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Dam! - Film Review: Hundreds Of Beavers ★★★★

Tired of watching the world circling the drain? Would you like to smile for 108 minutes? Then trust me, drop everything and watch Hundreds Of Beavers now! This low-budget indie instant classic marks the feature directorial debut of Mike Cheslik who spent 4 years making it, including over 1500 effects shots in freezing temperatures in Wisconsin and Michigan. Remember that name.

But wait! There’s more! The story of Jean Kayak (co-writer and producer Ryland Brickson Cole Tews), a drunken Applejack salesman who goes on an epic journey across the frozen tundra to hunt and kill the aforementioned beavers in order to win over a strong-willed Furrier (Olivia Graves), is told in black and white with almost no dialogue. Although such influences as Looney Tunes, Buster Keaton, and the surreal films of Canadian legend Guy Madden shine through, this live action/animated hybrid remains in a class of its own.

Tews invites comparisons to the client era greats such as Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd and holds his own with his bumbling, idiotic, yet crafty hunter. Despite facing one obstacle after another, much in the style of an anvil dropping on the Coyote as he chases down the Roadrunner, he always bounces back and stays true to his mission. The beavers, along with assorted rabbits, wolves and raccoons, all appear as actors in mascot costumes. It looks like the world’s largest furry convention as we watch the animals build dams, evade traps, and ultimately concoct a hilariously unexplained science fiction project.

At first, I thought this could have easily been a ten minute short, but the grand scale of it all won me over as the filmmakers consistently raisied the stakes and the mayhem factor. Every time Jean gets his tongue stuck on an object, a hook plunged through his hand, or an sudden icicle formed when he exhales, I had a terrible case of the tee-hees. You’ll witness literally dozens of whiz-bang scene with every single shot having something interesting and unexpected happening somewhere in the frame.

As Jean kills various creatures, he frequently takes them to a Trading Post headed up by a Merchant (Doug Mancheski) who hilariously chews tobacco and fails to land it in a cup. This recurring motif, just like the rest in the film, finds a hilarious payoff by the end. His daughter, the previously mentioned Furrier, takes a liking to Jean even while slicing apart his dead animals. Their relationship becomes the beating heart of the film. You root for this pair as Jean trades his pelts for hunting tools which often lead to disastrous consequences. His stabs at building fires, fishing, and creating traps feel operatic with this film’s extended run time.

If you’re a fan of shirtless bearded hunks, you’ve also come to the right place. In the real world, Jean would have succumbed to frostbite, but here, his lovely exposed bod feels more feature than bug. Sure, it’s titillating, but it also enhances the comedy. By the time he’s completely naked with his private parts strategically blocked by assorted objects, you’ve entered Austin Powers territory.

I can’t say enough about the creative work on display. Cheslik expertly layers practical shots with all manner of animated work, perfectly supported by a wonderful score by Chris Ryan. Everything zips along breathlessly thanks to Cheslik’s sense of pacing as he acts as his own Editor. Quinn Hester’s cinematography at first seems quite classic and simple, but as the mayhem intensifies, my jaw dropped. You just can’t believe what you’re seeing here.

Sure, all told, we’re cheering on as one man tries to slaughter literally hundreds of woodland critters, but it’s hard to be too put out when his prey all have zippers! I might have suggested cutting out 10-15 minutes, but when you have a movie titled Hundreds Of Beavers, size matters! So take a break from the real world and let the brilliant Cheslik and Tews transport you to your happy place.

[glenngaylord]

Three On A Match - Film Review: Challengers ★★★★1/2

Films and movies often operate on different planes of existence. Some films feel like homework. Some take you to distant lands and shine a light on different cultures. Some intimately expose the human condition. But movies? Well, my favorite kind of movies thrive on pure adrenaline, action and sexual excitement. Who doesn’t love looking at beautifully lit, sun-dappled faces in a 24 frames per second dreamscape? I think of Against All Odds, for example, with Jeff Bridges and Rachel Ward never looking sexier. Terrible film, but a great movie. Same goes for Showgirls or Valley Of The Dolls. On the flip side, My Dinner With Andre could be considered a terrible movie but a great film.

Enter Challengers, the latest from Luca Guadagnino (Call Me By Your Name) and first-time screenwriter Justin Kuritzkes to shift the paradigm by being both a great film and a great movie. One could easily look at it as a small character study or a traditional sports drama, but you also wouldn’t be wrong if you saw it as a supremely thrilling, sexually charged study in pure star magnetism.

Set in 2019 in the world of tennis, Challengers stars Zendaya as Tashi Donaldson, a pro turned coach whose husband Art (Mike Faist from West Side Story) faces off against Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor from The Crown) as the story begins. The filmmakers show their audacity instantly by introducing footage of this match even before the MGM logo appears. Utilizing frequent flashbacks at finely calibrated moments, we learn how the trio came to know each other. Each revelation raises the stakes and deepens our understanding of the dynamics at play. I won’t get into plot details further as it would spoil the deliciousness in how each bit of information tells us more and more about the characters.

Here we have a film less about the specifics of a tennis match, however gloriously the sport gets framed by Guadagnino’s frequent collaborator, Cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, and more about the sheer delight of sexual chemistry and how assertiveness enhances it. Yes, those matches get dutch angles, swooping drone shots and tennis balls whooshing right into the lens, but that’s nothing compared to the confidence Zendaya brings to her character. I’d call this a star-making performance, but who are we kidding? Zendaya is already a star, with Euphoria proving her to be a world class actor. Here, however, she crackles with a heretofore unseen screen idol energy, blazing through scene after scene.

Although essentially a love triangle at its core, it’s anything but equilateral. The way Zendaya dominates the two men proves that. With Art as the sensitive, shy type and Patrick the outgoing bad boy, they’re both putty in Tashi’s hands. In one standout scene, she sits back and watches them grow closer. The expression on her face along with the high angle makes the moment indelible. We experience the relationships in all their permutations, pairs and triples, giving us a full picture of the ever-deepening connections, culminating in an all-timer ending that’s thrilling, hilarious, satisfying yet ambiguous. One could easily think of this as a gay film or interpret it as straight or perhaps bisexual. Regardless, most people will need a shower afterward.

O’Connor and Feist excel here with an explosive chemistry of their own, whether nimbly playing teenagers or grown men. When one thinks of formative years, you’ll see it playing out on their open faces and youthful giggles. In a film which puts arousal front and center, the two men can’t contain it, whereas Zendaya’s Tashi delights in causing and/or instigating it. Guadanino makes sure the audience is in on the fun with copious nudity, crotch shots, butt shots and Zendaya wowing us in fashion designer J.W. Anderson’s super seductive outfits. No matter your sexual orientation, you’re gonna walk out of this film feeling mentally stimulated as well as all kinds of hot and bothered.

This film click-click-clicks with energy and proudly wears its bonkers tone on its sleeve. With three great performances, crisp writing and direction, credit also goes to Editor Marco Costa, who ensures we don’t experience a boring second while masterfully jumping from one timeline to the other. Also, it’s impossible to watch Challengers without noticing the fantastic score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. This propulsive, synth-heavy music comes in frequently, sometimes competing with dialogue, but always to emphasize the carnality. It makes the movie pop. I dubbed one recurring cue the “I Feel Love (The Horny Boner Edition) ft. Giorgio Moroder” and couldn’t stop cackling every time it made an appearance. This could have easily veered off into high camp were it not for its adult themes and vivid acting.

At times the film reminded me of Personal Best, the great screenwriter Robert Towne’s 1982 directorial debut. Both share a love of faces and bodies and an otherworldly way of presenting them. But, in truth, I’ve never seen a film quite like Challengers, existing somewhere in between a movie and a film. It’s one of a kind, nutty, exciting, and easily one of the best of 2024.

[glenngaylord]

Sister Kristen - Film Review: Love Lies Bleeding ★★★1/2

Some of my favorite films feel like pulpy fever dreams. Think of Stanley Kubrick or Brian De Palma at their best or the early 20th century dime novels and you’ll get a sense of the otherworldly, heightened tone I gravitate towards. Consider my surprise then when Rose Glass, who made a little splash in 2019 with her debut horror feature, Saint Maude, follows it up with Love Lies Bleeding, a sexy, trashy, overripe thriller. One could draw comparisons with their themes of co-dependence and some similar visceral motifs, but Glass has taken a bigger swing here.

Set in late 1980s Nowheresville, New Mexico, Kristen Stewart plays Lou, the manager of a training gym who, when we first meet her, has her hand down a filthy toilet in an effort to clear out a clog. It’s a not so subtle shorthand to indicate that she’s living in a world of crap. Like any good film noir main character, she’s more than ready for a femme fatale to shake up her world. It’s not going to be Daisy (a scene-stealing Anna Baryshnikov), a messy local who crushes a bit too hard on a clearly not interested Lou. No, it’ll take Jackie (Katy O’Brian), a gorgeous, buff bodybuilder who drifts into town with the requisite mysterious past to catch Lou’s eye. When we first meet Jackie, she’s getting railed by the sleazy, poorly-mulleted JJ (Dave Franco) in the back seat of his car. Their relationship seems transactional and a short time later, Jackie shows up at Lou’s gym. When Lou’s eyes almost burst out of her sockets, it’s love and bulging biceps at first sight.

At this point, Glass and co-writer Weronika Tofilska, in the grand tradition of the genre, add one complication after another. You see, JJ happens to be Lou’s brother-in-law and horribly abuses her sister Beth (Jena Malone). JJ also just happens to work for Lou’s scary and estranged father Lou Sr. (an even more severely mulleted Ed Harris) at the local gun range. If all of this sounds ominous, it should. In a film this lurid, you just know those guns will get used for more than target practice. Make no mistake, this story has sex, violence and a high body count. Think an early 90s B-movie classic like Red Rock West with the seductive juice of Bound and you’ll be dead on about this stakes-raising good time at the movies.

Something like this doesn’t work without having terrific performances and Love Lies Bleeding has an impressive array. Stewart gives a mesmerizing turn as a fearless, sexually voracious aggressor who can’t help put herself in the path of pain over and over again. It reminded me of her depiction of Joan Jett in 2010’s The Runaways, simultaneously feral and vulnerable. Her delayed reaction during a phone call scene actually made me laugh and applaud. She has electrifying chemistry with O’Brian, whose hair-trigger temperament gets them into one terrible situation after another. Lou should be able to read the tea leaves, but she just can’t help herself when it comes to Jackie. Harris plays a scary monster but gives him a type of twisted logic that adds a layer of complexity to a role so often deemed beyond reproach. Malone and Franco also have their moments to shine, but I took the most glee from the little details in Baryshnikov’s turn (and yes, her father is Mikhail). Just watching her use her fingers on a diner table to express excitement had me grinning.

As things spiral out of control, Glass enters surreal territory. She uses many bone-crunching close-ups of Jackie’s muscles expanding from steroid use to suggest she’s turning into the Incredible Hulk, and late in the film, she really goes off the rails with the level of such transformation. There's also one incredible shot of Lou and Jackie running towards camera as an ethereal, colorful haze twirls in the background. These moments may turn some viewers off, but I’ll counter that it makes the film unforgettable. I did wonder, however, why they used that title without including Elton John’s classic 70s song of the same name. Maybe it’s too on the nose, but I felt it would have fit in with the big, colorful 80s aesthetic.

With such recent films as Nyad, May December, and Bottoms, we’re in the Bechdel Test-passing era of cinema where female characters don’t merely exist to prop up the male leads. Love Lies Bleeding, which falls handily within those guidelines, feels like it’s built on two axioms, that love is indeed blind, and that relationships built on trauma bonding and deep sexual attraction just might be the way to go. Either way, I’ll follow Rose Glass, blindly (!), anywhere.

[glenngaylord]

Ramblin' Man - Film Review: You Can't Stay Here ★★★1/2

The new queer cinema of the 1990s gets reborn courtesy of one of its OGs, Todd Verow. With his micro-budget new thriller, You Can’t Stay Here, co-written by longtime collaborator Jim Dwyer, that raw, confrontational, punk sensibility feels like a breath of fresh air in our current stale, over-processed cinematic environment. Harkening back to his work on Frisk, which put Verow on the map in 1995, the film plays like a mashup of that title along with Cruising and Blow-Up.

Guillermo Diaz stars as Rick, a photographer, who finds himself drawn to the Ramble, a busy Central Park gay cruising spot circa 1993 in New York City. Rather than engaging in hookups himself, Rick prefers to hide behind his camera taking pictures of the many sexual scenarios on display. Before you can say “Antonioni”, Rick has spotted something nefarious going on in his photos, an ominous guy in a trench coat. On a return visit to the park, Rick witnesses the man known as Adam (Justin Ivan Brown) committing a brutal murder. That he presents as an all-seeing, all-knowing vampire armed with a knife and a lethal bottle of poppers, serves as an apt metaphor for the AIDS crisis decimating the gay community. The dangerous game of cat and mouse between Rick and Adam takes up the bulk of the running time, along with a burgeoning relationship with one of the Ramble regulars named Hale, played sweetly by Becca Blackwell.

While scary and suspenseful, the real heart of the film lies with Rick’s internal struggles. He appears to fear intimacy with the story serving as a journey towards accepting himself. He shares a son with his ex-wife Samantha (a wonderfully grounded Karina Arroyave), who caught him with another man one day in their apartment. He’s also tending to his ailing mother, an excellent Marlene Forte, who doesn’t hold back when spewing homophobic comments directed at her son. His demanding boss Wren, comically played by Vanessa Aspillaga, adds additional stress to his life.

I saw this film as a course correction to Cruising, which only vaguely alluded to Al Pacino’s sexual awakening as he hunted down a gay serial killer. In Verow’s film! he addresses similar themes far more explicitly. Bonus points for no dialogue like, “Hips or lips?” Verow, like the late William Friedkin, doesn’t shy away from graphic sexuality but the gay male gaze adds an authenticity Cruising lacked.

Much of the credit for the success of the film goes to Diaz, who delivers a quiet, soulful performance with all of the horrors of the world right there in his empathetic eyes. No stranger to the new queer cinema and low-budget 90s films himself, with appearances in such seminal movies of the era such as Stonewall, Party Girl, I Think I Do, and Nowhere, it’s wonderful to see Diaz embracing his roots. He’s had a string of larger scale appearances in Weeds, Scandal, and Bros, all wonderful, but it’s exciting that he sought out Verow as a collaborator due to his desire to do something with more of an edge. Ryan Murphy has dedicated his career to lifting up queer voices and it’s lovely to see an actor of Diaz’s caliber doing the same. More of that, please!

This film will have its detractors who can’t get past its low budget production values, but in its own scrappy way, this film succeeds. I especially loved its John Carpenter-esque synth score by Greg Sabo which rides a fine line between pulse-pounding and campiness. Same goes for the film itself, which shrewdly personifies the terrors of its era while also possessing a little of that DIY John Waters humor. Add the beauty of a lost soul finding tenderness and you have a film that stands out amongst more forgettable fare.

[glenngaylord]

My Moments Out Of Time In Film 2023

My Moments Out Of Time - Glenn Gaylord’s Look Back at 2023 In Film

I’m of the opinion that every year can be a really good year for movies if you’re willing and able to do a little digging. But transcendent, formula-defying, unforgettable work seems to come along much less frequently. In 2023, I repeatedly saw a rare level of greatness, almost a rewriting of cinematic language. I think of how the marriage of sound and imagery achieved a type of singularity in The Zone Of Interest, or how the camera’s omniscient point of view in Poor Things seemed to reflect the mind of its protagonist. All Of Us Strangers and Past Lives seemed to run on pure emotional poetry. Bottoms and Rotting In The Sun opened up a new type of comedy in which queer people unleashed powerful levels of fury and unapologetic lust. Origin ignored most rules of screenwriting structure to forge a compelling and new way of looking at societal systems. Although not quite as trailblazing as the above-mentioned titles, I also loved The Holdovers, Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret, May December, Killers Of The Flower Moon, Oppenheimer, BlackBerry, Air, M3Gan, You Hurt My Feelings, Passages, Huesera: The Bone Woman, Anatomy Of A Fall, Saltburn, Dream Scenario, Ferrari, Rustin, The Color Purple, Fallen Leaves, Godzilla Minus One, The Teacher’s Lounge, Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One, and Wonka. Now that’s just scratching the surface. It was that kind of year.

So, instead of compiling a Top Ten List, which from what you can see above, would prove nearly impossible, I like to pay homage to a long-discontinued but influential annual column called “Moments Out Of Time” from Film Comment magazine. Their critics would cite their favorite scenes, images, or lines of dialogue, even from films they may not have liked. I may have hated the sappy, Hoosiers wanna-be, The Boys In The Boat, for example, but the image of the coxswains sporting those cone-shaped bullhorns strapped to their mouths made an impression. So, here, in no particular order, are my Moments Out Of Time for 2023.

A father looks over his brood as they splash around in their backyard pool. We see the billowing smoke from an approaching train as it crosses the horizon. That the father is a Nazi commandant and the train is arriving at Auschwitz makes turns a seemingly innocuous image and makes it bone-chilling - The Zone Of Interest

“Owwwwww” a perfectly droll and hilariously delivered reaction from Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) - Poor Things

A father (Jamie Bell) tells his grown son (Andrew Scott) that he wishes he could have been more attentive and supportive of him when he had been bullied as a child. The emotional truth on the faces of these two exceptional actors left me sobbing. It’s a dream conversation for so many - All Of Us Strangers

Two students toss a football in the wintry commons of a Massachusetts Prep School as the folk strains of “Silver Joy” by Damien Jurado plays on the soundtrack. It not only perfectly evokes films from the time such as Hal Ashby’s Harold And Maude, but feels like it was actually made in 1970 as well - The Holdovers

A high school principal uses the intercom to blare, “Could the ugly, untalented gays please report to the principal's office?”, which serves to announce a film which, dare I say, takes Heathers, upends it, slathers on layer upon layer of lesbian horniness, to result in something truly subversive and unique - Bottoms

Two South Korean childhood sweethearts reunite in Manhattan decades later, and Nora’s (Greta Lee) incredulous reaction of “Wow” as she walks beside Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) sums up the immense warmth of this gloriously poetic film - Past Lives

That insane twist midway through had me whispering to myself, “Holy Janet Leigh!” - Rotting In The Sun

Speaking of twists, the year’s biggest WTF moment happens towards the end of this film. You’ll know it when you see it as this girl crush of a story turns into something unexpectedly sinister - Eileen

A woman explains to an author why her father named her Miss. The monologue, filled with equal parts pride, anger and despair, and delivered by a never better Audra McDonald, should be studied by actors for decades - Origin

The slow-moving grocery store conveyor belt as it carries sanitary napkins for our protagonist and her friend proves to be a beautifully sustained, hilariously awkward coming of age moment - Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret

A mom takes her teenage daughter dress shopping and traumatizes her with the cringiest, most passive-aggressive speech of 2023, “Oh Mary, I want to commend you for being so brave and showing your arms like that. That’s something I always wished I could do when I was your age. Just not care about these unrealistic beauty standards.” - May December

Godzilla’s attack on Ginza, which had a similar visceral impact on me as Spielberg’s War Of The Worlds first set piece did - Godzilla Minus One

After the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Oppenheimer gets a hero’s welcome by a roomful of cheering, stomping Americans. As their faces melt away, he sees the horrific devastation he has wrought and questions his own “heroism” - Oppenheimer

An Osage woman in 1920s Oklahoma, who truly loves her husband, knows she has to bite her tongue despite knowing he’s slowly poisoning her. The conflicting emotions on the wonderful Lily Gladstone’s face masterfully conveys her impossible situation - Killers Of The Flower Moon

The flashback which reveals Valeria (the incredible Natalia Solián) isn’t the happily pregnant, maternal, heterosexual, married woman as initially presented. It’s the moment this somewhat traditional Rosemary’s Baby homage transitions into something far more radical - Huesera: The Bone Woman

Flora (Eve Hewson) and Jeff (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) write the beautiful duet “Meet In The Middle” over Zoom, cementing their chemistry and more importantly their deeply emotional connection to music - Flora And Son

In one of my favorite transitions in cinematic history, a Nazi commandant looks down a dark hallway to see his future, a soberingly mundane yet impactful vision. We then cut back to the commandant as he descends into the dark hell of his own making - The Zone Of Interest

Canadian Jim Balsillie (Glenn Howerton in one of the best, most surprising, and scariest performances of the year) threatens the NHL board when things don’t go his way with the immortal, “I’m from Waterloo, where the vampires hang out!” - BlackBerry

A woman accused of stealing from a teacher angrily denies culpability with a series of lies. This tense tiny gem is an astute analogy for the alternative facts age we’re experiencing - The Teacher’s Lounge

“A shoe is just a shoe until my son steps into it” - Michael Jordan’s mother Deloris (Viola Davis) skillfully negotiates his Nike contract with Matt Damon’s Sonny Vaccaro, and with quiet assurance gets everything Michael deserves - Air

Entity: Put the knife in your eye - Skinamarink

The office hallway dance before the kill - M3Gan

A novelist (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) overhears her husband (Tobias Menzies) denigrating her latest work, which challenges her notions of honesty and whether it’s something she really needs or not. A great microcosm of the human condition - You Hurt My Feelings

A blisteringly narcissistic film director (Franz Rogowski), fresh out of relationship with another man, refuses to engage in a conversation with his pregnant girlfriend’s parents as they pry too much and question his motives. Bonus points for his choice of outfits during said conversation - Passages

Danielle Brooks’ Sofia mightily kicks a door in at the start of “Hell No”, cementing her legendary status in film history - The Color Purple

Pop music of the 1960s gets a lovely tribute as the strains of “A World Of Your Own” evoke The Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” with a little nod to Sgt. Pepper era Beatles. The psychedelic visuals of Willy Wonka’s shop, with its cotton candy clouds and chocolate river, only enhance the magic - Wonka

Sure, one could easily talk about the slurping of the bathtub water or the graveyard sex or the naked dance sequence, but none felt as urgent and squeamish as when Felix (Jacob Elordi) surprises Oliver (Barry Keoghan) by driving him to his parent’s house. Oliver, begging Felix not to do so and afraid of what’s to come, is the most raw, real moment in a film laden with performative interactions and deception - Saltburn

“I wish this was real” - the most heartbreaking final line of a film this year - Dream Scenario

That entire taped argument! - Anatomy Of A Fall

Bonnie (Jodie Foster) uses reverse psychology on Diana (Annette Bening) to convince her to swim from Cuba to Florida, slyly revealing the advantages of really knowing and caring about your best friend - Nyad

Barbie: You’re beautiful. The Woman On The Bench (played by legendary Costume Designer, Ann Roth): I know. - Barbie

A deadpan couple in a movie theater watch Jim Jarmusch’s The Dead Don’t Die, a cheeky homage to what clearly has influenced the fantastic filmmaker Aki Kaurismäki - Fallen Leaves

Before the March On Washington, history was really made when Bayard Rustin (a great Colman Domingo) proved himself indispensable by demonstrating every detail that went into the planning - Rustin

Rebecca-Diane: (to a roomful of tween actors) But you so deserve it on every level, you guys are so talented, so unbelievable, this will break you. This will fully destroy you - Theater Camp

Any scene in which a couple engages in a serious discussion as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day float glides by their window is gonna make this list - Maestro

THE SCENE - you’ll know it when you see it and will never forget it - Ferrari

The motorcycle over the cliff stunt. When Tom Cruise says he’ll die for us, believe him - Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One

Tilda Swinton meets her match in Michael Fassbender and has that haunting moment of realization that she’s not as clever as she thought she was - The Killer

The unnerving sight of hundreds of planes plummeting to the ground - Knock At The Cabin

Put Margo Martingale as Ranger Liz, with her delightfully terrible aim, on a gurney in an ambulance being chased by a bear high on cocaine, add Depeche Mode’s 80s synth classic “Just Can’t Get Enough” and you have my favorite chase sequence since To Live And Die In L.A. or maybe even The French Connection - Cocaine Bear

Remind me never to crawl across a ladder precariously propped up between two apartment buildings. I can feel the acrophobia kicking in as I type this - Scream VI

If you’ve ever experienced a maintenance request being ignored, just be grateful Hong Chau’s self-involved Jo isn’t your landlord. Every time she shrugged off Michelle Williams’ pleas, I wanted to call HUD myself - Showing Up

Maybe you’re just inviting trouble when you prop your apartment building door open with a rolled up newspaper and quickly run across the street to buy some water - Beau Is Afraid

Although I found the overall movie to be “cute” at best, the combination of Awkwafina and the word “Scuttlebutt” was comedy gold - The Little Mermaid

It broke my heart when one of television’s most beloved icons thought of herself as “a failed dancer” instead of as a successful actor - Being Mary Tyler Moore

It’s impossible to measure the courage it took for Michael J. Fox to repeatedly fall down (and get back up) on camera while working with a trainer. He risked humiliation to bring the plight of those living with Parkinson’s disease straight to our hearts and minds - Still: A Michael J. Fox Movie

Presented at first as quiet, shivering victims of sexual assault, five women kidnapped by Nazis get their slow motion stroll towards camera with rifles in hand and death glares on their faces - Sisu

Although I had long ago written him off as someone whose politics don’t align with my own, I couldn’t help but be moved by Jon Voight’s tear-filled pride in having made a queer cinematic classic - Desperate Souls, Dark City And The Legend Of Midnight Cowboy

Priscilla (Cailee Spaeny) paces alone in Graceland as she realizes the bloom is off the rose. Her marriage, as it turns out, will consist of waiting and obeying - Priscilla

Jennifer Lawrence kicking ass while fully naked on a beach, proving herself as adept at broad comedy as Rebekah Kochan’s Tiffani in the Eating Out series - No Hard Feelings

Meghan Thee Stallion as a sensational girl boss lights up the screen when she performs “Out Alpha The Alpha” - Dicks: The Musical

Bella Baxter: I must go punch that baby - Poor Things

No melodic score will surpass the genius of Mica Levi’s compositions combined with Johnnie Burn’s sound design - The Zone Of Interest

In the final shot, the camera cranes up to reveal Indiana Jones having literally hung up his hat. Why am I crying? - Indiana Jones And The Dial Of Destiny

When Gracie loses a client from her cake business, Julianne Moore’s meltdown surpasses her amazing scene in Magnolia when she screams at the pharmacist - May December

Two book publishers (astutely embodied by Miriam Shor and Michael Cyril Creighton) envision their mysterious Black author played by Jeffrey Wright in a “do-rag and a tank top with the muscles showing”, proving stereotypes don’t die easily. When Shor caps the discussion with “Somebody call the fire department” you know you’re in the hands of a great satirist - American Fiction

Combine exploding wine barrels as two cowboys get drenched and make out as a group of women look on with disappointment, and you have a brief return to campy, over-the-top form from Pedro Almodóvar - Strange Way Of Life

Teddy Kountze: Sir, I don’t understand. Paul Hunham: That’s glaringly apparent. Teddy Kountze: No. I can’t fail this class. Paul Hunham: Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Kountze. I truly believe that you can. -The Holdovers

[glenngaylord]

Negative Space - Film Review: The Zone Of Interest ★★★★★

Whenever filmmaker Jonathan Glazer releases a new film, and he has only made four in the past 23 years, I sit up and take notice. Sexy Beast, Birth, and Under The Skin made lasting impressions, and his latest, The Zone Of Interest, has profoundly affected me more than any other film I’ve seen this year. Based on the 2014 novel by the same name from the late Martin Amis, it relates a Holocaust narrative strictly told from the point of view of a Nazi leader and his family who live just on the other side of the wall to Auschwitz.

That family consists of the real-life Commandant Rudolf Höss (Christian Friedel), his wife Hedwig (Sandra Hüller, Anatomy Of A Fall) and their children, who live in a bucolic villa complete with a swimming pool, greenhouse and extensive garden. At the outset, we watch the Höss’ picnic and lead fairly quiet, normal lives. One could easily mistake this as a serene comedy of manners if not paying careful attention. The occasional offscreen gunshot or scream, however, belies the sun-dappled visuals. Look even closer and you’ll see the barbed wire, the guard towers, and in one indelible image, the smoke from a transport train making its way across the top of the frame as Höss stands proudly watching his brood frolic in the pool.

While we never witness the atrocities, the hellish soundscape provided by the incredible Composer Mica Levi and Sound Designer Johnnie Burn provides plenty of nightmarish context. Forget all the CGI blockbusters, THIS is the true masterclass in the use of sound. The horror at the center of this film is that of indifference, disassociation, and the “banality of evil”. Euphemisms such as "yield" to signify the number of the slaughtered, or the title, which blandly refers to the area outside the camps, allows all of us to somehow stomach the terrors at hand. This forced perspective proves unbearably agonizing.

Cinematographer Lukasz Zal (Ida, Cold War) contributes an endless series of carefully composed images, mostly wide shots and often static. The negative spaces he creates suggest the unimaginable just out of frame. We rarely get a close-up of the characters, instead we’re kept at a distance as they flatly go about their days. A scene of Höss meeting with engineers to review a more effective way to exterminate the Jews plays just as matter-of-factly as one of Hedwig gardening. When one of the children locks another in the greenhouse, one could easily find it amusing were it not for the fact that the older one makes gas chamber hissing sounds at his sibling.

Glazer takes a distancing, experimental approach to the material, somewhat as he did with Under The Skin, but the effect proves far more chilling here. He creates a rhythm with one seemingly mundane scene after another until you begin to realize that coat Hedwig tries on once belonged to a prisoner, or that her children are playing with teeth and not toys. Occasionally he interrupts the story with night vision scenes of a defiant young girl whose impact on the proceedings crystalizes later with an off-camera remark guaranteed to sap the film of any hope.

The performances for the most part seem functional and this feels clearly by design. Careful not to make the Nazis sympathetic, the actors’ flatness serves to make the audience complicit with their remove from the terrors unfolding steps away. We have room to reflect on who we have become or perhaps have always been, especially concerning the current state of things. We TikTok as the world burns. Martin Amis had previously explored a shift in historical perspective with his 1991 novel Time's Arrow, which also seemed to conclude that regardless of the point of view, cruelty and apathy persist. Amis and Glazer seem to say that Nazis don’t hold the copyright on disinterest or evil. Left unchecked and unexamined, we’re all capable of such behavior.

Despite this, both Friedel and especially Hüller create a pair of unforgettable characters. Friedel carries himself tightly as any military officer and establishes himself as a dull bureaucrat who loves his family and yet doesn’t hesitate to wield his power in horrific ways. The scariest moment in any film this year comes when he tells his wife how he feels about The Final Solution, and his last moment gives us a brief window into the bile churning up within. Hüller, for her part, proves even scarier as she clomps around the house in her heavy heels, quietly threatening one of her Jewish workers, and seething with entitled rage. At one point she laughingly, and without irony, tells her mother she’s known as the “Queen Of Aushchwitz”.

This year no other film made me ugly cry as much as All Of Us Strangers and no other film can hold a candle to the screenwriting craft and love for its characters as much as The Holdovers. The Zone Of Interest, however, despite feeling more like an art installation than a traditional movie, is a masterpiece which will stick with me forever.

[glenngaylord]

Out In The Past - Film Review: All Of Us Strangers ★★★★1/2

People love movie-going for so many different reasons. Whether it’s the adrenaline rush, the exploration of different worlds and cultures, the pure fantasy, a good laugh or cry, or perhaps just the air conditioning and popcorn, seeing a film in a cinema can feel beautifully communal. Take the talkers and texters out of the equation and there’s nothing like sitting in a room full of strangers collectively responding to a story flickering on a screen. I say this as a way to recommend how best to experience Andrew Haigh’s latest film, All Of Us Strangers, a staggeringly beautiful story about making peace with the past while finding a path forward. While streaming it at home may seem like the best bet for a low budget film with no special effects, you will miss out on the shared sighs and tears from your fellow moviegoers. When was the last time you witnessed a crowd sitting through the end credits of a film because they needed a moment to control their sobbing or because they just didn’t want to leave these characters behind?

Andrew Scott (Fleabag’s Hot Priest) stars as Adam, a gay screenwriter living in a close to vacant apartment building in London who goes outside during a fire drill one evening and sees what seems like the only other tenant standing at his window. When the other tenant, Harry (Paul Mescal), knocks on his door later looking disheveled and inebriated and makes a sexual advance, Adam turns him down. Adam seems disconnected, perhaps because he’s busy researching a script he’s writing. We watch him take a train to the town he grew up in and encounters a man and a woman played by Jamie Bell and Claire Foy who just may provide some insight into his emotional distance. Harry eventually helps tear down some of those walls as he and Adam develop romantic feelings for each other. To say anything more about the story would spoil the joy of discovering for yourself how these plot strands come together.

Needless to say, this quartet of actors form one of the strongest ensembles of the year. Foy and Bell do some of the best work of their careers as people seemingly stuck in older ways of thinking but who show so much human vulnerability. Foy has the unenviable task of portraying a somewhat homophobic character, but she finds an endearingly naive angle to sweetly offset such an unsympathetic world view. Bell finds layers of gentility, especially in a devastating scene in which he confesses his weaknesses to Adam. Mescal imbues Harry with shaggy loose energy, somewhat untamed and wild, full of humor, tragedy, and a palpable chemistry with Scott. But this film belongs to Scott in a nakedly vulnerable, fragile, and deeply felt portrayal of a lonely man trying to reconcile with his past traumas. Often so outstanding in supporting roles, Scott, in his first lead, masterfully guides us through this puzzle of an emotional journey.

Eschewing a traditional narrative, Haigh, who adapted his screenplay from Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel, Strangers, takes an abstract approach to the story while finding enormous warmth with the tone. The film feels like one slowly breaking heart. The consistently gorgeous cinematography from Jamie Ramsay and lush score by Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch, aided by some truly memorable needle drops, feel completely in concert with each other. The use of the Pet Shop Boys’ cover of “Always On My Mind” in particular makes it seem like you were inside Adam’s head, filled as it is with nostalgia and longing.

Although the film centers around a gay man, his way of examining his own past feels so universal. Anyone can relate to feeling stuck in their lives, and judging by the audience I watched this film with, it will strike a chord with anyone who possesses empathy. The last act, however, feels a little rushed and confusing but aims for something profound nonetheless. It will likely lead to intense discussions about what has actually occurred, so make post-screening dinner plans. You’ll want to hash things out, and isn’t that rare and wonderful?

Haigh, who has impressed with such films as Weekend, 45 Years, and the TV series Looking, outdoes himself here by showing us a gay character we’ve not seen before and doing so with great sensitivity and quiet power. In a year of ambitious epics like Oppenheimer and Killers Of The Flower Moon, Haigh has delivered something sublimely intimate but no less grand.

[glenngaylord]

Mucha Libre - Film Review: Cassandro ★★★1/2

Who would have ever expected a film set in the ultra macho, extremely homophobic world of lucha libre wrestling to serve as a celebration of women and effeminate gay men? Director Roger Ross Williams along with co-writer David Teague have crafted such an experience with their biopic, Cassandro, the true story of Saúl Armendáriz, an underdog who achieved legendary status against all odds. With a fearless, career-defining performance by Gael García Bernal, this queer Rocky story has plenty of laughs and charm, but it also has real power in how it challenges gender conventions. It’s such a joy falling in love with Saúl.

When we first meet him, he’s an out gay, skinny 18-year-old living with his single mother Yocasta (the fantastic Perla De La Rosa) in late 1980s El Paso. His religious father left them when Saúl came out a few years prior, so he and his mom share a close bond. He works as an exótico in nearby Juárez, Mexico. Unlike the masked lucha libre wrestlers, exóticos don’t hide their faces and exist as the flamboyantly gay punching bags who purposefully lose their bouts to their more macho opponents while also getting brutally heckled by the audiences. Think of it as professional queer bashing. Undeterred and clearly made of stronger stuff, Saúl’s wheels start to turn after losing bout after bout.

Inspired by the women in his life such as his strong, courageous mother and his gutsy trainer Sabrina (an engaging Roberta Colindrez), Saúl creates his alter-ego, Cassandro, who sports leopard print leotards as well as makeup inspired by Yocasta, and vows to be the first exótico who wins. When he first enters the ring as Cassandro, defiantly baiting the booing crowd, feeding off of their slurs, camping it up wildly, his big gay hair flipped back just so, you can’t help but root for him. Just seeing him not bat an eye as he takes on a wrestler three times his size and give him a run for his money should inspire anyone who has ever felt threatened by a bully.

By this point, Teague and Williams have done such a great job of letting us fall in love with Saúl, warts and all. Sure, we may see him party perhaps a bit too hard and maybe trust people a little too easily, but his steadfast belief in himself keeps you riveted. His secret relationship with a closeted married fellow wrestler, soulfully played by Raúl Castillo, seems like a bad idea from the jump. Early on, he secures a manager, Lorenzo (Joaquín Cosío) who has a loving way of cheering Saúl on, but he also has an assistant Felipe, played nimbly by music superstar Bad Bunny (aka Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio) who provides an endless supply of cocaine whenever needed. This dichotomy goes under-explored and could have provided a little more conflict. Much of the external conflict, in fact, gets a little glossed over.

Regardless, Saúl’s journey has enough riches without it, culminating in a series of crowd-pleasing sequences guaranteed to get you cheering and turn on the waterworks. It also contains a brief, powerful scene which provides every queer person with the tools for how to respond to a parent who has rejected their child. Bernal’s performance in this scene, as he gazes directly into the camera, is subtle and gorgeous.

Special mention must be made of cinematographer Matias Penachino's work, which lovingly captures the 80s and onward without fetishizing the times. The film has a visual poetry, such as in a wonderfully intimate pool scene in which Saúl and his mother daydream at a house they’d one day like to purchase and it achieves grandeur in that truly iconic final shot. Same goes for J.C. Molina’s lived-in production design, which feels so vivid and true.

It’s worth pointing out that Mexico was ahead of the United States on such issues as marriage equality despite its image as an ultra-conservative, macho society. I’d like to think that not only the acceptance but the outright celebration of queer icons such as Saúl Armendáriz contributed to such a cultural shift. Late in Cassandro, Saúl goes on a talk show and names women, famous and otherwise, who have shaped his life. He embraces women. He embraces his own femininity. The world would be such a better place if we could all be more like Saúl, but barring that, I hope Cassandro gets people to at least open their hearts.

Cassandro opens in select theaters September 15th, 2023 and streams on Amazon Prime September 22nd.

[glenngaylord]

Bloody Good - Film Review: Bottoms: ★★★★

For me, anything remotely socially redeeming has always felt like the death knell for comedies. Whenever Hollywood has a lesson to teach me, I would prefer to skip school, thank you very much. I like my teenage movie heroes dazed, confused, and taking days off if they want to make me laugh. Well thank goodness Emma Seligman and Rachel Sennott got the memo, because their new film, Bottoms, aims gorgeously, deliriously, perfectly low and hits a bullseye. Think Porky’s meets Fight Club only with horny lesbians lusting through those shower peepholes and kicking serious ass. Oh, and did I mention, it’s hilarious?

Seligman’s feature debut, Shiva Baby, which starred Sennott, skillfully showcased their abilities to sustain a claustrophobic, nervous energy over its 77 minute runtime. Working together again, this time co-writing the screenplay, they’ve tackled a completely different tone, opting for an over-the-top sensibility yet with two very grounded characters at the center of it all. PJ (Sennott) and Josie (The Bear standout Ayo Edebiri) play two outcast high school seniors who start an all-female fight club as a front for losing their virginity to a pair of hot cheerleaders. They also want to improve their station at school. Improving things with violence! What could go wrong?!

PJ’s messy, a bit of a braggart, overly confident, and let’s face it, kind of an asshole, while Josie stays crushingly in a low self-esteem deadpan space. Sennott and Edebiri, who in real life, along with Seligman, met in college, have such a vivid chemistry, they make this outrageous premise feel strangely purposeful and with real emotional stakes. That’s no easy feat when the film is so completely bonkers.

Imagine a high school in which the football players wear their uniforms to class, or that has a P.A. system blaring humiliations no Board Of Education would ever allow. Into this fray we have our heroines who concoct a fake murderous backstory. They claim they did time in juvenile hall in order to lead their self-defense workshops and enlist a teacher, Mr G. (the scene-stealing Marshawn Lynch) to barely serve as an adult supervisor. Next they invite as many girls as they can for some truly bloody hand-to-hand combat, roping in their true targets, Brittany (Kaia Gerber) for PJ and Isabel (Havana Rose Liu) for Josie. The latter has an on again/off again relationship with the horribly douchey quarterback Jeff (Red, White & Royal Blue breakout star Nicholas Galitzine), but it’s not a stretch to see that Josie’s the better choice. Galitzine is a comic wonder in the role, leaping off the screen, using his elastic facial expression and loose body language to create a sensational villain. This actor has quite a range. Same goes for Miles Fowler as his overly protective BFF Tim. They’re two of the gayest straight characters I’ve seen onscreen in a long time, perhaps a nod to the gay football players from Heathers. Out SNL regular Punkie Johnson also contributes a funny scene about the insane lore of the rival football team. Ruby Cruz and Summer Joy Campbell also shine as standout members of the fight club with emotions dangerously close to the surface.

Seligman and Sennott pile on so many details about past traumas, who’s lusting after who, player allergies, and opposing team threats that it’s easy to dismiss the film as sheer nonsense. To that I say, it proudly wears that on its blood-soaked sleeves. This remains especially true during the insane third act when the filmmakers go for broke and attempt South Park levels of violence and conflict. Our main characters learn absolutely nothing, or at least kick that can down the road for another day. Their reaction to all that has come before, in fact, that usual moment in most films where someone learns a valuable lesson, earned the biggest spit-take laugh from me. Seligman has outdone herself for her sophomore effort going from twitchy indie to a comedy I’ll be watching over and over again for years to come. Likewise, Sennott and Edebiri make for a powerhouse comedy team because you want to lean in and eavesdrop while simultaneously shielding your eyes from their oh-so-wrongdoings. Give these bottoms all the power.

[glenngaylord]

Three’s Company - Film Review: Passages ★★★★

Ira Sachs’ films tend to examine the complexities of adult relationships using a quiet, dry naturalistic tone which have often reminded me of the style of French New Wave cinema. So it feels fitting that his latest, Passages, his fifth collaboration with writing partner Mauricio Zacharias, would have Paris as its background. Featuring three stellar lead performances, this prickly, difficult film challenged me in ways his other films have not, raising his game as a visual storyteller, and joining the ranks as one of the finest films of 2023.

When we first encounter Tomas (Franz Rogowski), a wiry, short-fused filmmaker, he’s finishing directing his latest movie, obsessing over how a character enters the set. His attention to detail and need for control clearly annoys those around him, but his stature allows him that privilege. Later, at the wrap party, he can’t get his husband Martin (Ben Wishaw), a graphic designer, to dance with him, but a gorgeous young school teacher, Agathe (Adèle Exarchopoulos from Blue Is The Warmest Colour) overhears their conversation and dances with Tomas instead. They have an instant connection, with Tomas following her home, spending the night and surprisingly finding himself falling in love with her. When Tomas returns to Martin the following day to discuss his feelings, the complications set in motion a story of sexual fluidity, relationship boundaries, and how the ever-shifting needs of an individual can impact the lives of those closest to them.

On the surface, one could easily dismiss Tomas as a pleasure-seeking narcissist who, like a tornado, has the added potential to destroy anything and everyone in his path. This, however, would feel overly simplistic since Tomas so openly communicates with both Martin and Agathe, that his shifting loyalties shouldn’t come as a surprise to either. Sure, his character has his mercurial tendencies and takes being self-involved to new levels, but for most of the film, you always know where he stands. Rogowski, who has given such standout performances in films such as Great Freedom and Transit, is a sexy knockout here. His body language when dancing speaks volumes about his character, and his fearless approach, refusing to be likable, yet who possesses an arrogant charm nonetheless, proves mesmerizing. Audiences may want to boo and hiss at him as the story progresses, and perhaps rightly so, but he’s merely doing what any validation-seeking control freak would do. Love or hate the character, I predict international stardom for Rogowski after this breakout performance.

The film’s Costume Designer, Khadija Zeggaï really puts her stamp on this film, putting Rogowski in bold colored sweaters, fishnets and crop-tops, truly making him the memorable object of desire. Exarchopoulos also sports some sexy colors, but in one great, truly uncomfortable scene, in which her character introduces Tomas to her parents, his outfit nearly walks away with the whole movie. When was the last time you talked about a man’s costume in a film? Beetlejuice?

Although Rogowski gives the flashiest performance, Wishaw, who has steadily impressed with roles in so many indies and big budget studio films alike, has the quieter role here, putting up with Tomas’ mood swings with a patience many wouldn’t abide. For much of the film, he appears coiled, a bit uncertain. Exarchopoulos, on the other hand, exudes a confident sexuality throughout, certain that she can navigate a relationship with a queer man. Both actors hold their own wonderfully opposite Rogowski, providing us with those crucial reasons he’d feel so obsessed with both partners. Moreover, this depiction of polyamory chooses to eschew secrets for the most part and have its characters lay everything out there for each other.

One secret, however, does manage to come out late in the film in a truly wrenching scene between Martin and Agathe. Stunningly played by Wishaw and Exarchopoulos, this moment speaks volumes about the burden of toxic relationships. The compositions, the sound of the traffic in the background, all of it seems so simple, but this basic coverage comes together to create a powerful moment. Sachs’ filmmaking as a whole, aided immeasurably by Cinematographer Josée Deshaies, has grown in leaps and bounds with Passages. The camera moves only when necessary, yet when it does, such as that final push-in on a main character’s face, it feels inevitable and perfect. Sachs stages scenes so effortlessly that you feel like you’re eavesdropping on real conversations. Often the framing subtly makes you feel slightly ill at ease, as if you have to lean in or crane your neck slightly to see around another character. Sachs, like his protagonist seems in control of his viewers, giving us a provocative, slightly off-putting, yet richly rewarding experience.

Passages is now playing in Limited Release in US theaters. Look for it on MUBI later this year.

[glenngaylord]

R.I.M. Job - Film Review: BlackBerry ★★★★

Have you noticed the glut of films about innovators? Those real life dramas have met with varying degrees of success in recent years with such titles as Air, The Social Network, Tetris, The Big Short, and The Founder. We seem fascinated by the process when that spark of genius  ignites or when hubris takes over. Enter BlackBerry, the distinctly Canadian entry in this list of cautionary true stories, this time about a generation-defining invention told in a very smart, highly engaging way.

Think Silicon Valley meets The Office with harsher overhead lighting and you’ll get the picture. It’s 1996 in sleepy Waterloo, Ontario, where young Mike Lazaridis (Jay Baruchel) heads up a small software company called Research In Motion, abbreviated R.I.M., which deliciously never merits a single comment nor should it for the humor of that to pay dividends for the film’s entire running time. Mike, a quintessential tech nerd, has a terribly incompetent yet loyal right hand man Doug (Matt Johnson, who directed and co-wrote the screenplay with Matthew Miller based on the novel Losing The Signal), and together they are running their company into the ground due to their terrible business sense. Lucky for them, they have invented the world’s first smartphone and just need someone who can sell it.

Enter Jim Balsillie (Glenn Howerton), the meanest corporate raider you will ever encounter and just the man for the R.I.M. job, if only Mike can come up with a prototype in time. Little do they know that Jim was fired from his last gig, hasn’t met a phone he hasn’t smashed, and figuratively is the poster child for toxic masculinity years before that word was ever coined. It’s a business deal and a contract forged in hell, but as a piece of movie entertainment, it’s made in heaven.

Jim, all suits, gold watches, and expensive cars, strong-arms himself into a Co-C.E.O. position, bulldozes his way into Mike’s world of overgrown children who have grown accustomed to movie nights, toys and other childish ways and brings in people who can make their business work. Chief among them is Purdy, a gloriously intimidating Michael Ironside, as their new C.O.O., who can emasculate anyone before ever uttering a single word. Jim, however, doesn’t understand the tech of it all, leaving that up to Mike, but his failing is that he’s also not the most scrupulous of businessmen either, making less than legal decisions along the way as their BlackBerry starts to dominate the market.

It’s fun to revisit that time in the early 2000s when the world marveled at this phone with it’s clickety-clackety keyboard and small screen and thought that nothing could surpass it. It’s fun to watch Cary Elwes as a rival Palm Pilot executive attempt a hostile takeover, especially when we know the fates of both technologies. Remember those unwieldy stylos? You also never forget that the iPhone is just over the horizon waiting to tear this whole thing down.

Though it all, we get a trio of fantastic performances.  Baruchel finds a touching vulnerability in Mike, a genius with a great idea, a man obsessed with the details who lacks the confidence to communicate his vision. He has a heart and you feel his struggle when it comes time to make cutthroat decisions such as leaving his friend out of an important pitch meeting. It’s a stunning, humane performance.  Johnson, who with his cinematographer, Jared Saab, keep things loose and handheld, often adopting an observational stance. His performance, however, is of the comic powerhouse variety one typically associates with Seth Rogen. He’s the stooge who clearly will never outgrow his headband but will always, always, always have his pal’s best interests in mind. We all need a Doug in our lives, but sometimes the Mikes of the world just can’t or don’t see it.

Finally, Howerton, best known for It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia, is the real revelation here. Almost unrecognizable with his shaved head and thousand yard stare, he gives a galvanizing performance as the kind of guy you you want in your corner as long as that corner is actually nowhere near your actual corner. He’s the scariest movie monster since Freddie Krueger yet doesn’t draw a drop of blood. He’s the type of character who’s scary because he simply lingers on in your imagination long after the memory of its title handheld device fades away. He, like BlackBerry itself, is, if I may invent a new word, funnerving.

[glenngaylord]

Losing Her Religion -  Film Review: Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret ★★★★1/2

Even if he never writes or directs anything again, James L. Brooks has already amassed an iconic legacy of masterful television and film projects such as Terms Of Endearment, Broadcast News, and the Mary Tyler Moore Show, not to mention putting his stamp on producing The Simpsons, which has been running for 34 seasons and counting. He has been particularly adept with strong female characters, providing career-defining roles for such women as Shirley MacLaine, Debra Winger, Holly Hunter, Helen Hunt, Julie Kavner, and the aforementioned, late great Mary Tyler Moore.

It makes sense then, that for someone who has made such humanistic projects as he has, that he would want to pass the torch to a worthy heir, and Brooks has clearly found such a talent in writer/director Kelly Fremon Craig. Brooks seems to have tested the waters by producing her debut feature, The Edge Of Seventeen, a refreshingly assured coming-of-age comedy from 2016 starring Hailee Steinfeld. Clearly pleased with the results, they have collaborated again, getting legendary author Judy Blume’s blessing on adapting her treasured 1970 novel, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret to the screen. Well, whatever Brooks was praying to or for, he was heard, because Fremon Craig has not only done Blume proud, but she has also brought that Brooks level of quirky, neurotic, unpredictable, zig-zag rhythm to her lovely filmmaking but with a voice of her own. She honors Brooks’ commitment to character specificity without imitating him, and this film is a joy to behold.

It’s the end of summer 1970, and 11-year-old Margaret Simon (Abby Ryder Fortson) has just returned from camp to her New York City life where her parents Barbara (Rachel McAdams) and Herb (Benny Safdie) break the news to their daughter that they’re immediately moving away from Grandma Sylvia (Kathy Bates) to the suburbs of New Jersey. Horrified by the idea of being uprooted, Margaret begins her conversation with God, an unlikely undertaking considering she has eschewed religion up to this point in her life. With a Jewish father and a Christian mother, she has been given the choice to not make any decisions regarding faith until she enters into adulthood. With so many questions formulating in her mind and a classroom assignment on religion narrowing that timeline, Margaret just might not be able to wait that long. It seems she has no time to waste when it comes to learning about sexuality, menstruation, her developing body, friendship, bullying, lies, and that big higher power.

But back on the ground in Jersey, it doesn’t take long for Margaret to meet her neighbor Nancy Wheeler (a perfectly cast  Elle Graham), a future Mean Girls-esque Regina George in the making if there ever was one. Nancy accepts her into her secret club of girls who include Gretchen (Katherine Malden Kupferer) and the adorable Janie (Amari Alexis Price). Their adventures lead to some of the most famous moments from the novel, including the purchasing of sanitary napkins and the classic chant, “We must, we must, we must increase our bust!” Some of their moments involve sweet times with boys, but others give Margaret pause, such as when they seem to ostracize a fellow student or spread unnecessary lies.

Margaret also witnesses complex issues regarding religion within her parents’ marriage and how her mother has stifled her own creative ambitions with their new life away from the city. Margaret’s only respite from everything seems to be with her beloved Grandma, who treats her to Broadway shows and slumber parties. I mean, who wouldn’t want to curl up with Kathy Bates for a girls night? Bates, as always, is a scene-stealing force of nature here. But part of growing up means Margaret learning that even Grandmas don’t just want to spend all their time with children. Coming of age is hard, and Margaret seems to hit a wall everywhere she turns.

With a story like this, packed as it is with so much novelistic incident, it either sinks or swims by the compelling nature of its protagonist. Thankfully, Freeman Craig has struck gold with Fortson, an assured, focused, confident actor who blisteringly tears through this film from beginning to end. She’s right up there with Aurora Greenway, Emma Greenway, and Jane Craig in finding vulnerability in the assertive, kindness in what is often considered blunt. It’s a fantastic, attention-deserving performance. When she experiences something life-changing late in the film, her reaction brought me to tears. There’s not a whiff of “cutesy child actor” about her performance. It’s a fully realized character and made me hopeful, just like the novel, that young girls will aspire to be just as complicated, layered, and as perfectly imperfect as Margaret.

Same goes for McAdams, who has kindness gushing out of her pores here, yet has to go on her own journey of self-realization to understand that sometimes it’s ok to not make everybody happy. She also happens to be one of the best listeners in the business, her eyes always seem so alive in her scenes, filled with empathy, anxiety, and everything in between. Safdie, best known as one half of the brothers who directed Uncut Gems, acquits himself well as the father who resents his wife’s parents for judging him. I also enjoyed Kate MacCluggage as Nancy’s very uptight mother who seems to have never let the Eisenhower Era go.

It’s important to note that the novel was squarely aimed at young adults, as is the film. While some of the themes are mature, it keeps things fairly light in tone, never getting terribly deep or harsh. Fremon Craig clearly communicated this to her crew as well. I especially appreciated that Tim Ives’ cinematography didn’t lean into the trope of a sun-dappled 1970’s look but instead opted for a more simple naturalism.  Same goes for Steve Saklad’s detailed but unfussy production design. Ann Roth’s costume design also contributed greatly to the look of this film, from McAdams’ hip hugger jeans to those clearly painful sock-free loafers Fortson wears. This unassuming approach feels intentional by design, and as such, the film is an adorable joy from beginning to end. I can’t wait to see what Fremon Craig does next.

For over 50 years, the novel has inspired generations of young people to be better people, to be more aware of their growing bodies, to be kind to others, and to celebrate our differences. Judy Blume had turned down many offers over the years to adapt this book, but clearly she, like James L. Brooks, saw something in Fremon Craig that made her say yes. I’m so glad she did. Hopefully, with this gem of a film, Blume’s wonderfully messy message can reach out even further and inspire generations of young girls to not want to be perfect little Barbies but to be brash, bold, funny, sweet, Margarets instead.

[glenngaylord]

Swoosh! - Film Review: Air ★★★★

I’m not the world’s biggest sports fan, although give me two weeks of Olympic Games and I’ll watch almost every solo event. I enjoy watching people push past their own limits, seeing the years and years of training right there in the focus of their hard stares and that beautiful release when they stick their landings. Team sports, however, trigger me, sending me right back to gym class where the dumb jocks would knock me down onto the basketball court surface for a rousing game of “Trip-A-Fag”.  I’d always get up, brush myself off and adopt a “You guys!” attitude, but inside, I died just a little bit each time. So is it any wonder I can only stomach the halftime show at the Super Bowl or watch a graceful gymnast execute a perfect dismount as she vies for the gold?

 Despite all of the past trauma, I still enjoy a good sports movie. When Jimmy Chitwood promises to make that final winning shot in Hoosiers, he’s swearing a blood oath to all of us hoping for a better tomorrow. Is it possible to look at the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s entrance steps without thinking of Rocky and the promise the title character represents?

 The same feeling, I thought, must be true for any sports fan who first tried on a pair of Air Jordan sneakers and recognized what it meant to step into the shoes of the most legendary basketball player of all time, Michael Jordan. In Ben Affleck’s fifth feature as a director, Air,  he, with debuting writer Alex Convery, explores the incendiary time in 1984 when Nike sought to sign the then little known basketball player to their company, changing forever the way athletes participated in the profits of products to which they attached their names. It may be your typical David vs. Goliath story, but it’s still a tremendously fun triumph nonetheless.

 The story gets told through the lens of schlubby Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, a far cry from his 2007 People magazine Sexiest Man Alive days, and relishing every bit of it), a sports marketing executive for Nike who we meet as he scouts players for his company’s flailing product line. He has a career going nowhere fast and needs to prove himself. Desperate to compete with the much more popular Adidas and Converse brands, Vaccaro faces an uphill battle when met with a dwindling budget and CEO Phil Knight (Affleck), who doesn’t think they have much of a future with basketball shoes at all. Vaccaro’s fellow marketing pals, led by the wonderfully deadpan Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman) don’t seem to have one good idea, until one evening, Vaccaro watches footage of a young Michael Jordan, replaying a particular shot over and over. Something about the way Jordan handles himself clues Vaccaro into the fact that he was witnessing a once in a generation player.

 Vaccaro springs into action willing to go all in on Jordan. He confers with fellow exec Howard White (Chris Tucker, delightful here) and decides to break some rules to get what he wants. That includes bypassing Jordan’s Agent David Falk (Chris Messina) and going straight to Michael Jordan’s parents, wonderfully played by real live spouses, Julius Tennon and Viola Davis. While Davis delivers a strong performance and gets to the heart of what really matters, that those who get taken advantage of, be they athletes, artists, writers, or any number or people who are not the 1%, deserve their share of the pie, for me, it’s Messina who nearly walks away with the whole film. His Falk, who spends most of his time on the phone, delivers some of the funniest and filthiest arias of anger I’ve heard since Paul Newman put on his hockey gear in Slap Shot. Matthew Maher also proves memorable as Peter Moore, the designer of the original Air Jordan prototype and who arguably came up with the name. His scenes crackle with the awe of a man who loves his own creativity.

 Air has that uncanny ability to maintain suspense despite the audience already knowing the outcome. The entire film has a natural quality which feels like it was made back in the 1980s, like some long lost journalistic procedural. It has this understated aesthetic thanks to Robert Richardson’s unfussy cinematography, William Goldenberg’s well-paced editing which flies by yet allows for grace notes, Francois Audouy’s perfectly muted production design, and especially Charles Antoinette Jones’ costume design, which hilariously nails every pleat on Damon’s khaki’s and every shade of purple on Affleck’s track suit.

 As we follow Vaccaro on his journey, I started to feel something for him and the other characters. Even though this is a story of a corporation trying to stay afloat and probably screw over a young fledgling athlete in the process, it spoke to me about the dream of excellence, of talent, of Black excellence, of breaking the rules to go after what you want. Every character in this films pops and has a chance to shine. Other standouts include Marlon Wayans in a brief scene as a former coach who dispenses great advice to Vaccaro, and Affleck himself, who brings a prickly yet bohemian quirkiness to his big boss character.

 If I had to gripe about anything, and I hate to because this is one funny and sweet film, it’s the fact that it has a surplus of endings and still misses out on one. Earlier in the story, Bateman’s character sets up something so emotional, I was certain it would get paid off in the end. I imagined it in my head, knowing when I saw it, I would cry. In fact, I get teary-eyed thinking about it even now. Yet, the filmmakers decided not to include it, opting instead to overplay their hand with 10 other endings. Oh well, all is forgiven when you can get a guy like me to stand up and cheer for a sports movie like Air.

[glenngaylord]

Thank You For The Magic – Concert Review: ABBA Voyage ★★★★★

Growing up, my sister used to blast her records in our family living room. She’d walk back and forth as she’d listen, a ritual I guessed allowed her to really take in the music. I recall her playing “S.O.S.” by ABBA repeatedly, its pop fizz undercut by the melancholy of the lyrics. One of my favorite things to do would be to sneak up on her as she paced and scare the living bejeezus out of her.

As a kid, I was greatly influenced by my older siblings, I took quite an interest in this Swedish supergroup, one of the bestselling artists of all time. I loved Agnetha’s straight blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes and that piercing, aching quality to her singing. Frida, with the curly red hair and huskier voice, while equally as stunning, was the cheeky, saucy one to her co-vocalist’s often more somber approach. Surrounded by their husbands, Bjorn and Benny, who wrote the brilliant songs, they all wore outlandish, skin-tight costumes while delivering some of the most iconic songs in music history. No wonder the queer community embraced them. With their Scandinavian beauty, bouncy, infectious melodies, and a glimmer of something else going on below the surface, ABBA seemed born to entertain us outsiders.

It would take me years to realize that beneath those nonstop pop hooks, they explored intensely adult subjects. Think of “Mamma Mia”, which seems to contain one ear worm after another you could bop around to forever. Still, listen closer and you have a song about someone desperate to get back with their cheating partner. “The Winner Takes it All” may have an infectious beat, but let’s face it, ABBA are educating us on the devastation of divorce. These two formerly married couples know from whereof they sing. This unexpected mix of effervescence and sadness led me to the conclusion that ABBA are my favorite pop band of all time. I had the opportunity to get tickets to see them live in concert in 1979, but being young and broke at the time, I opted out and thought I’d catch them on their next tour. Then they called it quits and, well, say goodbye to that dream.

Consider my surprise and elation when they reunited all these years later to release a brand new (and first ever Grammy nominated) album, Voyage, and accompanying show. But being the iconoclasts that they are, this wouldn’t be just any concert. With all of the members in their 70s, they simply didn’t want to hit the road, and God knows they have nothing to prove, ABBA have broken new ground once again. In collaboration with George Lucas’ Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), the band gathered together in a studio to have themselves motion-captured as they performed their set list. Afterwards, the animators de-aged their digitized likenesses to return them to their prime, circa that fateful year of 1979. This would then get projected onto a giant LED screen in a purpose-built, 3000 person capacity arena in London. Add a live 10-piece band playing to the side of the stage along with an integrated light show, and you’ll find yourself convinced you’re witnessing the real band returned to their former glory.

Needless to say, I could not get a ticket to the U.K. fast enough, and just as my sister passed along her love for ABBA to me, I paid it forward by taking my English nephew and his wife. You may wonder why I didn’t take my sister, but she lives in Australia, which presented a coordinating nightmare. So after a long flight across the pond, I found myself reunited with family in the eastern part of London to watch music history get taken to the next level.

Excuse me while I pick my jaw up off the floor. Yes, this is a staggering achievement. With not a bad stadium-style seat to be found and a large dance floor below, one can choose their own adventure. We were glad to be raised up and set back a bit as it allowed us to take in the lighting effects and the giant scope of this event.

When you enter the arena, a wintry forest fills the screen, setting a bucolic and yes, Swedish tone. Any type of recording devices are strictly prohibited from this point forward with violators informed they could be ejected from the theater. How absolutely refreshing it was to attend a concert with everyone forced to engage with the music instead of uploading it to their followers. Extra points go to the audience members who dressed up in their best spangly or boa-centric outfits or the groups of friends who you could tell were forming unforgettable memories with this experience. People danced, swayed, hugged and cried with those they loved.

Then the lights went down and there they were. I won’t spoil the set list, a wonderful combination of the hits and some surprising deep cuts, but I will discuss how it felt to be there. They did not look like holograms. These ABBA-tars, as they’ve been dubbed, cast shadows on the stage. Their sequins shimmered brightly and when they sang and moved, you felt that they were truly three-dimensional and very much in the room with you. Only when the screen would display close-ups, as one sees at most arena shows, could you detect a bit of that uncanny valley sensation, but those were merely fleeting moments. Because they recorded themselves, you feel the heart and emotion in these performances. Sure, they could look a bit dead-eyed or have jerky movements here and there, but haven’t we all?

The word “astounding” does not begin to describe this. To sell that live feeling, each member gets a chance to speak to the audience, sometimes hilariously and sometimes movingly. Benny shouting, “Hello, London!” at the outset tickled me endlessly. Although they’ve used the original vocal recordings and some of the existing instrumentation, the live band augments this, giving these classics a punchier quality. The talented backing band get the occasional projected close-ups as well, further convincing you that everything is happening in real time.

Every song gets presented differently, taking you on quite a journey. Some feature the band as life-sized figures where others turn them into giants. A couple of songs get the anime treatment and literally turn the quartet into bronze Gods. The lights on the screen have been synchronized with those built into the arena to dazzling effect. A particular transition from one song to another shows the women up close from overhead with the shot suddenly swooping down and going impossibly wide to fill up the entire screen. I wanted to hit rewind a dozen times on that moment alone. I kept turning to my nephew and his wife, both of whom seemed blown away. By the end, you’ll know you’ve been on an emotional journey. More than just the nostalgia of it all, you really come to feel these songs, happy and sad. You may also find yourself moved by the fact that despite the double divorces and the certain trauma that must have come with that, these four extremely talented musicians have come together again to reinvent that magic. Not known for doing little more than side-step shuffling in their day, the women sometimes used dance doubles for this performance, which brings incredible energy to the upbeat songs while still staying somewhat true to their actual movements. On some of the ballads, a gorgeous stillness prevailed, with one song using the different phases of a solar eclipse as the only movement you see. It’s hypnotic. I’m so grateful that I got to finally see ABBA live, or more accurately, I saw them live at their absolute best.

You don’t even have to be an ABBA fan to be awestruck. The technology alone should be enough to blow anyone away. Could Elton John, Madonna, or any number of living legends be far behind? Come on Stevie Wonder! Call George Lucas right now!

Although this event is currently only in London, the arena itself can ship anywhere. I understand other locations are being explored. Additionally, the band recorded more songs that what are currently in the set list, and that the ILM wizards have enough 1s and 0s on ABBA to animate any additional songs they choose. All of this makes the idea of repeat viewings quite appealing. I’ll keep my passport up to date. Who knows? Maybe some day I’ll find myself in Australia. This time, I’ll happily sneak up on my sister and surprise her with ABBA Voyage tickets. I hope it’ll make her cry tears of joy instead of jumping in fear.

Voyage is currently playing at the ABBA Arena in London.  Tickets and information available here:   https://abbavoyage.com/

[glenngaylord]

Homo Invasion – Film Review: Knock At The Cabin ★★★1/2

Ever since the great The Sixth Sense, I’ve always looked forward to M. Night Shyamalan’s subsequent films, despite diminishing returns. Say what you will about the final products, but he knows how to set up a provocative, pulpy premise and deliver those famous twists you chat about around the water cooler the next day. Sure, he’s had some low points with people running from the wind or responsible parents sending a blind girl alone into the treacherous woods, but he has always had strong commercial instincts and a knack for precision framing. As most of his films have ultimately disappointed me, I begged for him to direct scripts from other writers or at least adapt a film from another medium.

Enter Knock At The Cabin, which Shyamalan, along with co-writers Steve Desmond and Michael Sherman, have adapted from Paul Tremblay’s 2018 horror novel, “The Cabin At The End Of The World”.  Despite some repetitiveness, this is easily one of Shyamalan’s best films in many years. I greatly looked forward to this movie, as I count the Home Invasion Thriller among my favorite genres. It also happens to be that rare studio film which centers around a gay married couple, providing a fresh take on a time-worn tale.

You’ve seen the setup before. A family arrives at their vacation spot, the dreaded cabin in the woods. Here we meet Eric (Jonathan Groff), Andrew (Ben Aldridge) and their adopted daughter Wen (the strikingly self-possessed Kristen Cui). As the film opens, Wen has wandered off to gather grasshoppers when a hulking stranger named Leonard walks up to her and awkwardly attempts to befriend her. As played by David Bautista, Leonard ominously tells Wen that her parents won’t want to let him and his friends inside, but they will have to do so.

[Spoiler Alert - and I’m not referring to Aldridge’s last film - but if you’ve seen the trailer, I’m going to discuss the basic premise in the next paragraph]

Scared, Wen races to her parents and they hurry to protect themselves. When the titular event occurs, we know no good can come from this. It’s a truly terrifying premise, one which conjured up all sorts of “Is Tamara home?” memories from The Strangers. Sure enough, Leonard and his cohorts, Sabrina (Nikki Amuka-Bird), Adriane (Abby Quinn), and Redmond (Rupert Grint), come knocking with some medieval weapons in tow. Once inside, the four present our family with an insane option. The four will not harm them, but one family member must willingly allow themselves to be killed by one of the other two or else the entire world will end. Yes, the apocalypse is coming, folks!

I won’t discuss the plot specifics beyond this, but what follows is an unnerving series of events which bring up issues such as faith and the impact we humans have on the environment, themes which Shyamalan has explored in many of his past films, but here we have homophobic hate crimes added to the mix. It’s a provocative addition, one which comes with a surprise or two and contributes to the core mystery. I’m not convinced it all ties together perfectly, but the premise has an open-ended quality anyhow. Like Shyamalan’s series, Servant, which also features an outstanding Rupert Grint, we witness cult-like behavior and constantly question the veracity of it. We’re intentionally duped by unreliable narrators or by people who may not all have the answers.

One can also see the parallels with the COVID crisis in this film, despite the source material pre-dating it. Additionally, the fact that most of the action takes place in a single house with a limited cast speaks to these times. Shyamalan makes the best of such limitations, expertly photographing a contained set. He knows his way around an action sequence and has always excelled with well-placed silences and the use of negative space in his compositions.

A story like this, while well-crafted and beautifully directed, at times grows repetitive and strains credibility. Thus, it lives or dies by its cast, and everyone here excels. Jonathan Groff has an inherent sweetness to him which helps to sell his character’s shifting point of view. I bought him as this somewhat square daddy whose people pleasing tendencies give way to being open to perhaps the more unbelievable information hurled at them. Groff gets extra points for not spitting all over his co-stars, something he’s famous for doing on stage, during the obligatory singing in the car scene.

Ben Aldridge, so winning in the aforementioned Spoiler Alert, continues his ascent to stardom with his great looks and hair-trigger portrayal. He also impresses in the action sequences, brandishing a gun in a way which gave me “Will he be the first out gay James Bond?” vibes. He’s got superstar upside, which is exciting to see in an out gay actor.

Amuka-Bird, Grint and Quinn acquit themselves nicely in roles which call for large, potentially annoying exposition dumps, but all find their characters’ humanity. The real revelation here, however, is Bautista, who gives a towering, gentle giant performance of such tenderness and vulnerability all mixed together with that intimidating physical presence. He’s clearly on a career trajectory like that of Dwayne Johnson, but with much more accomplished dramatic skills. You want to hate this quartet of home invaders, but they all bring a surprising amount of heart to their roles.

Because of Shyamalan’s spotty track record, it’s difficult to go into his films without bracing yourself for those eye-rolling moments. Some of the speeches did that for me, overwritten and occasionally a little too shouty, but for the most part, I really sat forward in my seat and enjoyed the ride. Some of the doomsday moments felt genuinely scary although on the whole, this film is more tense than frightening. Fans of the novel will not feel spoiled by the differing turns the film takes. This is just plain old-fashioned, good commercial filmmaking which made me want to discuss it with people afterwards. It may feel claustrophobic and it may hammer the same points home over and over again, but the fact that it tackles such huge issues from a queer perspective gives this treasured genre a fresh twist.

[glenngaylord]

Paranormal Inactivity - Film Review: Skinamarink ★ as a movie but ★★★★ as an art installation

“Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?” Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols famously asked his audience, practically baiting them to recognize that they could barely play their instruments. I’m wondering if Kyle Edward Ball considered this question of us as he released his debut horror feature, Skinamarink, which has proven financially successful, especially considering its $15,000 budget.

Now don’t get me wrong. I admire the hell out of anyone who can make a splash as an indie filmmaker. Ball, who identifies as queer, has tapped into the zeitgeist with this film and will clearly find himself swimming in offers as a result. But make no mistake, he has made an experimental art film which would seem more at home as a museum installation instead of pairing well with Nicole Kidman’s AMC ads at your friendly neighborhood multiplex.

The basic premise, two children in 1995 wake up in the middle of the night to find their father, the doors and the windows all missing, seems ripe for the genre. One can easily envision a hellish nightmare resulting in sheer terror. While Ball certainly achieves that, he has chosen a different path for execution.

That simple storyline doesn’t really seem to kick in until the halfway mark. The film largely consists of dark, grainy, mostly static shots, courtesy of cinematographer Jamie McRae, often from the kids’ point of view. We end up looking at walls, floors, doorways, dark bedrooms, and lots and lots of Legos strewn about everywhere. A television plays old animated clips, often on repeat, and the soundtrack has endless children’s music, the clanging of pipes, and what sounds like a serial killer’s slowed-down altered voice when calling the police to taunt them. Occasionally the children speak in whispered tones, sometimes subtitled, sometimes not. You have to strain to make out what’s said and seen. We never really get to see the childrens’ faces or much of anything with any real clarity. As we explore the house, we get a jump scare or two and things happen, but pretty much off camera.

It’s intentionally mind-numbingly boring and yet still unnerving. You have to piece things together and do all the work. This film goes out of its way to explain nothing to you, and therein lies its magic. Yes, because despite hating the experience of watching this, I admire Ball’s commitment to its unsparingly bleak aesthetic. Experimental works have their place in cinema. La Jetée and Last Year At Marienbad, for example, challenged traditional storytelling norms, providing a refreshing respite from populist filmmaking.

Ball has made a visceral film, putting us inside the minds of children and tapping into feelings of isolation, confusion, and a type of fear. I’m glad I saw Skinamarink in a theater, as I would have likely found myself scrolling through my phone, cooking dinner, or literally anything else after about 10 minutes of LITERALLY NOTHING HAPPENING! Had this been installed at the Museum Of Contemporary Art, I would have compared it to a Rothko, deciphering images under all those layers. But Skinamarink took my $16, perhaps nudged me into buying an $8 popcorn, thumbed its nose at me, and dared me to stay awake. For Ball’s next film, I hope he gets the chance to direct actors and have them actually appear and speak on camera. Right now, I know he can create atmosphere, that he can set a mood, but can he work with humans?  Time will tell.  In the meantime, I’ll keep the following argument going inside my head: Yes,…but is it art? Sure!  But is it a movie?

[glenngaylord]

Forrest Grump - Film Review: A Man Called Otto ★★★★

Have you ever watched a film that you knew in your heart of hearts was not very good? That it was filled with endless tropes and a way-too-predictable storyline, and yet somehow you found yourself in love with the characters and would follow them anywhere? Consider my surprise after seeing A Man Called Otto, which had a trailer set to what I could only call “Movie Theater Repellant Mode”. It had everything I detest in previews: stupid cat reaction shots, people yelling at each other over things like bad parking jobs, and the not so subtle hint that you’re about to experience something cloying on a whole new level. Cut to me sitting there watching the end credits and finding myself ugly crying with that figure eight mouth Laura Dean tends to get when she’s really, really upset.

Based on Fredrik Backman’s novel, “A Man Called Ove”, which also resulted in the 2015 Oscar-nominated Swedish film of the same name, the Finding Neverland team of writer David Magee and director Marc Forster have given us one of those highly mainstream Hollywood studio films that they don’t seem to make anymore. I kept thinking of The Accidental Tourist while watching and realizing I haven’t seen a film like that since it warmed my cold, dead heart way back in 1988. Stories of grief-stricken people  surrounded by a quirky cast of characters designed to melt their hearts are more likely to end up on the Hallmark Channel than in a multiplex. Well, if you’re like me, and you cherish the experience of crying in the dark with your fellow movie lovers instead of alone at home as you sadly flick your lamp on and off, then get out of the house and go see this one.

Tom Hanks, the Jimmy Stewart of his generation, stars as Otto, the grouchiest curmudgeon this side of Clint Eastwood’s Walt “Get off my lawn!” Kowalski. When we first see him, he’s complaining to a cashier at a hardware store who won’t sell him the exact amount of rope he needs. As deftly played by SNL’s Please Don’t Destroy standout, John Higgins, he’s intimidated and exasperated by Otto, which will turn into a recurring motif throughout the film. Otto has deep wells of grief which he takes out on almost everyone he encounters, from neighbors walking their dogs to unsuspecting delivery drivers who dare to park on his gated stretch of street.  

Of course, someone will come along who will make this Grinch’s heart grow three sizes, or in this case, a whole cavalcade of characters will take up the cause. From a highly empathetic transgender student (Mack Bayda) of Otto’s late wife to an elderly couple (Juanita Jennings and Peter Lawson Jones) who have a storied past with our protagonist, Otto’s defense mechanism of bridge burning meets its ultimate match in the form of new neighbor Marisol (a hugely winning Mariana Treviño ), who along with her husband and two children, with a third on the way, guilelessly kill Otto with kindness. Marisol intuitively seems to know exactly what Otto needs to get him out of his depression, resulting in their prickly yet truly endearing relationship.

Where this is all heading can easily be gleaned by anyone who has ever heard a story of any kind, but the prickliness in Hank’s wonderfully modulated turn took me by surprise. His best performances, for me, have always had just a hint of simmering rage to them, and his Otto, keeps his walls up and his demeanor tightly coiled. This helps undercut the sentimentality at the core of this particular tale, and is largely why it worked so well for me. Further, scenes like Treviño's hilarious reaction to finding out about a serious medical condition, kept the pap at bay.

We get pieces of Otto’s tragic past sprinkled throughout with Hank’s own son Truman sweetly, if a little flatly, playing his character as a young man. It’s in these flashbacks where we meet Sonya (a lovely Rachel Keller), whose story, filled with trauma as it is, contributes to Otto’s suicidal ideation. The original film version delved more deeply into Otto’s childhood and his relationship with his father, which the current film largely jettisons. Also gone is the voiceover and two key characters have been combined into one, which contributes to a stronger emotional connection. Magee also connects the dots to several loose plot threads which originally did not have much weight. That first film, while sweet and touching, rushed through its final act, leaving me pleased but not moved to the convulsive fits I burst into with the new one. In the prior film's favor, however, is a truly dynamic performance by Felip Berg as the young Otto. Truman Hanks doesn’t exhibit as much range and his lack of experience shows at times. Luckily, unlike Berg, he’s used sparely, perhaps to cover up these flaws.

The remainder of the cast, while uniformly solid, includes such standouts as Cameron Britton as an overly friendly, constantly exercising neighbor, Manuel Garcia-Rulfo as Marisol’s slightly dim husband, and Mike Birbiglia as a truly evil real estate developer. But make no mistake, Hanks, and especially Treviño, own this film. Her portrayal, while laced with a surplus of comedic beats, builds in power as she gives her character such a winning specificity. Their chemistry sparks what could easily have been a predictable slog.

Much like last year’s Coda, I feel A Man Called Otto has the ability to give mainstream filmmaking a good name. This year has seen some fascinating experimentation with the storytelling form, whether from the elliptical style as seen in Tár and Aftersun, the unconventional structure of Triangle of Sadness, or the thousand shots per minute onslaught of Everything Everywhere All At Once. Yet here we have an old school Hollywood film which can win our hearts, and that seems all too rare these days.