

I would just like to say that for the last 11 months I have been a huge Rian Johnson apologist. Johnson wrote and directed Knives Out, but what he’s most famous for is writing and directing, or ruining as some would say, the latest Star Wars movie, The Last Jedi. I actually loved The Last Jedi. In my opinion, Johnson saved the rebooted series from its borderline exhausting nostalgic recreation of the ‘80s series that started it all, and made a surprising film with beats and turns we couldn’t expect. Plus, he directed the crap out of that movie. I would also like to say that I found the topical, political subtext in Knives Out to be one of the best and most effective parts of the movie. So my less-than-stellar review has nothing to do with any sort of right leaning-ness, nor is it because I have some personal vendetta against Johnson for what he did to Star Wars. With that, let’s move on.

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Knives Out is the much hyped murder mystery movie that so many can’t stop gushing about. I found it to be rather boring most of its runtime. Mystery novelist Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is found dead of apparent suicide the morning after his 85th birthday party. His whole family, from children to in-laws, nephews to nieces, and the help, came to celebrate with the old man. So there was no shortage of suspects and everyone who could have been involved was conveniently in town for the investigation into his death. That investigation was led by local law enforcement, chiefly Lieutenant Elliot (LaKeith Stanfield) and private investigator Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig), who has no idea who hired him on this case, which leads him to believe there’s more to this story beyond suicide.

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In the opening scenes we’re quickly introduced to the suspects, who all have a motive for being angry with the family patriarch. (Minor spoilers) The only thing is that these motives are thrown away as quickly as we learn them because we find out critical information about that fateful night incredibly early on. Sure the interviews with these characters provide context — like the one with his daughter, the self-proclaimed self-made businesswoman (Jamie Lee Curtis) and her cheating husband (Don Johnson), or with his ditzy daughter-in-law (Toni Collette) who’s been skimming money from Harlan, or his son (Michael Shannon) who runs the publishing business until he was fired the night of the party — but it undercuts any momentum the film hoped to build by exposing the majority of what happened to Harlan so early on. And really the whole movie is an exercise in cutting momentum, which is why the pacing is so slow, and why it feels like hardly anything is revealed throughout the majority of the film.

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There are some solid performances and some interesting characters, but the best ones hardly get any significant screen time. It’s always a challenge with a cast this size, but balance is the key yet nowhere to be found. Curtis attempted to do something interesting with her character, but she’s barely there. Michael Shannon is criminally underused. And Toni Collette makes the most of what she’s given, eliciting some of the biggest laughs, but still it wasn’t nearly enough. 

Instead we’re mostly stuck with Craig’s Benoit Blanc, a silly caricature of an old-timey southern genteel detective. He’s supposed to be smart, but eventually becomes a frenzied buffoon with his talk of donuts and their holes. Blanc enlists the help of Marta Cabrera (Ana De Armas), Harlan’s nurse and confidante. The film makes a point that she’s kindhearted, but she’s so sweet that she ends up with no personality at all. The character could have used a dose of what Chris Evans, who ends up being the film’s saving grace, basic J. Crew sweater and all, brought to his Captain America character, an earnestness without losing the soul. 

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But even Evans couldn’t make the film the comedy is was meant to be. Rian Johnson seems to think silliness automatically equals humor when it’s baked into the plot, but sometimes it’s just ridiculous. Things like the puking-when-lying gag and the misheard name at a pivotal moment are eye-roll inducing offenses. And even the more straightforward jokes don’t really land. My theater was consumed by an unfortunate amount of weak, pithy laughter at things clearly meant to be funny.

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I think Johnson as a writer sometimes gets so consumed with the idea of setting up our expectations then subverting them that he loses the audience, or maybe just me. He set out to create a whodunnit, but spoils most of it within about 30 minutes. In Looper, another widely beloved film that I didn’t enjoy, he takes a really interesting sci-fi premise, and then turns the movie into a weak X-Men imitation that centers around an annoying kid.

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Here’s the thing, Knives Out stops being a whodunnit very early into a two-hour-long movie and instead becomes a "whatisgoingon." Sure there’s still the mystery if who hired Blanc, and a few outstanding details to figure out about the night Harlan died, but if it were the great genre film Johnson hoped to make, we as the audience would have followed our detective beat by beat attempting to solve a truly engaging mystery as more is revealed. Nothing is really revealed until the very end, when in an extended monologue Blanc just explains everything. Sure we’re stumped, perplexed may be the more accurate word, by what’s going on, but instead of us trying to figure out whodun anything, what we’re left trying to figure out is the movie itself. And that’s a lot less fun.

Honey Boy

​​​​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 11/25/19

There’s a version of Honey Boy that could have been quite average, stale, and indulgent. On the surface the film appears to be told in a way we’ve seen before, where a character in relative stasis, constantly revisits his past through flashbacks as he hopes to uncover some meaning. Think of crime films where a criminal is in jail the whole movie, but revisits the past while talking to their lawyer, or one where a character in therapy reminisces the entire movie about the past to uncover some truth about their suffering. 

In Honey Boy we are in two time periods at once. We see Otis as a quite famous young-adult actor in 2005 sent to a rehab facility after another drunken run in with police. That’s juxtaposed with scenes from 1995. In this earlier timeline Otis is 12 and his fame as a child actor is burgeoning. He’s living with his abusive father in a cheap California motel as he constantly gets booked for more acting projects.

A film that shirks this structure is the recent A24 release, Waves. With its two distinct periods, it could have been told in flashbacks unveiling the mystery of the event that’s tearing a family apart. Instead writer/director Trey Edward Shults decides to tell the story chronologically in two distinct halves. It’s ambitious and pays off.

Honey Boy, though seeming to fit the aforementioned tried and tired Hollywood storytelling format, manages to shirk convention as well. Unlike other films that are similarly told, in the more recent timeline we don’t simply see Otis in stasis. It’s a dynamic period of his life just like his past. Adult Otis isn’t simply in rehab talking to one person the entire time. He’s learning and experiencing things, just like young Otis does in the more distant past. And the 1995 timeline isn’t just a series of flashbacks. It plays as its own story unfolding at the same time, almost like a parallel timeline on a Möbius strip. 

Credit for making this work belongs to director Alma Har’el and writer Shia Labeouf, who lifts much of the story from his own life as a child actor with an unstable stage dad. Thankfully Labeouf doesn’t rest on autobiographical plot points to make the movie work. It’s not a biopic. It’s a deeply moving and heart-wrenching film with a clear point of view.

Young Otis (Noah Jupe) is crumbling under the weight of his abusive dad. Perhaps it’s because he’s forced to grow up faster than most pre-teens — supporting his family, chain smoking, and discovering sexuality — that he realizes how his relationship with his father can’t continue on as it has. Confrontation becomes unavoidable. Adult Otis (Lucas Hedges) is also confronting how broken he is as a result of this past relationship. He’s not just a victim though. He’s become his own version of a menace, obstinate and combative. 

What Labouef does so well is find the balance between not letting his characters off the hook while also treating them with compassion. Labouef plays the father, his father, an unfortunate man with no charisma, but who once longed to see his own star rise. James resents his son’s success and that he needs him for support. But there’s also no doubt that he cares for his son deeply, and that in some ways the sacrifices he makes for his son’s career flow from love. 

It’s this dichotomy, so clearly explored and illustrated that makes the film so devastating. It’s a short, seemingly simple film that, because of it’s clarity of execution, cuts straight to the heart. And that all starts with the script. 

Waves

​​​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 11/22/19

Waves is a film split in half. The first part is a pavement-pounding, nonstop roll of chaotic energy, while the second half is subdued, and if someone were to call it slow, I’d understand. What I don’t really understand is the intense criticism of the film coming from a small faction of the viewing audience. It may not be perfect, but this ambitious release from writer/director Trey Edward Shults is an effectively emotional journey that uncovers something true about family dynamics and just how awful this life can be.

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The first half is razor focused on Tyler (Kelvin Harrison Jr.). He’s a wealthy, black, all-star athlete with a doting girlfriend (Alexa Demie). Tyler has got nearly everything going for him. Though perhaps not as smart, the parallels between this character and Harrison’s role in this year’s earlier release, Luce, are clear. And Alexa Demie’s presence makes the parallels between the first half of the movie and HBO’s Euphoria clear as well. This half is filmed from the start with a wildness. Cameras wind in and out of car windows. In fact you feel as if you can never know how the camera will frame these characters. Things start to go downhill for Tyler when he’s faced with a couple challenges that would be daunting for any high schooler, but especially a student with so much promise, and one with a father who puts so much pressure, and projects so much of his own hopes, onto his son. The immensely talented Sterling K. Brown plays Tyler’s dad, and strikes a tough balance between too tough and caring. The dad could have very easily turned into a villain, but in Sterling’s hands, and with Shults’ script, he never does. One criticism I have of this first half is that Tyler is pretty spoiled, but the film doesn’t seem to fully acknowledge or understand this. These obstacles Tyler faces are difficult, but they feel a bit derivative as they’re the kinds of things overused in storytelling, particularly film and television, to inject drama where there previously was none.

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The first half ends in unexpected horror for Tyler, then the aspect ratio changes, visually signaling life after this climactic event. As we enter the second half, suddenly everything slows down. The focus shifts to Tyler’s sister Emily (played with impressive depth by newcomer Taylor Russell). Instead of the chaotic camera work, the camera is more stationary, and the screen is filled with grief. Tyler and Emily’s parents are falling apart, and Emily curls up into a shell of solitude. Enter Luke (Lucas Hedges), a white fellow classmate. We saw him ever so briefly in the first half wrestling with Tyler, but for all intents and purposes he’s a late film addition. He awkwardly befriends Emily treating her like her own person, and a young romance soon blossoms. 

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It was surely unintentional, but Luke’s drama is actually the most moving. Perhaps it’s because his is a more straightforward series of events, simpler. Or perhaps it’s that stories like his always get me. Either way, beyond being effective on it’s own, it’s expertly used to frame and make sense of the primary family drama. In every sense Luke’s story and his relationship with Emily is juxtaposed with the first half of the movie (even one of the winding car shots is replicated). As Emily and Luke grow closer, the camera work seems to pick up, though it never quite feels chaotic. It’s more melodic, like if Terrence Malick directed a Lana Del Rey music video. Luke’s presence and experiences are what give Emily, who’s reserved to begin with, but even moreso in the aftermath of the first half, a way to understand her own battles. It’s because she finds joy in this relationship that she can see what’s left to fight for in her own family. 

What we end with is sobering portrait of pain for so many different characters, including and beyond the family at the center, but it leaves us with a tempered expectation for hope. And even more than telling a story in two distinct halves, that is not an easy thing to do.

Jojo Rabbit

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 11/11/19

Stand up comedians, in the era of the Trump presidency, have stopped being funny. Not all of them, but a hefty portion. Understandably, these comedians feel the need to use their platform to spread a message to counteract the rampant messages of hate and intolerance. But somewhere along the way they have decided to give up on the central element of comedy, humor, in lieu of making a point. Before I begin to sound like I’m in the, the-world-is-so-PC-that-we-can’t-even-joke-anymore camp, I think the move is commendable. It’s just that so many brilliant comedians have forgotten to also write jokes.

Perhaps the answer to the times we live in isn’t mildly funny, mostly political comedy specials. The answer could be satire. The thing is satire is a lot harder to do than sucking the jokes out of standup. Luckily we have writer/director Taika Waititi to show us how it‘s done.

At its core satire must be funny or doesn’t stand a chance of working, and Jojo Rabbit definitely succeeds on that point. Jojo (Roman Griffin Davis) is a ten-year-old boy living in Nazi Germany during the second half of World War II. His version of an imaginary friend is the Führer, Adolf Hitler himself (played by Waititi), at least a goofball version of the vicious leader. Imaginary Adolf gives his young fan advice and boosts his confidence as Jojo heads to a Hitler Youth boy-scout-like camp to learn how he can serve in the war effort, not knowing how dire the German position in the war is becoming. There he meets his scene-stealing friend, Yorki (Archie Yates giving one of the most hilarious performances by a young actor I’ve ever seen). The cast is rounded out by a endearing Scarlett Johansson, heightened idiots if the Reich played by Sam Rockwell, Alfie Allen, and Rebel Wilson, and a dangerously fun performance from another young actor, Thomasin McKenzie.

What the cast, under Waititi’s direction, is able to accomplish is something that makes you understand, and laugh at, the utter absurdity of Hitler’s ideology. Because we see how this worldview captures the imagination of a naive child, we see just how laughably vapid racism and xenophobia are.

But because the film is dealing with these heavy topics, we venture into the realm of satire, instead of straightforward comedy. But simply addressing these things isn’t an automatic path to success. There needs to be something to say or show about these things. And that’s what JoJo Rabbit also provides. While we laugh at German racism and xenophobia, we also feel the weight of it. It brings about terror, death, and danger for our young protagonist. The film is a journey through JoJo’s eyes, one where he discovers conflict, pain, and an immense sense of loss, giving the film an unexpected poignancy, all while never losing sight of, and more than delivering, the comedic elements of satire. Waititi so nails the fullness of what satire should be, and what political comedy can be, with this film. 

The other part of satire that’s not apparent within the definition of the term is the inconsistent way people will react to it. Back to the unfunny stand up comedians. They are by and large preaching to the choir, eliciting the that’s-so-true head nods that stand up tends to garner. Satire is a much more daring form of political comedy, and therefore more divisive. Instead of bluntly saying, “Trump is bad, am I right?” and waiting for the audience to laugh, satire crafts a story within a place and time that is characterized by horror of some kind, then it asks us to laugh. There are times when you second guess if you should even be laughing, but that’s the complicated world of satire — a fine line that will leave and audience uncertain. So it’s not so shocking that some people love the Jojo Rabbit and others find it to be a tough watch. Sure the reactions may be more divisive than a sweet, tepidly comical stand up special, but the impact of good satire has a much greater potential to stand the test of time.

The King

​​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched:11/2/19

The King has all the trappings of a medieval drama, a genre of film that really spans the wide spectrum of goodness. But they all have certain things in common that profess greatness outwardly: impressive sets, even more impressive costumes, accent work, bold monologues — all the things that make an actor salivate. Yet so many entries in the genre are just okay, never going beyond these showy elements. The King does manage to go beneath the surface, in large part thanks to the talents of Timothée Chalamet, even if it succumbs to some of the standard medieval drama pitfalls.​

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The film is about a young King Henry V, née Hal (Timothée Chalamet), who takes a throne he never wanted after the death of his aging father. Though he’s a reluctant ruler, preferring to binge drink with friends over learning about the affairs of stat, he’s clearheaded enough to know that he will rule differently than his warmongering dad and most rulers throughout Europe. Instead of starting a bloody fight over every small infraction, Hal plans to follow peace, even though so many around him, including religious leaders, want to spawn new wars all the time, preaching of illegitimate claims to thrones, improper threats to England, and so forth. Hal refuses to give in, until a threat so clear comes from the French forcing Hal to forsake his pacifism. In reality he isn’t truly a pacifist. He’ll fight, threaten, and execute when he deems it necessary, but even in the heat of battle his concern is preserving the most lives as possible.

It’s a refreshing premise. So many medieval dramas up-play the romance and sexiness of the time. The King, like so many in the genre, confirm how boring it must have been to be alive in medieval times, no matter if you were rich or poor, but it keeps scenes of debauchery to a minimum. Still there are those things that The King can’t seem to help, like the sanctimonious shooting style that attempts to make almost every movement sacred. Especially in recent years, the desaturated color palette has become a hallmark of the genre. There are one or two strong monologues, which actually end up not being a weakness at all, and there’s definitely some questionable accent work. Robert Pattinson, who is one of the most talented and interesting young actors in Hollywood, plays a French prince, who apparently likes to practice his English in a caricature of his own French accent.

Where the film succeeds is almost entirely in the casting of Timothée Chalamet. It is he, above all others, who is able to go beyond the genre trappings to unearth something moving. Written on his face we see his resoluteness for peace get shaken with each new slight from the French monarch. He is a ruler bearing the heavy weight of the crown, wanting to be good, but finding himself on the brink of becoming someone he doesn’t wish to be. He doesn’t want to care about outward signs of strength, but knows that without them, ruin awaits. Also Chalamet’s physical presence — small, almost frail — creates a visual dichotomy between who he’s supposed to be as the representative of all of England’s power and glory, and who he really is.

Credit also belongs to his cast of supporting actors, from Sean Harris’s role as advisor to the new king, to Joel Edgerton (who also co-wrote the film), playing the king’s friend and military strategist. Director and co-writer David Michôd, who certainly leaned into medieval movie tropes on occasion, filmed an exhilarating battle scene unlike any other I’ve seen. It’s not the most grand battle in cinema, but it is 100 percent right for the film. Finally, the writers (Edgerton and Michôd) gave Chalamet a lot of good things to work with. Chalamet gives a truly stirring battle monologue towards the end of the film, and even the French king’s daughter, in a small role, does well with what’s she’s given.

The King is not a great film or a great medieval period piece, but there are sparks, which certainly give more than enough reason for it to exist. 

Parasite

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Watched: 10/12/19

Parasite is that rare near-perfect film that does something that even some of the very best films can’t do. It commands your attention completely without letting go for even a second. I know this to be true without a doubt because Parasite opened in New York at a single theater, and every showtime on the Saturday of opening weekend was completely sold out save for the earliest showing at 9:55 a.m. (which was nearly sold out). I made my way to IFC Center, near Washington Square Park after a night of spotty sleep. I tried to fall asleep on the way to the theater, but my chatty Uber driver wouldn’t let it be so. You see, I’ve dozed off on my fair share of films (see my High Life review for a wild theater napping story), and if I’m tired I‘m liable to take a quick nap during even an objectively good film. But director Bong Joon Ho has created something so utterly captivating, that nothing, not tiredness, not reading subtitles, could take me out if the film.

The first act follows the poor Kim family living in a rundown basement flat doing whatever menial work they can get to survive. They have maintained their wit despite their circumstances, and the young-adult children are clearly quite bright. Through the kindness if his friend, and the graphic design skills of his sister, the son of the family, Ki-woo (Woo-sik Choi) gets a job teaching English to the rich Park family’s daughter. From here on the film is a study of two families inhabiting the same space, but coming from distinct realities. 

This first act is quite hilarious as Ki-Woo eventually gets his sister, Ki-jung (So-dam Park), who he pretends is a friend of friend, a job in the Park home as an art teacher for their son. She craftily spins that job into and art therapy position demanding more money by preying on her student’s mother’s belief that he’s the next Basquiat. The mother of the Park household is brilliantly played with a frivolous lovability by Yeong-jeong Jo. She’s the embodiment of empty riches, all style and only feigned substance. The Kim daughter ever-so-craftily gets their father (the Korean film star Kang-ho Song) a job as the Park’s family driver, and in an ever escalating fashion they all get the longtime maid fired and replace her with their own mother (Hye-jin Jang).

And it’s just when you think you’ve picked up on the rhythm of he film and why it’s been so lauded by critics, that everything escalates. Bong Joon Ho’s films are no stranger to absurdity. His recent English-language films Snowpiercer and Okja are set in absurd versions of the not-too-distant future, worlds that shock us. What’s particularly remarkable about Parasite is that it is because it’s grounded in the reality we know that the absurdity is more jaw dropping. 

A film that was a farce remains one, with the flailing machinations of a Molière play, but suddenly it’s also a film with something to say. Not only is it a comparison of two families from distinct figurative worlds, but about how each of them survives in the world they have to inhabit together. Yes, the poorer family has latched on to the richer family to benefit from the fortune that family has amassed. That’s no commendable, but the poorer family is smarter and more resourceful (until they’re not) than the Parks. It’s a story about survival and about how nothing really changes. People generally remain in the same station, and if there is a change it’s only a role reversal. The things that are true about the world, how it works, and who it favors remain the same. 

One of the downfalls of Okja is that the film is so enraptured with what it‘s trying to say that the plot and message get lost as they intertwine to create that film’s narrative. Bong Joon Ho succeeds in the way he did with Snowpiercer — having a clear message, while also creating an engaging story connected to that message. So often films pick and choose between having an engaging plot and having something deeper to say. Ho refuses to choose and instead gives us both, and it works marvelously.

Joker

​​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched:10/5/19

When watching Joker, a movie that explores just one potential origin story for one of the greatest comic book villains of all time, I got the feeling that I was watching something really good. It seems as if all the right decisions were made to make a film that could be a masterpiece as some have called it. But taking a step back it becomes clear that the film does not add up to the sum if its part, making it a solid film, but no masterpiece.

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There is a lot to like about Joker, starting most obviously with Joaquin Phoenix’s dedicated performance as the madman who becomes the symbol of a sickening revolution in Gotham City. It’s clear that the actor has dedicated himself to portraying the the role in a deeply disturbing way, committing his body and psyche to the demands of Joker. His best moments are when he begins to dance, showing that he’s settling into the person he’s most comfortable being. And the film is gorgeous to look at. The cinematography captures a place full of chaos and dirt (it’s no wonder they filmed New York as Gotham instead of Chicago this time). And the violence, when it does come up, is, at least on a surface level, terrifying to behold. The film isn’t a traditional comic book movie, but more of a character study, so the action is limited, which is worth knowing before going into the film.

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Despite all that seemed to go right, the movie just doesn’t accomplish what all films should. It doesn’t make us feel. This is in part because at times the story tends to meander on. We see things happen, new information is revealed, but at the same time nothing really changes for Arthur Fleck, the man who would be Joker. The film is meant to show a descent into madness, providing homages to excellent films like Taxi Driver. The difference is that Arthur seems to start off half mad, so the descent is less effective because the journey from where he begins to where he ends is brief. And this gets to the larger issue with Arthur as a character. 

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Arthur doesn’t just descend into madness, he sort of starts off as an insufferable presence. The film is meant to be a sympathetic portrait of someone who is mentally ill, but that’s not the only thing at play here, because it’s ridiculous to believe mental illness alone leads to this kind of chaos even if you’re treated unjustly because of it. There are impulses within him that are just evil and exhausting. But because the film seems to miss this, it flirts with the right-wing narrative, I’ll assume inadvertently, that we simply need to solve the mental illness crisis to reduce the violence that plagues the country.

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Arthur clearly has delusions of grandeur, which is why he imagines things about his life and dances the way he does, when he does. But there’s another delusion that seems to me to be lurking beneath the surface, one that is unexplored by the film. The truth is these types of chaotic murderers in the U.S. tend to always be white men for a reason. It is delusional to believe that the world exists for you and that you’re owed a fruitful destiny despite your station in life — something a white male is more likely to believe in America. In fact, what really sets Arthur over the edge isn’t simply the injustice he experiences as a poor man or as a person with a mental illness, but it’s when he begins to see and perceive that he should have been given the riches of the world from birth but wasn’t, that he totally loses it. Adding a racial component to the film would have likely made it convoluted, but that element plagued my mind and was one of the things that makes Arthur a tough character with whom to sympathize.

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So without a sympathetic or at least conflicting character at the center of the film, the film is ineffective in making us feel for any of the characters. We don’t feel sympathy for Arthur before he becomes the Joker, we don’t feel torn about the fate of his earliest victims like we should, and we don’t feel the terror that’s unleashed on Gotham. We see all these things and are told how we should feel about them, but nothing has that necessary visceral quality that makes a film great.

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Compare this to some of the fascinating villains from recent comic book films. Even though Marvel movies are more fantastical and ungrounded in reality, villains like Thanos and Killmonger are more complex than this version of Joker. And compare this to the latest big screen adaptation of the character in 2008’s The Dark Knight in which Heath Ledger’s Joker absolutely steals the show. We come to understand more about his motivations than we do in a film all about the character, and those motivations scare us. No, we don’t feel sympathy for that iteration of Joker, but we’re not meant to. We feel knocked off balance and by the final act when Joker has unleashed his craziest scheme yet in the escalating game he plays with the city of Gotham, we feel utterly terrified by what could happen. And that’s the key — we feel.

Ad Astra

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Watched: 9/20/19

Almost immediately after watching Ad Astra I felt the need to defend it. I left the theater emotionally laid bare, while it was clear that a large part of my viewing audience felt that it was slow, boring, and pointless. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves to overhear people’s judgement of a film immediately after it ends as we walk out of the theater. In those precious moments of contemplation, the last thing I need is to hear the critique of some group of friends that goes to the movies, like, three times a year. Plus, before even making it to the theater, I’d heard from a friend, one I do trust to have thoughtful opinions, that he didn’t particularly care for it.

So let me start my defense by saying that the marketing for the film is misleading. The movie is advertised as a sort of space adventure, which technically it is. But the impression you’d get from the trailers and TV spots is that the central objective of the movie is to solve some sort of intergalactic problem causing catastrophe on earth, a problem that Major Roy McBride’s father attempted to solve a long time before. This marketing campaign did absolutely nothing to excite me about movie. In fact the only reason I saw it was because of the glowing reviews coming out of Venice, but the last thing I really wanted to see was another annual entry into the just-ok-space-movie-released-around-this-time-of-year category. Of course that marketing strategy gives the film broader appeal, but it undersells the brilliance, and leads to unmet expectations, which causes audiences to miss the genius in front of them, all because they were expecting to see The Martian, but with Brad Pitt this time. 

What it really is is a meditation on loneliness and human need; how we kid ourselves into believing that we don’t need anyone, or that we don’t need at all; the lie of not experiencing loneliness. Beyond the marketing, it may be another reason people don’t understand the movie. I felt it on a deeply personal level because every real conversation I’ve had in the last year and a half has dealt with these kinds of questions and themes. I don’t think most people are like Roy — someone who chooses solitude and detachment because it’s easier than facing pain, but still able to pass each and every psych evaluation because he appears socially adjusted — so perhaps it’s difficult for audiences to relate on the level that I did. That being said the whole of cinema (maybe all storytelling) is about connecting to realities, particularly those beyond your own, although most may be unwilling to go there if their only aim is to be entertained. Patience doesn’t thrive in an atmosphere solely about entertainment. 

In the film McBride (a subdued and believably introspective Brad Pitt) is enlisted by the US military to travel to space in an attempt to send his father (the always superb Tommy Lee Jones) — who has long been assumed dead, and who Roy hasn’t seen since his father left for Neptune when he was 16 — a message from their last useable signal transmission hub on Mars. (These events are happening in the future if that’s not immediately clear) There are some of those action/adventure set pieces, each one beautifully captured by co-writer/director James Gray. But lovely space scenes are, quite honestly, a dime a dozen in recent years, so what a space movie needs is something more. And Ad Astra truly delivers far more on an emotional level than on the adventure and visual levels. 

The physical setting, space, aids the larger theme of loss and the lies we tell to prevent ourselves from experiencing pain. After all, the lie that loneliness doesn’t exist, or that need doesn’t exist is proven specifically untrue by the physical circumstances when traveling billions of miles through space completely alone. Our bodies, our health in every way depend on our need to experience other life. And that points to the deeper desire to love and be loved. 

Roy doesn’t want to believe his father is alive after all this time, not simply because it’s illogical to imagine he’s survived, but because he doesn’t want to go back to deal with the realities that he’s locked away, realities that can’t help but bring about pain. We slowly begin to see Roy test the waters of emotional honesty until he can’t subdue what he feels any longer. Despite his abandonment, Roy still loves his father, even though the pain his father caused leaves deep and lasting wounds that have marred his life. He refuses to devote himself to relationships, but instead of recognizing that as a byproduct of his past, he’s recast this as a willing choice. He has told himself that he must avoid having children and romantic entanglement because it is a selfless act to devote himself fully to his career, one that sees him following the footsteps of the father he dearly loves still. And this detachment is just another way Roy follows his father. (This is all not to say that anyone who refuses to be in romantic relationships or to have kids is avoiding some deeper truth. I’m currently reading "Childfree by Choice" by Dr. Amy Blackstone who makes it clear that it can very wisely be the healthy and appropriate choice to not be a parent despite the stigma.) 

Will Major Roy McBride survive his trip to space? That’s a question that fades to the background, and one that James Gray and his co-writer Ethan Gross leave to other movies like Gravity and The Martian. Honestly it’s often the central question in film, the type that’s more straightforward and simple. And that admittedly is and easier question to swallow and digest for an audience bent on being entertained only. But it takes guts to move that aside and seriously leave us with a different, more profound question — if he does survive, will he learn to live with people, which is a type of living that opens you up to pain and loss, a living that is challenging, but so much more miraculous.

Ready or Not

​​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched:9/11/19

Ready or Not is not a great film, but it is a good one for the simplest reason — it’s wildly entertaining. While we’re in it we can’t look away, fully engaged in what’s unfolding before our eyes, quite an achievement in and of itself. Is it something that will last beyond the short wave of its theatrical run and initial blu-ray or streaming release? I want to say no, but truthfully only time will tell. I could see a movie like this, which surprises with the heights its able to reach on such a simple premise, gaining a devoted cult following that propels its legacy into the future. But for me, I don’t think it has much lasting power past the point when I left the theater.
 

When thinking about the question of what separates a good film from a great one in this context, my mind immediately goes to the work of new director Ari Aster, who, over the last two years, has released two disturbing masterworks of subversive horror. Shunning the overuse of jump scares, which thankfully Ready or Not does as well, he manages to still disturb the audience more than your typical horror film can manage. Visually, with the deep browns of sturdy wood and low light barely illuminating certain corridors, there are images reminiscent if Aster’s Hereditary in Ready or Not. And like Midsommar, both films are a lot funnier than anticipated. But there are two things that both films do to different ends that illuminates the separation between a great film and a good one.

Ready or Not and Midsommar, and even Hereditary, show us a slow descent into madness. Where in Midsommar we see a young woman lose all sense of what’s right and true as her world crumbles in the light of day of a Swedish compound run by a cult, in Ready or Not, on the wedding night of Grace (an excellent Samara Weaving) and her new husband Alex (Mark O’Brien), she enters an increasingly intense game of hide and seek, where her husband’s family tries to kill her before sunrise. Midsommar is an example of a great film (even if it is too long), where this descent into increasing savagery is disorienting, disturbing to the highest degree, and inspires a heavy dose existential dread. With Ready or Not, the descent is less chaotic in that we generally know what to expect at each step. Perhaps, though, it’s unfair to compare Midsommar  and Ready or Not as many have characterized the latter film as a comedy, although to be fair, a lot of people have said the same about Midsommar, though the argument is less straightforward. But if Midsommar and Ready or Not are too apples and oranges for you, take Bridesmaids from the comedy realm. A wholly different great film, but one that includes a slow descent into insanity for the main character. Even in that film, the way Annie loses herself is less organized and more surprising than what we see happening to Grace. In fact, the only thing not predictable about Ready or Not is when the jokes will arise and just how funny they’ll be.

The next comparison point it pretty direct. In Ready or Not, the family is beholden to an old evil force, which blessed their ancestors with wealth so long as they do the occasional evil sacrifice and serve evil incarnate. One of the last scenes shows them hailing Satan. This can be compared to Hereditary, which ends with devotees to evil hailing one of the seven kings of hell after conjuring its spirit on earth into a proper host body. In Hereditary, when I reached this end, it sent shivers if dread and horror down my spine. It was the most terrifying moment of the film whilst also being one of the most static ones. In Ready or Not as the family hails the prince of darkness, a lot is happening. Grace attempts to wriggle herself free, lights are flashing, the wind is howling. Still it doesn’t carry the same weight as the simpler scene in Hereditary. The scene is exciting while is lasts, but the excitement doesn’t last long.

I imagine it’s like the difference between high quality and low quality drugs (I have no way of knowing to be clear). Even the low quality stuff may be fun while it lasts, but it just doesn't last long. And that’s the key, isn’t it? A movie can be fun, well made, and exciting in the moment, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but if the effect wares off beyond the moment when watching, it doesn’t have a chance of ascending to greatness.

Untouchable

​​​​​★★★★★ ☆☆☆☆☆ 5/10

Watched: 9/4/19

Untouchable tells the story of the fall of Harvey Weinstein. Or perhaps a better way to say it is that it retells the story. The New York Times piece about the myriad allegations, reported by Ronan Farrow, was shocking, at the same time that it wasn’t, revealing, and unsettling. Untouchable, the subsequent Hulu doc, is none of those things, rehashing the story with hardly anything new to add.

Documentaries, especially ones about crimes, often face this predicament because they drudge up stories that people know all to well. It’s easier when those stories are from the more distant past, like the beyond-excellent 10 part docu-series O.J.: Made in America about the O.J. Simpson trial, because the audience gets their memory jogged, which can be exciting in and of itself. Untouchable had the tougher job of telling a story that unfolded rather recently. But, to be clear, it’s not impossible for these kinds of documentaries to work. Look at the doc about the Fyre Festival from earlier this year (the one on Netflix specifically, which is far superior to Hulu‘s version). The key, whether a story is covering recent history or something further back, is to add something new to the mix, additional sordid details, or a revealing commentary about the time. Untouchable adds none of this and therefore comes off as a bland reading of familiar news. Take that O.J. doc for example. Not only are we treated to intensely gratifying interviews from people close to the situation and case, but we also get a brilliant read on the times. Why was this the trial of the century? The documentary weaves a complicated, but intelligible, web of all the factors that made the case such a powder keg moment for the country. 

Another failing of Untouchable is it’s lack of narrative drive. We know from the beginning where we’ll end, but there’s no sense of urgency or intensity as we get there. Every beat is predictable, and nothing about the march toward the end is given the weight of significance. Take Netflix’s Fyre Festival on the other hand. Similarly we know where that story will end, but that doc, and even the lesser Hulu doc attempts this, builds a story that starts from the very beginning. There are moments when we feel sucked into Billy McFarlane’s magnetic personality. We are titillated by the build up of the idea for the festival, the filming of the promo, the brilliance of the social strategy. And then there’s a slow shift into a descending madness that results in the ending we expect. The difference is storytelling, and a growing narrative, something Untouchable just doesn’t have. Instead we get a doc that’s significantly less effective than the New York Times article.

And then there are the things that make Untouchable a rote crime documentary. From the interviews clearly shot in hotel spaces with backgrounds in such soft focus it feels like a Dateline special, to shots like the one of the woman who wrote “the memo” where a camera spins around the subject’s face going in and out of focus while she stands at a street corner. Shots like the latter feel like wallpaper b-roll. Nothing about the film looks or feels fresh or interesting. Nonfiction storytelling can also be art, and perhaps it’s a tall order to ask for a story about this subject to be artful, but it wouldn’t be art of art’s sake. Instead artful choices could help tell a more compelling story. 

What the documentary does offer is a look at several of Weinstein’s accusers. As they retell the stories we hear and see the trauma they experienced. Still even these interviews feel less revealing than another recent documentary, Leaving Neverland, which was excruciating because of its razor focus on two incredibly detailed accusations against Michael Jackson. That focus gave that two-part series a feeling of novelty. Ultimately, nothing is terrible about Untouchable, as nothing is particularly well-done about it either.

Luce

​​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched:8/20/19

Luce, the character, reminds me of myself in my school years. Not to toot my own horn, but I was also the impressive black boy from grade to grad school. I wasn’t as widely looked up to by the student body as Luce (although I did craftily win the position of 4th grade president through a ridiculously shrewd political maneuver). But like Luce I was always well regarded by the teachers and other adults. I was a high achiever, and I won my fair share of praise outside the classroom. Luce and I are also both charismatic performers, able to present the version of ourselves that someone wants to see for the twofold purpose of making them comfortable and to get what we might want. But with me, mostly, what you see is what you get, while a cloud of mystery and distrust surrounds Luce.

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(SPOILERS)

The film is shot (and marketed) as a suspense thriller. Early on we get to see Luce as the world sees him, a future uber-successful man, and credit to his race, who loves his country. A real Obama successor. But as the film goes on we’re introduced to new information. Some of it we know to be true, that Luce grew up in war-torn Eritrea as a child soldier and was later adopted by a white American family. Then there are the things we aren’t sure whether to believe or not, like did Luce really hide illegal fireworks in his locker, or did he join in to sexually taunt and abuse his secret girlfriend at school, or was he actually her rescuer? That we never feel completely sure of whether Luce is more sinister than he appears outwardly is a testament to the talents of Kelvin Harrison Jr. who is able to  both smile ever so brightly and scowl like a villain plotting his next move. He plays Luce smartly, in a way that makes you like him no matter if he’s bad or good.

Ultimately though the film feels lost in all the things it tries go accomplish. Harriet Wilson (Octavia Spencer), Luce’s history teacher, is disturbed by a paper Luce writes for her class assuming the role of an advocate for violence to solve the equality imbalances of the world. She finds the fireworks in his locker, but she believes in Luce deeply as a real player in the world’s future. So instead of getting him in trouble, she confronts his parents (Naomi Watts and Tim Roth) about her concerns. Harriet’s doubt becomes their doubt as they attempt to get to the bottom of what Luce may have done or been planning, while not wanting to believe he could do anything wrong.

The screenplay is adapted from a play by J.C. Lee, and in many ways it feels like it would translate better as a piece for the stage. Some things are harshly on the nose. The fish debacle serving as a metaphor led to some of the cheesiest writing I’ve seen all year. And still with that very pointed dialogue, the overall point feels elusive, probably because there are so many to be made: the pressures of being the model minority, the danger of projecting your suspicions on others, the automatic belief of victims, and if we can really ever change from the people we first were. And to complicate all these themes is the fact that a suspenseful mystery is supposed to be unfolding at the same time. It splits our attention between searching for the point of the film and searching for the answer to what’s true about Luce. And by film’s end nothing feels answered. Is ambiguity a bad thing in cinema? No. But there’s a way to do it, and a way to not.

One aspect that was particularly interesting was the deconstruction of (as Peter Travers in his favorable Rolling Stone review put it) woke politics. Luce’s white parents are the true good-hearted white liberals going above and beyond to make a difference in a young boy’s life. But woke politics often demands a clean narrative, when life is rarely that way. The effect of woke politics transcends the screen and hits the audience. I’ll speak for myself. I felt the urge to want to believe in the young, smart, and talented black kid with a (seemingly) big heart because his future might be tough enough already. But I also felt compelled to listen to the intuitive and smart black woman, who’s tough but clearly loves deeply, as seen in her relationship with her mentally unstable sister, accusing him. The struggle of the parents is to choose to either search for the truth, which requires being open to unwanted alternatives, or stick to the woke narrative, which seemingly must remain unadulterated. For the record, I do believe progressive ideals can move forward within the reality of a more complicated world, but so many (on Twitter especially) seem to disagree.

So Luce opens an interesting can of worms, but doesn’t do more than that, at least not effectively. It doesn’t operate as a satisfying thriller, nor does it move us in the way it’s intended as a character study. But there’s a lot there that’s worth talking about. Maybe we’ll find the answers we seek if we go see the play.

The Kitchen

​​​​★★★☆☆ ☆☆☆ ☆☆ 3/10

Watched: 8/9/19

Why bury the lead — The Kitchen is a failure in every way. It would have been the kind of movie that makes one angry they wasted the money and, more importantly, the time if and only if the flubs weren’t so comical. From the acting, to bland direction, to a complete lack of subtlety, the movie falls flat on its face.

Nothing, though, is more egregious than the writing. (SPOILERS ahead because I must talk about some particularly insane lines) How this was approved by a studio is an unknowable mystery. Still part of me would suggest seeing it just to experience how the too-bad-to-be-true script was unflinchingly submitted as a dramatic offering meant to be taken seriously by audiences. Perhaps the most obvious offense is the series of elementary dichotomies that pop up throughout the film. Lines like “This is not good. It’s bad,” are uttered by award-winning actress Elisabeth Moss. Tiffany Haddish, whose performance in Girl’s Trip recently appeared on Indiewire’s list of top 50 performances of the 21st century, says towards the end of the film, “We’re either going to work together or we’re not.” Dichotomies like these are so basic that the second part never needs to be said. And this late one wouldn’t be so bad, if there weren’t so many of these pointless statements all throughout the movie. Each time a new one was uttered, I couldn’t help but laugh. 

But that’s not all. Despite the violence and the attempt at grit, the movie is filmed as a sort of rebellion against everything that makes a Tarantino film work. Instead of Quentin Tarantino’s characteristic long scenes with rich dialogue, writer/director Andrea Berloff opts for some impossibly short scenes that leave us scratching our heads as to their significance. Nothing will happen and then suddenly, in a flash, the scene is done. It’s perplexing filmmaking.  

Then outside of the rudimentary dichotomous lines, there are just surprising ones that feel shockingly daft. Like how a conversation between Haddish’s character, Ruby, and her mom so randomly jumps to the fact that she was beaten as a child. These moments feel completely alien to human speech patterns. Two-time Oscar nominee Melissa McCarthy has proven she has dramatic acting chops, but not even she can rescue herself. A later exchange between McCarthy’s character, Kathy, and a mob wife is comical for all the wrong reasons. 

Maria Coretti: They eff us every time.

Kathy: (legitimately asking) Who effs us?

Clearly by this point in the film it’s been established that the answer is men, plus there's the fact that she knows she’s about to enter a room with at least one, but probably both, of the husbands of the women having this conversation. Still, it’s the use of the term “eff,” meant to shield the children Coretti holds in her lap, that comes across so silly.

Each of the main three actors has proven her ability to light up a screen, which is what makes the script such a shame. But the performances themselves were far from perfect. Tiffany Haddish was especially unwatchable. Her attempt here to play a ruthless organized crime boss who deftly communicates the trials of being a woman in crime and black in a white world is, to borrow from the script, not good. It’s bad. Nothing is internal. It’s as if she’s thinking intensely about script directions like “character acts mad” (which I wouldn’t be surprised to learn such simple directives were in this droll script), and it’s written all over her face.

There’s a saying in Hollywood that if an actor gives a bad performance, it’s the director's fault. I’m not sure this is always true, but in this case I totally buy it. Why should Haddish do the internal work of big “A” Acting when the direction of the film is so bland and the script lacks any semblance of subtlety? In 2019, because there are several good, mainstream examples of women-led films uplifting feminist themes (make no mistake, there aren’t enough), we have reached a point where these types of stories can be delivered more artfully. In this world, things can only be communicated by saying directly the theme you hope to get across, or by shooting someone in the head, two acts that are used so heavy handedly and crudely that nothing feels meaningful at all. So many people are shot and killed, and so many soapboxes are stood upon sanctimoniously that we begin to not care about any of it. Though the initial premise, which comes from a graphic novel, has a freshness to it, the resulting film is stale. 

But at least the film is funny, though the comedy has nothing to with the presence of Melissa McCarthy or Tiffany Haddish.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 7/26/19

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is probably my least favorite Quentin Tarantino film. It should be stated that I haven’t seen Death Proof. It should also be stated that this statement in no way means the film wasn’t spectacular. With a catalog as singular and dynamic as Tarantino’s, a director whose originality seems to know no bounds, despite the fact that he himself claims to steal from every movie ever made, it’s no surprise that essentially every single film makes an impact.

What works about the movie is all in the execution. With every Tarantino film, you leave with the feeling that in another director’s hands, even if you got to pick from the lot of capable, avante-garde directors out there, that the film would have fallen apart if separated from the man with the original vision. The pacing of such an interestingly disjointed film makes all the difference.

What Tarantino does is merge character development with sudden plot development, culminating in his brand of film violence (action would seem too simple a word here). During the vast majority of the film we’re meant to learn about Rick Dalton, the drunk former film and television star past his glory days, perfectly embodied in Leonardo DiCaprio. Dalton has been relegated to playing a never-ending litany of bad guys in television westerns in the late ‘60s after his own show was cancelled. He just wants to be a good actor, and to be loved by American audiences, and most importantly, by the Hollywood community. There’s Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt is really very good in the role), the stunt-performer-turned-driver for Dalton. Booth is cool, confident and may have killed his wife. Because there’s no evidence we can’t hold it against him. He’s probably holding on to a measure of sadness himself, but he doesn’t show it. Then there’s Sharon Tate (a perfectly cast Margot Robbie if the role weren’t so small), a rising film star caught in a bit of a love triangle, and who in real life was caught in the crosshairs of Charles Manson’s murderous cronies. 

Because Charles Manson is involved, and more importantly because it’s Tarantino, there’s going to be violence. But the majority of the first four-fifths of the movie are violence free and all but divorced from the insanity that characterizes the last act of the movie. Instead we learn about the vices, dreams, temperaments and relationships of our the three primary characters. We’re treated to extended scenes of actors playing actors acting, and slow-burning character revelations. There is a disconnect between the Manson stuff and the rest of the film in that nothing feels as if it’s building towards anything, but the suddenness of the violence works. Even that Cliff has met the Manson-dispatched murderers earlier in the film, the one thread of connection, doesn’t feel particularly consequential when they meet again. Despite this disconnect, only occasionally did it feel as though the film lacked purpose, and that’s because all that early stuff is so fun to watch.

Most films build toward an eventual thrilling end, and what most filmmakers do is attempt to give us a reason to care about the characters while developing that plot. It’s a tall order, but necessary because when the moment comes for the protagonist to be in peril, we need to care about what might happen to them. Tarantino does things in sections. In Once Upon a Time in Hollywood he spends the majority of his time getting us to care about the characters in a deeper way, only lightly peppering in bits of foreshadowing to the upcoming struggle ahead, so that by time we get to that point, we are truly invested in the characters’ survival in a way that has nothing to do with the conflict. This approach feels more true to life. We care about the people we love outside of the context of whatever impending tragedy might befall them. Tarantino also had the added benefit of history, which, like in Inglourious Basterds, he rewrites. Most older members of the audience would know about Sharon Tate’s encounter with the Manson family, so hints of their presence is all that’s required.

​

Though Once Upon a Time doesn't quite resonate in the ways some of his other films do, films that can only be considered masterpieces, the movie is cut from the same cloth. It has the components, sharp dialogue, pulp, situational comedy, and those long scenes. And it does work. I honestly think what sets this one a part is where we begin. For me, at least, it's a less interesting story than his others to begin with.

The Farewell

​​​​​​★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 7/12/19

At its core The Farewell is a film about loss, which one might guess from the trailer. But what the film has to say about loss is actually more profound than we might expect going in.

The premise is immediately intriguing. Billi (an impressive Akwafina showing her range here) lived her first few years in China, but has since moved to New York with her family where she’s spent most of her life. She’s incredibly close to her grandma on her father’s side, who still lives in China, talking to her on the phone regularly. Her Nai Nai, as she calls her, is old, but still sharp and has a quick wit about her, nagging and worrying about her granddaughter from thousands of miles away.

Billi and her family learn that her grandmother has lung cancer and will die in just a few months. So the family heads to China to be with Nai Nai. The only thing is that in their culture, it’s considered better to not tell the dying anything about their diagnosis. So they all arrive under guise of planning and celebrating Billi’s cousin’s wedding. It’s a whole family affair — with uncles, aunts, cousins, close friends — and Nai Nai is none the wiser that she’s living on very limited time. Everyone is worried that Billi, who, with her western sensibilities, feels that it’s wrong not to tell Nai Nai about her diagnosis, will spill the beans. Turns out this secret ends up being hard for Billi’s father and uncle to keep as well.

Director Lulu Wang has created an undeniably funny film, despite dealing with the topic of death. So much of the comedy is based on cultural customs that are recognizable, particularly to Chinese and Asian viewers. But there’s also something that connects with me, perhaps as a person of color, or perhaps just as a person, as well about the cultural context of the film. Though the specifics may look different, there’s something recognizable about a grandmother nagging her attractive, but aging granddaughter to find a husband while she’s young. We can relate to a grandmother stuffing our mouths with homemade food, overly concerned that we’re too skinny. It’s both comforting and funny to see.

But the comedy goes beyond that. It’s specific to this situation. The wedding scene is full of nonstop laughter as multiple languages are spoken, games are played, and emotions run high.

Wang also adds a heavy dose of style to film as well. She frames the characters differently in different scenes to mirror how they feel and their current state of power. The most stylized and memorable shot is of the family after they successfully intercept Nai Nai’s second set of test results that could have let her in on the secret everyone is hiding. These are directing flourishes that aren’t necessary, and at times feel unnatural for a film mostly grounded in realism, but it made the film more fun to watch and helped contribute to the overall vibe.

But above all the movie is, as I mentioned above, all about loss, so comedy must routinely make way for sadness. And no matter if the comedy is right or the film is framed to perfection, without creating an affecting portrait of a family in pre-mourning, the film wouldn’t work. As Billi falls in line and decides to keep the secret, the question becomes how to say goodbye without saying an ultimate goodbye. This looming question leads us to a scene near the end where Billi and Nai Nai must part. It reminds me specifically of the feeling I had when I was leaving Slovenia. (I lived in Slovenia for about a year and worked with and met some truly amazing friends.) It taps into something beyond just the feeling that you may never see someone again. Loss comes in a variety of ways and saying goodbye in and of itself is one of the ways we experience that. More than Billi or her mom’s or dad’s sadness, it was Nai Nai’s sort of frantic sadness that touched me. Seemingly unaware that death was looming, she was left with a heart so full by having so much of her family with her, just long enough for it to probably begin to feel normal, but soon things would be back to the way they were. Her family would part, hoping, but never sure, that they would see each other again. It’s the loss of that fullness, the happiness that she had just experienced with them, that she mourns.

And so the film’s comedy plays a double role. Yes from a filmmaking sense it contributes to keeping up the pacing in a film that can occasionally drag at points, making the overall experience enjoyable for the audience. In addition, the comedy shows how much fun this family had being back together, which gives a sweeter sense of sorrow to their parting.

Midsommar

​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 7/5/19

Midsommar is a horror movie, I guess. But nothing about it plays like one. There aren’t any jump scares. The film isn’t really scary, in the heart-rate-spiking kind of way. In fact, it’s funnier than it is scary. And the whole thing takes place in the overexposed light of day. We don’t have to worry about ghosts or demons lurking in a dark corner. Everything about the film is out in the open. And yet, despite playing so strongly against type, Midsommar is one of the best horror movies in recent history.

It has a lot to do with the fact that Ari Aster wants us to see everything out in the open, everything exposed. That, more than the shroud of darkness, is perhaps more terrifying. When the group of young friends reach the Swedish compound for the once-in-a-lifetime Midsommar Festival, it seems everyone’s true nature slowly comes to the surface, though none quite as slowly as Dani’s (Florence Pugh). Throughout the course of the film we watch as Dani becomes a totally different person, and this different person may be the true Dani. After all, for the most of the film she second guesses herself and defers to other people’s opinions and choices. But throughout Midsommar a metamorphosis takes place.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Without giving away too much, the first 10 minutes of the film, before they reach be compound, really sets the stage for Dani’s transformation. She’s completely wrecked and vulnerable, hardly able to cope with what comes her way in the regular world. So she joins her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) on a trip to Sweden with his friends, some of whom begrudgingly accept her presence. One of Christian’s friends is from Sweden and has invited them to witness the Midsommar Festival on the serene and breathtaking compound where he once lived. There will be feasting, ceremonies, the crowning of the May Queen, and dancing. 

Writer/director Ari Aster early on does a great job establishing the characters, both who they pretend to be, with inklings of who they really are just beneath the surface. Oddly, Will Poulter’s Mark is probably the most honest from the start. He’s insufferable and his complaining leads to many of the legitimate laugh-out-loud moments in the film. Christian puts on a show for Dani as if he’s a caring boyfriend, but shows a different side when he’s with his friends. And Pelle, the generous Swede who invited them to the festival, seems almost too kind, as if he’s hiding some ulterior motive.

Once the group reaches the compound it’s clear they’ve entered a bizarre new world, but it’s chalked up to cultural differences. What they realize, perhaps too late, is that they’ve entered what will feel like a wholly new reality. What happens next is what Aster is becoming known for. Like with his first full-length feature, Hereditary, from last year, Aster shows a character slowly descending into madness as the world around her morphs beyond recognition. The drugs, the ceremonial death, everything throws Dani for a loop, all while she’s barely holding it together in the first place. In my review for Hereditary, I mention that what works about that film is that it’s not about traditional horror thrills, but about a growing sense of dread, a more true sense of horror. That’s precisely what Aster replicates here. As Dani descends into this maddening confusion, we as onlookers are utterly horrified, not because it’s scary, but because it’s all so disturbing.

After watching the film and having it stick with me for days, I realize that I went into the film all wrong. I was expecting and searching for an explanation for why all this madness was happening. After all that’s what we end up getting in Hereditary. After on hour and a half of intriguing befuddlement, we come to learn just what was causing all the supernatural horror terrorizing that mother and son. But Midsommar isn’t the same. Yes, Aster creates another film that feels like we're falling into a deep pit unaware of what surrounds you, but this time it’s not really about why it’s happening, but what this chaos does to the characters, most of all how it changes Dani. And that’s precisely why the film is so great. Aster creates an immersive experience piece for the audience to feel viscerally. We feel, to a degree, what it must be like to have no bearings, to know no reason. We feel what it must be like to join a cult.

Spider-Man: Far From Home

​​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched: 7/2/19

If you read my review for Avengers: Endgame it may seem that, in my eyes, the Marvel Cinematic Universe can do no wrong. I was, admittedly, gushing over the film. But look no further than my Captain Marvel review to see that I’m not always so enamored. And Spider-Man: Far From Home is another example where there are problems to be found. To put it in perspective, I like Far From Home more than Captain Marvel. It’s a fine film, perhaps even slightly better than Spider-Man: Homecoming, and a solid follow up to Endgame. But I can’t shake the feeling, like with Homecoming, that this movie just doesn’t quite reach the impressive storytelling heights as a lot of other MCU films.

Peter Parker and his classmates, many of whom were zapped away by Thanos’s snap that removed 50% of life from the universe in Avengers: Infinity War, have returned to high school after Hulk’s snap which brought them back. Speaking of snaps, Tony Stark’s snap, which destroyed Thanos, Thanos’s army, and Tony himself, has left the world, and Peter, with a superhero-sized hole. Who will be the next Iron Man is the question on everyone’s mind. Peter is reluctant to take on the mantle as Earth’s main protector. He just wants to go on his high school summer Eurotrip, and tell the girl he likes how he feels about her atop the Eiffel Tower. 

But disaster strikes in the form of the Elementals, who are, as Quentin Beck, the mysterious hero that bursts onto the scene, and who will later be called Mysterio, describes them, inter-dimensional beings that wreak havoc across the multiverse. So Peter is called into action by Nick Fury and Maria Hill.

The film is particularly effective when capturing Peter’s internal struggle between his desire to be a small-town, neighborhood Spider-Man, one with a rich personal life, and the Avengers member Tony Stark made him. You really feel this push and pull, ironic considering that all Peter wanted to be was a big H hero in Homecoming. But I guess being defeated by a giant, purple Titan will change your priorities. And Tom Holland is nothing short of excellent playing the character. It’s clear after Far From Home that Holland may be the most natural fit of any actor who’s played Peter Parker, and I say this as a true fan of the Tobey Maguire trilogy. But these solo ventures just don’t accomplish for the character what much shorter cameos in the last two Avengers movies and even Captain America: Winter Soldier were able to.

Additionally there are things that feel contrived about this story in a way that is never the case for other MCU films, at least not in recent history. It’s funny because you can tell the script writers know certain things are contrived because they address them, from Peter’s consistent absences on the school trip, to how pretty much all but one of the kids from the first movie are back in high school at the same age. They turn these problems into jokes and give them fun, even interesting explanations, yet they still feel contrived. Things in this high school world are often weirdly rushed and unbelievable. Yes, the totality of the MCU is unbelievable, but in Far From Home what's unrealistic is what has characterized the core of these films — recognizable human emotions and motivations. That Ned and Betty graft so quickly seems like one of those things movies do for the sake of a couple short-lived jokes, which is why the relationship is randomly killed by movie’s end. These types of issues lead to a movie that just isn’t quite the same caliber as a lot of recent MCU outings.

But despite the problems that make it less than perfect, there’s plenty here to delight audiences. The movie is exciting, though not particularly surprising, and genuinely funny, though there are occasionally two too many jokes during a couple scenes that feel like they may call for a brief moment if seriousness. But from a healthy helping of fan service to answers to lingering questions from Endgame, it’s an all-around solid followup to one of the best movies of the year.

Dark Phoenix

​​​​★★★☆☆ ☆☆☆ ☆☆ 3/10

Watched: 6/7/19

I have, admittedly, been partial to X-Men movies perhaps even grading them on a curve. But let me explain. As a kid I wanted to be a comic book artist and writer and I was inspired no more by a series than X-Men. I was probably first introduced to the team by the ‘90s cartoon, hooked immediately by the super cool theme song. I loved that there was no particular origin story needed to explain how each member got their powers. The whole concept that some people were born as mutants made you feel as a kid that maybe you were one too waiting for your powers to reveal themselves. Then the first movie came out and I couldn’t have asked for more. It was dream come true seeing these characters in the flesh. I dreamed of the characters from my own imagination becoming a behemoth comic book franchise, then a cartoon series, followed by a movie deal with at least seven films to realize my vision. My idea for a super-powered super team was clearly a rip off of the X-Men, just with more black characters. 

As I grew older, the fascination didn’t wane. I used to complain that the writers and animators didn’t produce enough X-Men: Evolution episodes per season, and I started buying "Ultimate X-Men" and the short-lived "Mystique" comic books every month. I was a boy obsessed. 

And as a result I gave movies like X-Men: The Last Stand a 9/10. I wasn’t nearly as much of the sour critic I am today, but to me the much derided X-Men 3 was nearly perfect at the time. (I see now that it’s not an amazing movie, but I think it’s better than people give it credit for.) I even gave X-Men: Apocalypse from a few years ago a 7/10. The movie is a bit of a mess, but there’s something there that’s still interesting.

So the fact that I’m rating Dark Phoenix so low is a sign. Yes, I examine movies with a higher level of scrutiny, but this movie is just plain terrible, and it makes me more upset than any other poorly made comic book movie because the franchise, these characters, mean so much to me.

The best way to explain why Dark Phoenix is so bad is to compare it to other less-than-stellar movies in the franchise and explain why those work comparatively well. (I’ve decided to leave X-Men Origins: Wolverine alone because that’s too deep a pool to wade into.) The third X-Men movie, The Last Stand, actually tells a pretty similar story. It’s a reimagining of the classic Phoenix Saga from the comic books, the ‘90s cartoon series, and even a more recent X-Men animated series. In The Last Stand, there’s an attempt to ground the story a bit more. Instead of obtaining the Phoenix Force, a cosmic power in the comics, in outer space, Jean Grey already possessed the potentially corrupting power within, making her the most powerful being on earth when she unlocks that force. In Dark Phoenix, Grey is inhabited by the cosmic force during an outer space mission, which seemed like an exciting possibility, to see a team that’s been grounded on earth explore space, but the promise of space travel doesn’t materialize into anything particularly compelling. What works about The Last Stand is that it’s still centered around what the series has been about from the beginning — humanity’s acceptance (or lack of acceptance) of mutant kind. There’s always been a violent tug of war between mutants and the humans that discriminate against them, and even between understandably angry mutants and mutants hoping to follow a more peaceful path. It’s the thing that has always elevated the type of comic book movie the X-Men films are. There’s an attempt to highlight this tug of war in Dark Phoenix, but it’s such a weak afterthought that it hardly registers. This filmmakers are interested in crafting a compelling about story, instead they rely on flashy fight scenes and CGI, none of which impress beyond what’s become run of the mill these days. Nothing that’s meant to have any emotional weight, including the death if a major character, carries because nothing is given time to develop properly.

Next we should look at X-Men: Apocalypse. This movie was a disappointment because the villain Apocalypse, who used to terrify me as a kid, is reduced to being the most eccentric member of the Blue Man Group. The failure of Apocalypse almost completely rests in the filmmakers’ development of the Apocalypse character. But there’s still some exciting stuff in that movie. Whereas Apocalypse’s issue is that it’s corny, Dark Phoenix is not only corny, but joyless. The movie feels like it’s moving at rapid fire whilst plodding along without a hint of lightness. And if we thought Apocalypse was not fully realized, the bad guys in Dark Phoenix are even worse, Everything about them is derivative. And the movie has no element of fun, outside of a cool cameo by comic book character Dazzler. The newer movies, which take place in earlier decades, have always played with the time period. Without a title card saying as much, we would have no clue this movie takes place in the ‘90s. 

Dark Phoenix sucks all the excitement and pleasure out of a franchise, that even at its lowest, always remembered to be fun. So not only is it the worst movie of the year so far, but for me, it’s among the most disappointing in nearly 20 years.

Booksmart

​​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 5/27/19

The coming-of-age movie will never get old. In America, at least, it’s something almost all of us can all relate to — being nervous about attending your first party, hanging out with secret crushes, the first pangs of heartbreak. And it’s a cycle. What I mean is because we’ve seen so many coming-of-age high school stories, the idea of high school is so elevated in our minds that by time we walk through those doors it’s seems like the next four years will be the defining ones of our lives.

Booksmart carefully and masterfully encapsulates all of that energy, but infuses this story with enough newness for it to feel special all on it’s own. Molly (Beanie Feldstein) and Amy (Kaitlyn Dever) are best friends. They’ve spent the past four years doing everything together, and have made it their mission to hunker down and focus on school so they can achieve all their future dreams; Molly heading to Yale in the Fall, and Amy a budding activist and humanitarian, to Botswana to make tampons for women there, then Columbia. So when Molly realizes that the kids who’ve partied and blew school off also got into to Yale, Stanford, Harvard, and Georgetown her world is turned upside down. So she makes a plan — she and Amy will have this one night before graduation to party as high schoolers. What happens next is a whirlwind of madness and debauchery as they enter a whole new world.

It’s a relatively simple premise especially considering the events happen mostly over the course if a single night, but this might actually be why the writing had to be so spot on. Making one night feel like a full film is no easy feat. Luckily, more than any film I’ve seen in the last several years, Booksmart is nonstop laughter. Molly's and Amy’s hyper-focused dynamic with each other is wildly magnetic, although I could see it being grating as an onlooker in the real world. But beyond that the film is incredibly aware of who each character is and that there are two ways each is seen — how the rest of the school perceives them and how they really are (though in the case of the theater kids, what you see is pretty much what you get). The movie is unabashedly, and naturally, feminist. And it’s also acutely aware of the folly of teenage life even though the characters, doing their best to act grown up, can’t see it. It’s also written in a way where everything connects. A passing joke from the last day at school will be relevant to events later in the night. The writers weave a tight web.

Elevating the work of the writers are the two leads. Dever is perfectly cast as a seemingly underwhelming do-gooder, who is funnier than she lets on. Feldstein is a true comedic talent. Her timing, her face, her control of everything she does in service of joke and story is brilliant. And then there’s Billy Lourde playing Gigi, a scene-stealing supporting character who lights up every moment she’s on screen.

It wasn’t until the second time I watched Booksmart that I realized just how perfect, though subtle, every frame is. This is Olivia Wilde’s first turn as a director, and she proves to be more than capable. Every shot communicates not just meaning, but a feeling (aided by a stellar soundtrack). This is probably no more evident than in the extended pool moment, in which all the freedom you wished to have at that age feels present in that moment.   

If there’s one downfall it’d be that while it does more than scratch the surface emotionally, it doesn’t exactly dig a deep well. The film’s main goal is to be funny, and any emotional conflict comes in at a distinct point towards the end of the film. It totally works, but compared to something like Lady Bird, where there’s tension building from the opening frame, there’s not enough time to make an emotional connection that truly resonates in Booksmart. 

Still the movie achieves its goals, one of which is to highlight the love that is friendship. Back in 2015 I watched Me, Earl and the Dying Girl and Dope on the same day. In m my review for the latter movie I wrote:

“Both trios in both films feel deeply connected and have a love for each other that transcends the superficiality of most high school romances.”

That can be applied to the Molly/Amy duo in this film. There’s no doubt that what they have for each of is nothing less than love, untouched by romance or physical desire, but love nonetheless. Friendship is difficult to show on screen, but when it really works it can’t help but make you happy.

Always Be My Maybe

​​​​★★★★★★☆☆ ☆☆ 6/10

Watched: 6/1/19

Like the horror genre, rom coms get a bad rap because there are so many poor examples. Our minds conjure up b-level films made with a shoestring budget instead of The Conjuring when we think of horror movies. And for rom coms, we think of countless films with the same old tired story just slightly re-written. But there are gold standard romantic comedies (The Apartment, The Holiday) out there that come along. Always Be My Maybe isn’t one of them. That being said it has still got some things working for it. 

The central question in any romantic comedy isn’t will the main characters fall in love. That’s a given. It’s whether or not they realize they love each other and can make their love work. With Always Be My Maybe there’s hardly ever a time where it feels like we don’t know the answer. Despite efforts to keep the story fresh, it’s not enough to break the mold of your everyday rom com.

(Minor spoilers ahead) 

But let’s start with the good: Keanu Reeves. His cameo is brilliant. Chef Sasha Tran (Ali Wong) returns home to San Francisco to open a new restaurant for a couple months. There she meets up with her childhood best friend, Marcus Kim (Randall Park), an old flame, who she had a falling out with. While back at home she  starts dating an exciting new guy and goes on a double date with Marcus. It turns out the guy is actor Keanu Reeves, who, in probably his best performance, plays a ridiculous version of himself, a pretentious artist who succumbs to the fullness of his emotions after tasting the tiny portions at the hip restaurant they visit. It’s a great scene, and a real pleasure to see him. Exciting as it is, it’s mostly just shock and awe that fades when we return to the rest of the story.

Another thing the movie does extremely well is integrate the cultures of the characters into the characters’ lives. From this we get the most in terms of character development. There can be a tendency in film and TV to introduce a character’s cultural background without it ever being more than a mere reference. Then filmmakers will pat themselves on the back for moving the diversity needle towards progress. Here, it’s refreshing to see especially the Kim family’s Korean culture play a central role in the film. The conversations surrounding Korean food and Asian cultures are so naturally integrated in a way that feels plausible for these characters. 

Still these bright spots aren’t enough to make the movie a stellar romantic comedy. And it mostly boils down to the plot. Plot devices and premises are necessary for any film, but here it feels like every choice was made only to add a certain ingredient to the mix without it ever fully coalescing. into a coherent film A character’s death is added to add some drama. Sasha is a big-time chef so we can have a few scenes with fancy settings. There’s a funny friend to add the only real bits of comedy in the movie (Michelle Buteau is a standout). Compare that to 2005’s Hitch. It also has a set of plot devices and a premise, namely that the main character is a “love doctor” who turns guys into the men they want to be for the women they want. Similarly to Sasha being a chef, Hitch is a love doctor. But for one, that’s already a more interesting start, and two, that choice is so much more intertwined with Hitch’s personality. The more we learn about Hitch, the more it makes sense for him to have this occupation. And that character connection to the plot device make all the difference. The real issue with Always Be My Maybe (beyond the cringe-worth title of course) is that the main characters aren’t really allowed have personalities, which is a shame because you can feel,  through Wong’s and Park’s charismatic performances, a longing to give them one.

Aladdin

​​​★★★★★★☆☆ ☆☆ 6/10

Watched: 5/26/19

The exhausting thing about the internet is that people will jump to conclusions about projects with very little informing their suddenly unmovable opinions. When the first full trailer for Aladdin came out the derision was loud and clear mostly centering around the appearance of Will Smith as the blue genie. Yes, the physical rendering of him as the genie was jarring, but what do you expect from a half-CGI, blue version of any actor, particularly one as well known as Smith. To be clear, I’m not one of those social-media-is-the-death-of-society critics that are so boringly common these days. I lauded an oft derided aspect of social media/internet culture in my review for Beyonce’s Homecoming. My point is that, whether the genie looked weird or not, that couldn’t alone make the movie a poor one.  So I went into Aladdin with an open mind fully prepared to be dazzled.

I say all that to say that the internet wasn’t all wrong. It was right about the blue version of the genie, and ultimately right about the movie not being great. But the movie isn’t bad, and the elements that make it less than stellar have only a little to do with the genie’s appearance.

Let’s start with the genie. Just when you begin to forget why William Smith was at one time the highest-paid actor in the business he comes along and reminds us, first with his newly created Instagram account, then with a role in which he shines above all others. He’s clearly a professional among newcomers. Just his charisma alone carries the film from one scene to the next. His absence explains why the film starts on such rocky footing, but once Aladdin rubs the lamp for that first time, it’s Will Smith to the rescue. He’s clearly no singer, and he’s no Robin Williams either. Instead he smartly plays the role of Will Smith as genie, although to state it more accurately he reprises his role as Alex Hitchens from 2005’s Hitch. There’s a meme going around explaining that Hitch was pretty much the first live-action remake of Aladdin. What’s unfortunate, though, is because the blue version of the genie is so bizarre to behold, some things don’t seem to quite translate or land as they’re meant to.

In terms of the rest of the cast, they’re all solid. Mena Massoud’s Aladdin does his job by being a charming street rat with a wink and smile. Naomi Scott as Jasmine is the only actor with the vocal chops to carry her part, and Marwen Kenzari’s Jafar brings a more militaristic aggression to the role instead of the sinewy terror of the cartoon version. 

The real problem is just when you’re getting into the film, ready to judge it on its own merits, we are treated to a scene ripped from of the 1994 animated feature. In those moments it becomes abundantly clear that that earlier version is better in every way. The magic just doesn’t ever materialize in the new one. There is no clearer example than in the “A Whole New World” scene. It’s pretty similar to the original, but the scene doesn’t soar (sorry for the pun) like it does in the animated version. It feels rushed and the song is weighed down by the addition of an unnecessary drum beat that begins in the first chorus.

The one scene that is as good as the original is Prince Ali’s entrance into Agrabah. It’s bold, colorful, and the biggest number in the entire film. Director Guy Ritchie manages to make it different enough, adding a fresh take on something we know and love.

The movie also misses something that makes it emotionally effective outside of the nostalgia trip, which I’ll admit hit me in the moment, but doesn’t hold up in the light of day. There was an attempt to add this element with an expanded role for Jasmine. They gave her a new song, a reprise, and a motivation to become the sultan after her father. It all fit into the positive movement towards deeper stories for women characters really registering in the zeitgeist, but like with Captain Marvel, when it feels like it’s just being done because it’s en vogue, it won’t work. See Booksmart for how to do this well.

But the biggest problem lies in Guy Ritchie’s direction. He hasn’t made a good movie in years. While this was a step up, it’s hard to totally flub with such strong material at your disposal. He creates a world that falls short of astounding, which is no less than the story demands, and Ritchie insists on relying on these ridiculous heavy-handed editing tricks he’s used for ages. There’s a lack of artfulness and restraint, but that’s how Guy Ritchie likes it. Aladdin isn’t anywhere close to being bad, and it’s not the worse live-action Disney remake, that honor still belongs to 2017’s Beauty and the Beast. What’s a shame is that it could have been so much better.

John Wick 3 - Parabellum

​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched: 5/17/19

My thoughts about John Wick movies serve as a mirror to my thoughts about film critique in a larger sense. By the time a new film in the franchise comes out, it seems I’ve changed my idea of how to approach movies I watch and want to criticize. This is my first written review for a John Wick movie so why not talk about how I’ve felt about all three.

I’ve gone out to see the last two films on opening weekend. It’s not the same as me rushing out on a Thursday night to see the latest Marvel release, but I have found myself free on these Fridays and compelled to make my way to the theater so there’s something bringing me back even it’s just the need to participate in relevant cultural conversations. But there was a time when I was vehemently against the franchise (before it was a franchise). In 2014 I gave John Wick 5/10. I essentially thought it was watchable, but the story was so thin that a higher score was impossible for me to bestow. I, unlike others, wasn’t quite moved by the charm of the idea that Wick was killing hundreds if people all for a dead dog.

To be clear, I was a bit of a film snob (some would say I still am), but I do think I had something of a point. After the first movie was released a big fan theory in support of its supposed greatness was that people like me who criticized the film needed to take the movie for what it was meant to be. Without saying it, these Wick apologists were admitting that the film was a dumb action movie, but as far as dumb action movies go, it was great. In 2014 I was a believer in the philosophy that all movies should be rated on the same scale no matter what. So John Wick should be measured against the same criteria as movies like Selma and Boyhood (my favorite films from that year). On the one hand, I’ve changed. I think that different movies need to be rated according to different standards based on the plane at which they’re attempting to operate. Saying Claire Denis’s cerebral High Life from earlier this year is a 6/10 is not the same as me giving John Wick 2 a 6/10. Denis was operating at a higher level and therefore our expectations were higher. On the other hand, I think 23-year-old me had a point. It’s a cop out for people to essentially lower the bar so low that something that’s not great (or even attempting to operate on a level with the potential for greatness) is considered great. We have to criticize a film based on what is given, and while few are going to the theater for the plot surrounding the action scenes, there is an attempt to tell a story in these films, and that should be evaluated.

I’ve watched John Wick again after watching John Wick 3 - Parabellum and I do think I was too harsh and have since raised my rating from 5 to 6/10, which matches the score I gave the second film, a glossier movie that expands John Wick’s world quite a bit, but still suffers from a story issue.

But what about John Wick 3? I think it’s the best of the series by far. The filmmakers completely dig their heels into what makes these movies exciting. The choreography is truly next level, with some of the early fight scenes being so rousing and gruesome that I felt that, for the first time, perhaps the franchise was attempting to play at a higher plane. As I watched the first half of the movie I thought maybe this was some of the best stuff I’d seen ll year. Then they attempted to tell a story and it went downhill from there. Where the first film is characterized by a thinness of story, the second and third movies indelicately attempt to tell a story. You get the feeling that a successful self-contained action flick was turned into a franchise for the sake of profit, and now the filmmakers are trying to build a wider world around the thin bones that were already there. Perhaps, though, the franchise was conceived with the end in mind. That wouldn't bode well for future films. Keanu is still a terrible actor, but it’s hard to tell if he’s leaning into that at this point as a wink to the audience. He’s surrounded by plenty of good actors, at least two Oscar winners in this one, who seem to be taking acting tips from the leading man.

Still, it can’t be ignored that John Wick 3 delivers on what is promised first and foremost, and for that it’s impressive, though it's certainly not great.

The Hustle

​​★★★★☆☆☆☆ ☆☆ 4/10

Watched: 5/11/19

I had kept away from the reviews for The Hustle, as I usually do, so I could go in fresh with no pre-conceived notions. The premise, easily gleaned from the trailers, was solid enough — two swindlers, one impossibly sophisticated (Anne Hathaway) and the other small time and rough and tumble (Rebel Wilson), meet in a beautiful, Bond-esqe backdrop to join forces for an ultimate con. It looked shallow, glitzy, and glossy, but I was also prepared to be pleasantly surprised by a film with this vibe as last year’s A Simple Favor turned out to be unexpectedly twisted and wonderful. Yet after watching one of the film’s first scenes it became clear that The Hustle would be a bad movie, which begs the question, what was the tell in that introductory scene?

I don’t think I quite understood the tell until I started writing this review, and to get there required wading through all the other problems with the movie. Towards the top of the list is the simple fact that Rebel Wilson isn’t funny. Her presence on screen, at this point, is exhausting. 

The old studio system was built on making stars out of people playing the same character over and over (Bogart is probably the clearest example), but Rebel Wilson takes it to a new low. A shtick that wasn’t all that funny to begin with is constantly thrown back in our faces time and time again without any signs of improvement. Isn’t that something like the definition of insanity? Rebel’s brand of “comedy” is the infantile shtick that makes everything a dumb sex joke, but it would be unfair to criticize her alone. After all Will Ferrell relies the most on acting like a grown child and it’s almost as frequently unsuccessful as Wilson’s attempts. The difference is that it works some of the time (in Step Brothers and especially Elf, there’s a self-awareness in the script and performance that portraying a man-child is the goal), and when Ferrell was at his height, the shtick was somewhat novel. Wilson doesn’t have the advantage of time on her side. The shtick is a dime a dozen these days and there’s nothing fresh about it for audiences nor novel in her approach to it.

And we can’t let Oscar-winning actor Anne Hathaway off the hook. Her performance, though she’s mostly devoted, falls so terribly flat. And her British accent is unbearable. Perhaps if it were played for comedy (Hathaway was panned for her terrible British accent in the film One Day), it could have been a funny gag. But we’re too focused on the time we’re wasting on the movie for it to register for laughs.

There was one funny part of the film that I laughed at pretty uncontrollably. I felt foolish for laughing because the ongoing joke, a mix of physical and written comedy, wasn’t particularly clever, and by this point it was clear the movie was beyond the point of redemption, but Hathaway was able to suck out a moment of comedy from an otherwise unfunny film. 

An aside: There was a group in my theater just cracking up throughout the entire movie and even letting out the occasional “awww” at the film’s poor attempts to build an emotional center. And I thought to myself that these people have to be among the simplest to have walked the earth. Then I thought, perhaps to have such simple tastes, to laugh easily, is of some value. But thankfully reality set in quickly thereafter as I was reminded that acceptance of drivel leads to a lack of progress in art and society.

Anyway, another huge issue is how the story progresses. The characters’ goals keep changing throughout the film, which isn’t a bad thing, but as a new character or development is introduced, the film becomes even dumber and more implausible. Surely we’re watching an implausible world, but nothing grounds the story. With each new act the only thing that truly sets in is weariness. 

So back to that first question. What precisely was the tell that let me know The Hustle would be a terrible movie so early? If you go back to Anne Hathaway’s opening scene, we see her in a casino pretending to be a Midwestern American who just won the lottery, and is on the trip to Europe to experience how one percenters live. It’s all an elaborate con to steal expensive jewelry from a rich old man. There are twists and turns for the audience to follow as the details of the con become clear, but there’s no joy in how the film is written or directed. I can’t say what went on behind the scenes, but I can tell you how it feels. It feels like someone at Metro-Goldwyn approved the general premise, a Dirty Rotten Scoundrels remake for 2019, and signed on a couple stars before a script was ever finished. The script went through rounds and rounds of edits, but the shooting deadline was ever looming. So no one involved was satisfied with what they ended with, but they had to forge ahead anyway. If this is what happened it would explain why the script is so bad and why there’s a lack of confidence that characterizes the film’s direction, all of which is palpably felt in that opening scene.

Avengers: Endgame

​​★★★★★★★★★★ 10/10

Watched: 4/25/19

There’s a scene in Avengers: Infinity War where the Guardians of the Galaxy travel to the planet Knowhere to prevent Thanos from retrieving the Reality Stone from The Collector, an eccentric man named Tivan (Benicio Del Toro). In the scene, Gamora launches a surprise attack on her father, Thanos, and ends up killing him with a weapon he gave her when she was just a little girl. Thanos falls to the ground, and Tivan, who had just been terrorized and locked in a glass cage by the Mad Titan screams out, “Magnificent! Magnificent! Magnificent!” in a way not unlike how Meryl Streep egged on Patricia Arquette’s 2015 Oscar’s speech. That’s how I feel after seeing Avengers: Endgame for the first time. I want to scream “Magnificent!” with all my might: one, for how remarkable Endgame is as its own movie, well-paced and mind blowing, but also for how incredible the last 11 years of Marvel movie making have been. 

That scene where Gamora kills Thanos wasn’t real, of course. Thanos already had possession of the Reality Infinity Stone and thus forged this false reality for the Guardians to participate in. I remember watching that scene in the theater and being confused that Thanos had died so early in the movie. But when all was revealed I felt I should have known everything wasn’t as it seemed when he scene began. Here’s the thing about Endgame — there’s no way I could have guessed what would have happened. Yes, there were some theories about who would die and what the plot points might be. And with so many theories swirling around, it’s no surprise that some fans got a couple details right, but no one could have guessed the road we’d take in this culminate ending.

And it is glorious! The film begins where Infinity War left off, as Thanos, with all six Infinty Stones on hand, snapped his fingers wiping out half of all creatures. The world is devastated and the Avengers are trying to reverse what happened. This is going to be a spoiler-free review so I won’t say much more. What I will say is that despite the dire state of things, the Russo Brothers manage to carry off this three-hour epic with a lightness that has characterized all the MCU movies they’ve directed, and most the of the 22 films in the MCU cannon. That Infinity War didn’t feel like a drag at a two-and-a-half-hour run time was impressive, but the Russos upped the ante with Endgame. They do a sufficient job of painting the universe as a dark place ravaged by tragedy, while also including the clever wit and humor needed to cut through the cloud of despair. And I’ve said this before in previous reviews, but Marvel Studios is also very aware that they’re in the business of delighting fans, and boy, do they do this more than ever here.

But there’s something more that we get in this movie that we’ve only really gotten in snippets in other films, and that’s the emotional power of a totally different genre. While certainly an action movie and a comic book movie, elements of this sprawling epic have the quiet, patient power of a well-made indie movie, the kind that go unseen by the masses, brought to the masses by the Joe and Anthony Russo. The final scene of the film is a beyond-bold ending, perhaps just as bold an ending as Infinity War’s with half the characters turning to dust. We end with something so small and beautiful that it nearly knocked the breath from me. The risk to end the greatest franchise in cinematic history with a deeply meaningful emotional moment requires such a confidence in your ability as a filmmaker. The writers, directors, and studio don’t simply capitulate to the desires of fans, but instead writers Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, and the Russo Brothers make a film for themselves, elevating this genre to a new level in the process.

And at the same time that we are affected by the moving passion these filmmakers have, the film continuously proves, and no more than in the final 30 minutes, to be the most epic film to ever have been made. It is so wildly satisfying and exuberantly exciting, building upon a wondrously epic film as its predecessor. When Infinity War was released I remember saying that that film was the most epic thing I had ever seen, but this one far exceeds what that film is able to accomplish in terms of its magnitude. I have not seen, nor do I believe I will ever experience anything quite like what I did upon first watching Avengers: Endgame. That makes me both sad and appreciative.

For those like me who grew up reading comic books and/or grew up with this cinematic universe, seeing these films unfold and get better through the years holds a special meaning. It may seem like an over the top reaction, but I think Endgame has the power to access a feeling within us that we so rarely experience and is therefore so hard to explain. To accurately describe how grandiose this film is is impossible. The most that I can say is that it awakens something inside for those of us tied to the series, something that speaks to the longing of our hearts to be part of something truly magnificent, to fight for life against death, to have a purpose. And if that doesn’t get you excited about the power of filmmaking, nothing will.

Homecoming

​​★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Watched: 4/17/19

Within the last decade there has been a vocal and unabashed celebration of black life and culture in America. To be clear, black pride is nothing new, we only need to go back to the ‘60s to remember the triumphant (though read by many white people as militant) cry of black power that swept the nation. What makes this recent outpouring different is the way in which it’s been amplified, mostly by social media. In a digital arena where anyone can say anything to the masses (a communicative situation that certainly has its drawbacks), black pride has resounded loudly in the echo chambers that are black twitter, the black travel community, the black instagram music community, the black social women’s movement, etc. With these communities forming, black people have been able to find each other across the nation and across the globe — people who affirm this innate sense of pride that in past generations may have been present, but went unconfirmed because it was treated as violent or foolish in wider social circles that involved a majority of white people. Current social (media) circles can exist without white people in them, therefore creating a positive cycle of affirmation without the interruption of angry hordes clinging to the privilege bestowed upon them as a birthright. Similarly this social phenomenon has happened with other identity groups of all kinds, and it illustrates the often unmentioned positive dimension of an echo chamber.

Two years ago in my review for Get Out I mentioned a couple events that I think led to the rise of a new type of black cinema, one that mirrors the fearless pride we see among black people today. I think Barack Obama’s election and especially his second term, when he was more undeniably black in public spaces (i.e. singing a slick cover of Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together”) without the cloud of reelection looming large, had a huge effect. I also mentioned Beyoncé’s embrace of a powerful black womanhood that she had only tapped subtly before, but embraced past the point of return with the release of her music video for “Formation” and her Super Bowl performance of the song the following day. In no way was Beyoncé the first artist to do something like this, certainly she was inspired by many past and current artists who took this leap before her, but the scope of her fame magnified it in a way that none of the other artists could match. As an SNL digital short perfectly explained, Beyoncé was seen as an apolitical artist, and seeing her in a new, proud, black light rocked the world of many of her white fans.

Homecoming, though, is a vehicle for Beyoncé to rock the world of her black fans in a way that cuts through the interruption of angry hordes clinging to the privilege bestowed upon them as a birthright. It is one of the biggest creative displays of black pride I’ve ever seen, and it is nothing short of glorious. Homecoming is mostly a combination of Beyoncé’s two sets at Coachella last year. She was the first black woman to headline the 20-year-old festival, and made a point to mention as much on stage. That alone would have made her performance significant, but what she did was continue to amplify black voices by setting the musical story she wanted to tell on a campus of a fictional HBCU (historically black college or university). 

HBCUs have rich traditions centering around a totally reimagined greek life. Future-college-educated blacks longed to go to HBCUs, which were created because of the lack of access to mainstream colleges for black students. Beyoncé reinterpreted her songs and her sound to combine elements if the big marching band sound, HBCU step, and chants. Everything about her show was about blackness. 

Homecoming is distinctly different from her Super Bowl performance of “Formation,” In that performance Beyoncé conjured the image of the Black Panthers, a social justice group in the ‘60s and ‘70s so fed up with racial injustice and violence that they decided to create their own social programs and use their second-amendment right to bear arms to protect their communities. (Funny how the holder of the gun affects how conservatives talk about gun ownership and violence.) With this history present in that performance, Beyoncé was sending a clear message to the nation at large that she too was fed up with the injustice that characterized the country just as much that day as it did when the Black Panthers were at their height. It was a message for everyone, and white people certainly heard it as many were caught off guard and immediately outraged by the history the singer called upon for that performance.

Yes, Homecoming is on Netflix for all to see, yes, Coachella is overrun by hippie wannabes appropriating Native American headdresses, but we should make no mistake — this performance and the subsequent documentary is set apart because it is about, for, and in celebration of, black people. In between sections of the concert Beyoncé shows us the behind-the-scenes preparations, and her tireless work to get in performing shape after having twins. But what she does in these times most of all is speak to the endless “swag” black people possess. And if there was any doubt that the show was for black people, not to say that it can’t be enjoyed by others, it became abundantly clear as she began singing “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” alternatively known as the Negro National Anthem, a song nearly every black American would know. It is a moment that highlights the duality of black American-ness, where black people must be fluent in two sets of cultural knowledge.

Homecoming is a private manifesto built on a movement already in progress. And it screams from the mountaintop at the highest register and with the most perfect harmonies, that black people are resilient, beautiful, and if you don’t care to recognize this truth, you can, and I quote, “suck on [our collective] b***s, pause.”

High Life

​​​★★★★★★☆☆ ☆☆ 6/10

Watched: 4/12/19

The beginning and end of High Life are interesting, and for that reason perhaps High Life should have been a short film. Instead we get a film that feels much longer than its one-hour-50-minute run time, and we get something that feels bloated, puffed up by some truly nonsensical drivel in the film’s middle section.

I originally gave the film a 5/10 (2.5/5 stars for you Letterboxers), but i couldn’t deny the way in which the end stuck with me. For a couple days after, I contemplated what the end could mean. I think I’ve come up with something of an explanation, though I can’t be sure I’m right, which is not a bad thing. In fact, it's one of the exciting things about watching movies. So for the end alone, I can’t deny famed indie French director Claire Denis’s talent. I think she does have something to say and she’s clearly a fantastic filmmaker as the film is not only distinctly beautiful, but visceral in some instances.

The film begins with just two characters, a father and his baby daughter alone in a boxy spacecraft far past the reaches of our solar system. We’re plopped into the middle of their lives, one of total isolation, where Monte (Robert Pattinson) cares for his daughter. Their life is strange as they are all alone in space, and reliant upon the daily provisions given by some far off overlords. Watching them live is quietly fascinating. We learn that the father-daughter duo weren’t always alone. There’s a room with a bunch of dead bodies. Turns out Monte was one of several prisoners sent as part of a mission to the far reaches of space. We don’t know yet how this baby joined the crew of convicts or how she ended up alone with just her father.

As a way to explain it all we’re treated to a long flashback, which ends up being the majority of the film, where we meet the other prisoners, many of whom we know will die because we’ve seen them in body bags already. This middle section is too much to describe, but despite being filled with a wild orgasmatron-esque machine (I’ll admit I dozed off for just a couple minutes and waking up to a particular Juliette Binoche scene is one of the more jarring experiences of my life) and horrendous violence, it plods along with the thickness that must be painstakingly waded through. This long middle section, which is primarily used to describe the pain and turmoil that led to Monte’s solitude, feels empty. We can say that there’s a comment about violence and sex, but if so it’s buried so deeply beneath the surface that by time it’s unearthed it’s unintelligible. So instead it all reads as callously gratuitous with these things being used to simply jolt the audience awake, for a brief moment, by introducing a new heinous element to the mix.

We jump to several years down the road. Monte has aged (though Pattinson looks young as ever, just with a slightly larger gray patch) and his baby girl is now a teenager. They’re still alone, but they may have found a way of escape. The ending is majestic, thought-provoking, and creative. I think it might have something to say about how when we’re stuck we seek any way of escape even something that seems impossible and that will likely lead to death or at least an uncertain end. But this uncertainty about the potential for escape makes the option beautiful. The choice to take the uncertain option is beautiful in itself. I could be way off, but even so the end is imbued with the sense of something substantively meaningful. It’s too bad that sense is missing from the majority of the film.

Shazam!

​​​​★★★★★★★★ ☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 4/5/19

The easy word I could use to describe Shazam! is “fun,” but that wouldn’t really capture what exactly this movie is. Yes, it’s fun, and several reviewers have noted as much, but Shazam! goes beyond “fun,” entering “joyful” territory. This, the latest superhero film offering from DC Comics, is a true delight to watch and is easily the very best DC Extended Universe movie  to date. 

The film is probably best thought of as a kid's movie with more than enough to interest adults. And because of this, the movie strikes a perfect balance. Thematically the story covers ground we’ve treaded before. Questions like what is family, and what makes a home have been asked and answered in a wide array of blockbusters from Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy to the Fast and Furious movies, but there’s enough of a spin on it to still make it heartwarming. But it's the specific plot points feel particularly fresh. To be clear, Shazam, formerly known decades ago as Captain Marvel, was the first superhero character to get a film back in the ‘40s, but for most in the audience we haven’t seen anything like this origin story. Having been somewhat familiar with Shazam’s backstory, though certainly no major fan before this, I found the story to be completely refreshing. 

A magical old wizard (Djimon Honsou) searches for a pure soul to pass his super-powered magic to, someone who can keep the power of the seven deadly sins, which incarnate in seven ugly demons, at bay in the world. The wizard’s search leads him to several unworthy souls, but eventually takes him to his last hope, the 14-year-old orphan Billy Batson (Asher Angel, who I realized halfway through the movie looks a lot like Maisie Williams a.k.a. Arya Stark from Game of Thrones). Billy is a bit of a troublemaker, so certainly not pure of heart in a traditional sense. He’s recently moved into a loving and diverse group home with five other orphans, not least of whom is named Freddy, a disabled teen with lots of wit and superhero knowledge. Ultimately the wizard gives Billy his powers, which turns Billy into a grownup superhero (played by Zachary Levi), from which he can switch back and forth. Naturally Billy seeks out Freddy’s help to teach him to become a superhero. 

All this is hilarious and doesn’t drag one bit. The dialogue is laugh-out-loud funny at times, sweet when it needs to be, and there are exciting reveals throughout. These are all script successes, but on top of that, David F. Sandberg’s direction is pretty inspired. There are several shocking moments that are welcomed jump scares, and it’s so well-paced that despite having both a hefty dose of wit and action, the tone never feels off. You can just tell that the director really believes in what he’s making, knowing that he has the chance to make something wonderful.

The one weak point was the villain, and Shazam! Is hardly the first comic book movie to suffer from this and nowhere near the worst offender (looking at you Steppenwolf  from Justice League). Sivana (Mark Strong) is an evil scientist searching for a way to acquire the wizard’s power for himself and unleash the seven deadly sin demons on the world. His story is actually interesting towards the beginning. It’s when Shazam and Sivana meet that things drag a tad. He’s not particularly terrifying and the stakes feel higher when Billy’s and Freddy’s friendship is on the rocks than they do when Sivana and Shazam are punching each other’a daylights out.

But still there’s a lot to love about Shazam!, a film I had little to no interest in seeing when the first trailer dropped. It just goes to show that you can’t judge a hero by his childlike exterior.

Us

​​★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Watched: 3/21/19

There are two ways to look at “Us.” The first way is simply as a horror movie. Within the confines of the story lies all we need to understand. The audience doesn’t need to draw parallels to everyday life, nor do we need to draw from other sources of knowledge to make sense of the movie. The second way to view it is in the same vein as “Get Out,” Jordan Peele's first turn as film director, where the story means something beyond the specific plot points we see unfolding on the screen. 

In many ways Peele tried to prepare us for “Us” by constantly telling those who interviewed him that, unlike “Get Out,” which is easily one of the most important films if the 21st century so far, “Us” is a true horror film. I think he was trying to qualify our expectations going in by explaining that this film is a different species than “Get Out.” It would be it’s own animal. I don’t think everyone heeded his warning, which is evident in some, though not all, of the few negative reviews I’ve seen. Here’s the thing — after watching the film twice, I feel confident in saying that the film works in both ways.

After the first viewing I left the theatre amazed by a masterful filmmaker whose achievement lies primarily in how viscerally effective what he created is. Quite simply “Us” is an incredible horror movie that terrifies in a deeply unsettling way. I’ve mentioned this in past reviews, but what makes a horror movie great is when the terror comes less from jump scares, and there are a few satisfying ones in “Us,” and more from an overall sense of dread. 

From the beginning, there’s something sinister building. And where a lot of horror movies create suspense with no pay off, Peele creates a world that descends into utter chaos once the Wilson’s doppelgängers appear. The blood, the violence, the chills all fit into a story that takes the time to tie in everything we see. And still Peele manages to carve out the space for some genuinely hilarious moments amidst the catastrophe. 

Anchoring the film is Lupita Nyong'o, who, for the first time in a major way, is leading a film. In this turn she shows us exactly why she’s an Oscar winner — one who’s not going anywhere. Playing both Adelaide and her evil twin, she shines and is a huge part of why the movie so viscerally ignites the senses. This is no more evident than in a truly magnificent dance/fight scene which left me with mouth agape.

Going in expecting the film to have as much to say as “Get Out” will be many people’s downfall. Instead if you enter it like any other movie, paying attention to the details of the story itself instead of looking for hidden symbols and meanings, you won’t be disappointed.

And yet, the film actually does have just about as much to say as “Get Out,” only it’s not so clearly spelled out. No matter how you look at “Get Out,” whether focusing on the specific plot of the film, or examining what it’s saying about 21st century America, it is clearly about race. And the parallels between our world and the film world Peele created in that film, are direct, though they certainly still must be divined in order to understand them fully. With “Us” what it all means in a deeper sense isn’t explained outright, and it’s because of this lack of clarity that the film has to work without this deeper meaning. And it does, but the deeper meaning begins to come through the more you think, read, watch, and talk about it. 

(Spoilers ahead)
To state it briefly, “Us” is about two different classes. The lower class (the tethered) did not create their circumstance, but they understandably resent the upper class because they lack access to the world above. The upper class’s greatest nightmare, or in other words, our truest vision of an American horror story, is one where those at the bottom replace those at the top. Peele also smartly points out that even those at the bottom who by some crafty maneuvering make it to the top fear those from their former class rising up to take their place as well. The film’s twist works both as a shocking revelation within the film itself, and also as part of the wider commentary Peele is making. There’s a lot that seems unexplained about how the supernatural elements of the film work, or why things are the way they are, but when watching it a second time while understanding Peele’s deeper message, suddenly those loose ends begin to make sense. And once again we see Peele as a genius director who creates masterpieces. While at the end of the day I would say “Get Out” is the slightly better film, it doesn’t exist outside of Peele’s commentary. It is nothing short of remarkable that “Us” works within and without its social meaning.

Captain Marvel

​​★★★★★★☆☆ ☆☆ 6/10

Watched: 3/7/19

If Marvel, the studio behind Captain Marvel, was going to wait so long to make a hero movie with a woman at the helm (for the record they shouldn’t have waited so long), at least they made it count — timing-wise. Captain Marvel is the 21st film in the extended universe and the final one before the 11-year culminating event that will be Avengers: Endgame, giving us hope that Captain Marvel might be the Universe’s salvation. After last year’s Thanos snap, which knocked out half of all life in the universe, the most dramatic event to date in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain Marvel was the studio's big chance to set the stage for a grandiose conclusion.

Quite frankly the opportunity is missed. And “missing” is the perfect word to describe what doesn’t work about the film, because there was a film worth making atop the bare bones of a story created by the visionaries at Marvel Comics, but that film is not what we get.

Above all, the movie is an origin story. Historically origin stories have been the most boring version of comic book movies because there’s just too much to do in one outing. Filmmakers have to explain how the hero got her powers, while also building up a credible foe to challenge that hero. Thankfully, Captain Marvel avoids this trap, by intertwining Vers’s, who will later be called Carol Danvers, story with the unfolding mission and mystery at hand. Despite this, the exposition needed for an origin film, or really any story that introduces us to new worlds, is lacking. The film starts within the Kree empire where Vers and her team of covert operatives train to take on the Skrull invasion across the galaxy. We get no information about how Kree society works. Why are some Kree blue, while others look wholly human? Why does the supreme intelligence (leader of the Kree) take on different forms when conversing with different people. (This  next question will only make sense when you see the movie, but why would it take on the form of Dr. Lawson for Vers when the memory of the doctor was wiped from Vers’s from mind? Seems pretty dumb to take on that familiar form if  you don’t want her to remember it). Ultimately each new planet, beside C-53 (Earth) looks like a dark, non-descript location without a single defining quality. Compare that with the work director James Gunn did on the two Guardians of the Galaxy movies and the issues with this film become clear.

What’s more disappointing is that Carol is missing a personality. The writers try to make her a wise-cracking know-it-all, but these attempts are tepid and uneven. Nothing she says is funny enough to remember. The filmmakers turn Vers into that friend you obliging chuckle at just to make them feel like they're part of the group. Brie Larson, an Oscar-winning actor, does the best she can, but the script is one of the weakest in MCU history.

Beyond even that, what I missed most is the thing that has come to characterize Marvel films. It’s the thing that has set them apart from DC’s superhero films, most of which are a mess. That thing is heart. Marvel movies continue to amaze because so many of them, especially in the last five years, make you feel something. Whether that’s laughing until our sides hurt, or a genuinely affecting story that has the power to move us to tears, or one that leaves us with a sense of total loss and devastation, Marvel crafts films not just meant to make money, which they certainly do, but that delight the audience. Despite introducing us to what is probably the character with the most incredible abilities in the series, Captain Marvel doesn't possess the ability to make us care. There’s an attempt to highlight moving female friendship and to show Carol's resilience in the face of ultimate power, but it’s all stale and uninspired.

Captain Marvel is a film that digs into the current zeitgeist for inspiration, one where female-empowerment is rightfully at the forefront of many of our minds. Yet the film uses these things like capitalist building blocks, which is so unlike Marvel, and ironic considering its anti-establishment message. And it’s so disappointing as this is the first woman-led hero film in the MCU and the last movie leading up to the Phase 3 finale. Despite the fact that the film’s heroine and title carries the word that ties the cinematic universe together, there’s nothing really marvelous about it.

Fighting with My Family

​​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched: 2/17/19

My initial concern about this movie had to do with an important note about wrestling — it’s fake. Ricky Knight (played by Nick Frost) takes offense at that appraisal of the sport, saying instead, it's real, just with a pre-determined outcome. The fact remains that it’s not real in the way that other sports are, so the question is, if Fighting with My Family is to be a sports movie, then how can it follow the tried and true sports movie formula that works every time if the outcome is pre-determined? And speaking of pre-determined outcomes, this story is based on a true one, so chances are we all know how this ends for Saraya, who goes by the stage name Paige in the ring. It would seem not much is left to actually surprise us.

In my review for Creed II last year I had an important realization about sports movies and how they're told. The truth is, even though the Creed and Rocky movies are completely fictionalized, they’re no less predictable than a story like this one where the end is known in every way. But what's really important is everything between the thrilling displays of sport throughout a film. It’s in that space that Fighting with My Family succeeds. 

It’s all in the title really. The thing that makes this movie work is that it’s held together by a family of real characters that hardly need heightening for the big screen. Ricky Knight is an ex-con with a potty mouth obsessed with wrestling. Julia Knight (Lena Heady) is his two-toned-haired wife with a potty mouth and obsessed with wrestling, who essentially saved Ricky and made him walk a straighter and narrower path, if not quite THE straight and narrow. Together they started a wrestling gym and spawned three little ones with potty mouths, who, through years of indoctrination, learned to be obsessed with wrestling. Zak (he goes by Zak Zodiac in the ring) is the middle son who leads the way and teaches his little sister Saraya, and a host of other kids in the small, poor town of Norwich, England to wrestle. The firstborn son is in prison, so the remaining four run the small gym, teaching wrestling and holding matches for the community. They’re having fun, but it’s a niche occupation that doesn’t bring in a ton of money.

Their family dream is to see Zak and Saraya make it to the WWE. So when Hutch (Vince Vaughn) calls inviting both kids to audition, they freak out. (This next bit isn’t really a spoiler because it’s in the trailer although people still gasped in the theater when it happened) It’s Saraya who makes it to the next round of auditions while Zak is sent back home. Upset, Saraya tries to convince Hutch to take Zak too, but it doesn’t work.

The success of the film, despite being an ensemble effort, rests mostly on the shoulders of lead actor Florence Pugh. As Saraya goes off to the U.S. to begin training, a lot of the character work is done alone and internally. She shows us how difficult she finds it one, to be away from her family, and two, to believe she’s got something special when everyone else around her at the training bootcamp couldn’t be more different. Unlike the bubbly models-turned-wrestlers, Saraya is short and goth with the aforementioned potty mouth. But there’s hardly a moment, and this is thanks to a strong turn from Vaughn as well, that we doubt that Saraya is special even if we can’t always see how.

But it’s Jack Lowden’s performance as Zak that holds a lot of weight as well. Zak returns home clearly hurt from being rejected, but doing his best to support his sister. He’s experiencing the end of a dream and what it means to come to terms with the fact that you’re not special in the way you imagined and in the ways society finds important. Though the circumstances are unique, it characterizes something most of us experience as we grow older. Zak struggles with the question of how he can, in light of his rejection, redefine what special means in his life, while also battling the uncontrollable feelings of depression that accompany failure?

There’s a tension to the film because Zak’s life plays out alongside the main story line where Saraya is attempting to operate and succeed on that grander level he never reached. It subverts the idea that those things society counts as special are just as important as the smaller scale impact Zak is fighting to hold on to. It might seem like a contradiction, and perhaps it is, but from a story perspective it creates an interesting friction that works.

Like every sports movie there’s a final contest. But even though the outcome is fixed, it’s no less exciting to watch than it would be in another movie. That’s because this movie isn’t really about the fights in the ring, but about something much deeper, which is told with skill and a dry wit by writer/director Stephen Merchant.

Velvet Buzzsaw

​​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched: 2/8/19

Despite the criticisms, there’s actually quite a lot to like about Velvet Buzzsaw. It features a talented cast, builds a heightened world, and it’s never not entertaining. While these things don’t ensure a film’s greatness, they certainly help. Dan Gilroy’s sophomore feature isn’t a great film, but there are pieces that reflect the spark within the writer/director.

We first saw that spark back in 2014 in Gilroy’s first movie, Nightcrawler. It’s about a late-night local news freelancer obsessed with covering the bloody Los Angeles crimes that happen in the dark. At the time, I wrote the movie off for its lack of realism. I thought then that my career trajectory would inevitably include some time in local TV news, so felt a bit defensive about its portrayal. Now, I guess I don’t really care, and can better see Nightcrawler for its genius.

That same sense of heightened reality that Gilroy creates in his earlier film is here in Velvet Buzzsaw, only it’s about the ridiculousness of the art world, their lofty ideas, and their hypocritical loathing of and love for making money move. But it also presents us with an ultra luxe world of chic creatives who do their best to at least appear unencumbered. Gilroy uses the heightened realities he creates to comment on the communities that fall into his razor sharp gaze.

There’s a full list of weirdos that contribute to the tapestry of characters. Rene Russo plays a money-obsessed museum curator with a hidden wild past. Toni Colette is an opportunistic art buyer who moves from museum work to private acquisitions. Natalia Dyer plays a young intern hopping from one crazy menial role to the next. Zawe Ashton is low on the museum totem pole until she makes a discovery that changes the trajectory of her entire life. John Malkovich and Daveed Diggs play artists, one searching for the spark he once had and another about to become an art world breakout star. Finally, there’s Morf Vandewalt (Jake Gyllenhaal) the eccentric art critic who can make or break an artist with the stroke of a pen.

It’s fascinating to see the power players trying to one up each other, and those in a lower state try to claw their way up all while being impeccably dressed. But Velvet Buzzsaw is no industry thriller. It’s a horror film at its core. Josephina (Ashton) discovers the work of her dead neighbor and it becomes the talk of the town selling for millions. Rhodora (Russo) orchestrates the whole thing, creating a demand for the deceased artist’s work so that she and her museum can profit. What they unleash is something otherworldly and something that each of the characters mentioned above is unprepared to confront. Soon the people involved in the sale of the dead neighbor’s trippy artwork is haunted by the paintings at first, then by other works of art that seems to be awakened by the dead man’s work to turn against the purveyors of the art world’s dishonesty. It’s comment on how the art itself, something meant to describe the truth of existence, is corrupted by the dishonest. And here art itself is taking vengeance. 

It’s not so much that Velvet Buzzsaw is hard to understand, it’s that there are things that go unanswered. Having unanswered questions is fine in film. Not everything has to be explained, but in certain cases an explanation is necessary. In last year’s A Quiet Place we don’t need to know how the creatures terrorizing a family of five got there. It’s much more important to see and understand just how the family will survive. How the dead man’s art has the power of life and death is never explained or even really addressed in Velvet Buzzsaw, but these feel like such crucial questions for the film’s coherence. Without them, something is missing.

High Flying Bird

​​★★★★★★★☆ ☆☆ 7/10

Watched: 2/9/19

High Flying Bird is the latest in director Steven Soderbergh’s iPhone series. But this film couldn’t be more different his last, Unsane. And while the film, on top of Soderbergh’s ability to harness the full power of Steve Jobs’s cell phone, is well-made and intriguing throughout, it lacks a certain profundity.

The movie opens at the height of an NBA lockout. Players and owners are at an impasse about the players’ compensation versus the gigantic cut the owners take. Yes, it’s mostly rich people haggling over money, but the film is grounded by the fact that it focuses in on Erick (former Vine-star Melvin Gregg), the number one draft pick, who has yet to set foot on an NBA court officially, meaning he’s not rich, at least not yet. But the film is really about Erick’s agent, Ray (André Holland). He’s a fast-talking business man who seems to be in control one minute, and completely lost the next. Nothing illustrates this better than the opening scene.

Not only is his money in jeopardy as the lockout continues, but Ray’s job at his firm, which represents athletes from several sports, is hanging on by a thread because of the lockout. Holland, an underrated talent, is perfect in the role. He’s a black man in business navigating different worlds, taking on different tones with each new conversation, yet somehow never losing himself. But these shifting tones aren’t just because of the race dynamic, although that’s certainly a big factor. Confronting power causes him to transform from one moment to the next. He only really has authority when speaking with Erick, while shrinking a bit in most every other conversation, even the ones with his former assistant, Sam (the understated scene stealer, Zazie Beetz).

As the lockout continues Ray orchestrates things behind the scene, explaining to Erick that he’s the one with the talent, the one people come to see, but that the owners hold all the power. The line linking the basketball system to slavery is clear and unapologetic — once white people saw that black people were better at the game than white players, they created “a game on top of the game” to control the money. Ray seems as if he’s ever trying to gain a footing in that higher game when he finally comes up with a plan to give Erick and the players more ownership. But we still can never be sure of Ray’s true intentions, which makes his character so rich. 

The themes of power and money, and even racism, in film are not new, but the way they coalesce here on the backdrop of the game atop the game of basketball is something special. Writer Tarell Alvin McCraney (the man behind Moonlight) smartly weaves an interesting web with interesting characters saying interesting things. There’s a grounded-ness to the way each character behaves, which is only aided by the lo-fi shooting style. 

Because Soderbergh chose to shoot the entire film on iPhones, the imperfections are there, but we gain a sort of fly-on-the-wall aesthetic that works. Many of the conversations are between two people and aren’t meant to be public. That feeling of secrecy is heightened by Soderbergh’s shooting style and instruments. The way Soderbergh taps into all the iPhone camera can achieve is something like using one’s whole brain instead of the 10 percent we supposedly normally utilize. 

Still there’s something that feels very small and not quite whole about the movie. The social connections revealed are interesting, but the film stops just short of being profound. Make no mistake, it wants to be profound, but we never get there. It feels more like a long episode of television (in that it needs something more that may come in the next episode) than a full, self-contained movie. Still High Flying Bird is certainly welcome in the desert that is the beginning-of-the-year film season.

Fyre Fraud

​★★★★★★☆☆ ☆☆ 6/10

Watched: 1/21/19

Hulu’s documentary about the unraveling of the now-memed and bemoaned Fyre Festival was released just days before Netflix released their own documentary about the musical festival on a private island that never really was. Let’s get some of the important details out of the way up front. The Hulu documentary isn’t nearly as good as Netflix’s version. Yes, the topic is the same, but watching two documentaries back to back in the same day about the same thing really highlights the creativity and work that goes into making a good film.

Hulu seemingly had one huge advantage over the Netflix documentary —  Billy McFarland. McFarland is the mastermind behind the travesty that was Fyre Festival, but also the genius behind its wildly successful marketing campaign. The only thing is, McFarland’s presence in the documentary added nothing to the project. He apparently couldn’t talk about anything related to ongoing legal proceedings, i.e. Fyre Festival, also known as the main point of the documentary. So all he was really forthcoming about, but still in that vague way that seems to characterize anything he says, were his previous ventures, like the black card company for millennials, Magnises, his collegiate business idea that flopped, and a crayon selling racket he ran in grade school.

And that speaks to the primary problem of the Hulu doc — it’s unfocused. In an attempt to provide McFarland’s backstory, the Hulu filmmakers lose focus on what’s really interesting, just how Fyre Festival went down in flames. 

In addition to the unnecessary preamble, the film also attempts to make a strong point about millennials and the digital influencers we watch online. There’s no doubt that there’s a place for that kind of critique. It was present in the Netflix documentary as well. But there was a distinct difference in how it was handled. The Netflix doc never lost sight of its goal. When commenting on influencer culture, it was relatively brief and seemed to come up naturally from the people interviewed. In the Hulu doc I get the distinct impression that the filmmakers asked every single person to specifically comment on how Fyre Festival is indicative if what’s wrong with digital millennial culture. Arguments like this are a dime a dozen, and quite frankly at this point, incredibly stale. So, the attempt to make it this revelatory exploration and discovery was corny at best, and just plain boring at worst.

Throughout the course of watching Fyre Fraud it became abundantly clear that they just didn’t have as much access as the makers of the Netflix documentary. So the makers of Fyre Fraud were forced to tell a more broad, and less focused story, and rely on footage from TV shows and old cartoons to illustrate their points. It makes sense that the Netflix filmmakers had more access. It was made by the media company that ran PR for Fyre Festival. They were able to get the people who were actually working for just about every sector of the festival’s planning and execution. This led to more illuminating and complicated interviews as those involved recounted the wild things that happened (looking at you Andy King), and explained why they stuck around to watch the fire burn. In the Hulu doc, most of the interviewees either weren’t really connected to the planning and execution of the festival, and the ones that were, only to a lesser degree. So the soundbites we got were all snark, as if everyone could tell from 100 miles away that Fyre Festival was destined to be a failure (especially the journalist interviewed from the New Yorker). Which brings me back to McFarland’s interview. Not only his, but nearly every interview in the doc feels marked by dishonesty.

It wasn’t all bad. There were occasional gems like the quote from who I think was a lawyer explaining, “If you’ve never been out on bail before, that’s gonna be the time in your life where you wanna be committing the least number of crimes.” Also the Hulu doc all but attacked Netflix by name for airing the documentary made by the advertising agency responsible for spreading the festival’s false promises. I don’t think it’s a fair critique, but I can appreciate that they didn’t pull punches.

FYRE: The Greatest Party That Never Happened

​★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Watched: 1/21/19

Netflix’s documentary about the unraveling of the now-memed and bemoaned Fyre Festival was released just days after Hulu released their own documentary about the music festival on a private island that never really was. Let’s get some of the important details out of the way up front. First, the Netflix documentary is by far the better of the two (I'm planning on doing a review of the Hulu doc next). Second, the Netflix doc was created by Jerry Media, the media company in charge of Fyre Festival’s wildly successful digital campaign. That second note is a point of contention for some. Aren’t the event’s promoters culpable for the false promises given to those who spent sums of money to attend? The Hulu doc, "Fyre Fraud," just stops short if attacking Netflix by name when it hurled this accusation in it’s own film. After some thought, I’ve decided that I don’t mind because one, Jerry Media made the better documentary and two, because the advertising agency is a victim of Billy Mcfarland’s lies like so many others involved with the festival. Based on the information they had to go on, Jerry Media performed like any other advertising company would.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to the fun stuff — and fun is exactly what this documentary is. Despite its serious tone, the filmmakers never lose sight that this story is so wild, it’s laughable.

I didn’t hear about Fyre Festival until guests were trapped on the private island in the Bahamas begging to return home. But from the beginning, Fyre Festival was something to talk about. Entrepreneur, that’s what I’ll call him in this early stage of the review, Billy McFarland was onto his next venture, an app called Fyre. It would seamlessly link artists with clients who wanted to purchase their services for an event. Billy partnered with friend Ja Rule, and the two decided the best way to get press for the app would be to throw an epic luxury music festival. And to raise hype about the music festival they flew out some of the world’s top models to a private island in the Bahamas to make an enticing video about what the festival would be like. The video promised music, beautiful models, the bluest of waters brushed up against the whitest of sands, booze, private jets, swimming pigs. On top of that, once registration was live, Billy promised luxurious accommodations on an island with no sophisticated infrastructure. Where would they dispose of the waste was a constant question Billy side stepped. But the campaign was a success as the models posted about how sexy this new festival would be. It especially tickled the fancies of social media influencers (whatever that means) who jump at any chance to curate the perfect-looking life for their followers.

So step one was a success. Steps two through 100, however, led to what will stick when we think about Fyre Festival for the rest of time. It’s this middle part that’s so shocking. The details are unbelievable and a particular story from the very likable Andy King, the event producer, is jaw dropping. King explains throughout the documentary why so many people stayed on the project despite being confronted with its infeasibility every single day. Billy McFarland was a magnetic presence full of positive energy who could convince people to do just about anything. I immediately made the connection to Theranos’s Elizabeth Holmes, the subject of the book "Bad Blood." Holmes led the Silicon Valley startup to ruin based on false promises.

What makes "FYRE" so engaging is it’s clarity. The filmmakers know what story they’re telling and they zero in on that with razor-sharp focus. Gone are the extraneous details, or obvious broad strokes about millennials. No, this story is about how the Fyre Festival behind the scenes was worse than we could imagine. And because of this focus the film drives forward relentlessly and effectively. There’s a growing sense of doom as we near the festival and as we see McFarland for the con artist he is. The film has a vibe, which makes it impossible to look away from.

This vibe and the strong story focus come from the access the filmmakers had. Because the film was produced by people involved in the festival, they had access to more people, more information, and more footage. Yes, the Hulu doc interviewed Billy McFarland, but this one got everything else that mattered.

Because many the interviewees occupied a middle ground — where they were responsible for the chaos, but also regretted it — their insights weren’t smug as if they had known from the beginning how much of a failure the festival would be. No, they admit that they were sucked in and complicit in the creation and execution of one of the most infamous large-scale events in the last decade, leading to the guilt and shame they had to wrestle with. At the end of the day "FYRE" possesses a much clearer, though not simplified, window into the human psyche, and a more emotional version of the events. Yes, it’s a laughable happening, but there was also danger and devastation for those involved in the festival. Perhaps nothing brought this home more than Mary Anne Rolle, a local Bahamian restaurant owner who lost thousands and thousands of dollars because of Billy McFarland’s fraudulence