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[meupila]

Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

Seen on October 6th 2017 in a 2D cinema.

A beautiful film, powerful story, and immersive experience. It left me feeling like its protagonist– exhausted, confused, and yet somehow at peace.

I am certain there was symbolism that went way over my head, but I thoroughly appreciated what I was able to register. The theological parallels with the figures of the savior, the holy virgin, and the immaculate conception pushed my expectations along subtly but surely. I was as devastated as K / Joe (Ryan Gosling) when I found out that I would not get to follow the path of the hero after all. The question seemed to become: if you are not the hero of the larger narrative, what is your role?

K, much like the audience, becomes a witness to a miracle. When it becomes clear that he himself is not the miracle, he must choose either to fight to preserve it or to sink into indifference/nihilism. Either choice would be understandable in his circumstances, and both would make for relatable stories, but Blade Runner 2049 takes us down the path of fighting for a larger cause– a path shared by many characters in the film. Sapper Morton (Dave Bautista) fights to keep hidden the story of the Replicant birth; Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) leaves his loved ones to protect the miracle they'd created; Lt. Joshi (Robin Wright) desperately fights for social order; Niander Wallace (Jared Leto) is keen to transform civilization. They are all driven by a grand vision larger than themselves.

Therefore, the climactic fight between K and Luv (Sylvia Hoeks) is significant not only in the lives of those involved but also as a conflict between self-preservation and self-sacrifice. By this point, K's motivation is mostly devoid of ego, while Luv's main concern remains to be "the best of the angels". Somehow, Luv's shameless egotism made me sympathize with her– there is some of that in all of us. Perhaps by fighting her to the death, K completely kills what remains of his own ego. Perhaps by watching it, we experience part of that too, and this may explain why I was on the edge of my seat during this fight, unable to pick a side, and dreading either outcome. The encounter is visceral and genuinely tense, with the water pulling everyone closer to their death, relentless and impersonal. The blue and yellow hues from the fallen vehicle were a creative way to light this crucial scene, making the struggle all the more ethereal.

The cinematography (Roger Deakins) and visual effects were stunning throughout the film. In retrospect, the range of landscapes presented to us is remarkable, but during the film, they flowed naturally. Every moment was filled with marvelous detail, but worldbuilding never overshadowed storytelling. The vast cityscapes, mind-bending architecture, deep colors, and the wondrous reflections that lit so much of this film all seemed but backdrops to a powerful central narrative. In between being utterly lost in the emotional and personal, I would suddenly become aware of the amazing world underneath.

I have yet to research the extent to which Ridley Scott was involved, but it is obvious the film owes a lot to Denis Villeneuve's clear vision as a director, and to a good script by Hampton Fancher and Michael Green. The mojo is consistent, the structure is creative, and it's clear these filmmakers didn't take us for fools.

The acting was excellent. Mackenzie Davis as Mariette had a magical significance about her, and the overlaid performance with Ana de Armas as Joi was visually striking as well as emotionally potent. Armas completely sells the character of Joi, a disembodied entity that is totally genuine in its desire to be, to have a body, and to please K. The fact that Joi is a mass-produced product does not change the sincerity she projects, nor how easily we and K buy it.

Robin Wright as Lt. Joshi was very much human, with her arrogance and sensitivity blatantly exposed. Her final moments with Luv were painful to watch, and for a moment Wright embodied all of us in the face of the unyielding machine. When she downed that glass of whiskey, she knew what was coming, and so did we. In contrast, Jared Leto as Wallace was somewhat opaque and obscure, but I suspect this is how the character was intended to be. We get a glimpse of an overwhelming ambition and idealism driving him, but it felt distant and cold to me– human, but not in a way I liked. This should not be surprising, as after all there are very few Niander Wallaces in the world, and their calculated vision must be alien to most.

Harrison Ford, returning as Deckard, appears fairly late in the film and adds a reluctant charm, grounding the film at a point when it could have easily gone off the rails. He plays someone who has made tough choices and has long since learned to live with them. I wonder what a day in the life of Deckard would have looked like, drinking whiskey with his dog and tending to his bees amidst the surreal ruins of Las Vegas. One particular scene especially owed its poignancy to Ford's powerful performance: when Wallace throws into question Deckard's life and love as pre-determined and devoid of meaning, we get a long close-up of Ford's face and witness a sequence of subtle transformations. The terror that flickers across his eyes, and the weight that sets down upon him, and the inexplicable strength that he somehow musters to speak the words, "I know what's real," were thrilling to watch and a perfect vessel for my own experience of those same emotions.

The soundtrack (Hans Zimmer, Benjamin Wallfisch) and overall sound design worked wonders, completing the feel of the universe and driving home the dread and hope. I felt some kind of rage writhing beneath the music, subtle and powerful, and it hinted at the unimaginable inner experience of K and the Replicants in general. Who is to say what it is like to be an artificially intelligent bioengineered being? I have no idea, but rage is a primal experience I find easy to imagine in others.

Ryan Gosling's task of portraying K's utter fury and desperation cannot have been easy. Like Pinnochio, K is tossed between the lures of pleasure, dreams of family, and a quest for the truth. His relationship with Joi is fragile, touching, and tragic. His anger and hope in finding a father figure, Deckard, is ultimately baseless and heartbreaking.

On the one hand, his character is ultimately an alien– something entirely non-human; at the same time, his struggles mirror an experience that humans have utterly monopolized: the journey of defining oneself and one's path. The only reason this film works at all is that we can relate to K, but the main reason it works so well is due to the uneasy reminders that, in the end, he is not one of us.

There was a sense in me that his experience cannot possibly be authentic – a feeling clearly shared by K himself, who is constantly reminded that he "has no soul"– and yet I was convinced that those same feelings in me would be as valid as can be. As his doubt slowly seeped into me as well, I began to wonder about my own human experience: what makes it authentic?

In some sense, Blade Runner 2049 explored not so much what it is like to be an AI, but what it is like to be human. Perhaps the writers hid a jewel in an inconspicuous joke quipped by Deckard in the casino– when K asks him if the dog he lives with is real, Deckard smirks and says, "Why don't you ask him?"

[meupila]

Dunkirk (2017)

Seen on 23/8/17 in a 2D cinema, by myself.

The audio was visceral and scary. When the first bullets flew by our protagonist's head, I jumped in my seat. The shock of bullets whizzing past and ricocheting against a building or a boat's metal hull is horrifying, and I was glad not to have experienced it, as well as hopeful that I never will.

The phrase "Home", although carrying one of the film's most poignant themes, was repeated one time too many times in my opinion: the second time, in the interaction between infantry Colonel Winnant (James D'Arcy) and Navy Commander Bolton (Kenneth Branagh). I wonder if there was a sense of obligation to abide by the rule of three, for the theme to be recognizable and compatible with as many people as possible.

Great soundtrack, although I may have been too conscious of it after taking Hans Zimmer's masterclass on film composition. I really liked it when the ticking noise stopped as soon as the lead, Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), fell asleep in the train at the end.

Powerful irony at the end where the one soldier doesn't realize that the old man greeting them is blind and he decides that no one will even be willing to look at the returning soldiers. His own convictions and sense of failure blinded him to the truth the blind man quietly espoused: surviving is enough.

There were such grace and serenity in the story of the pilot, Farrier (Tom Hardy). His masterful, patient, and courageous fighting and landing encapsulated what seems to be the incredible achievement of the escape from Dunkirk and of winning WW2 in general. With no fuel, he managed to defend the remaining infantry on the beach and then land peacefully on the shore. Hardy once again acts primarily with his eyes, and does so very well, portraying realistically the behaviors of a hero.

The overall simplicity of the film was one of its strengths. The three parallel stories and their themes were straightforward and minimalistic in their telling, which was the main reason the film's poignancy did not cross the line into the banal. As I see it, "the mole" focused on resilience and pure survival, "the sea" on empathy, and "the air" on courage.

The story of the rescued soldier (Cillian Murphy) was well-told, his performance subtle and heartbreaking. The shell-shock and pain were convincing, as was his helpless frustration with it all, and his regret for his fatal outburst. At the end, when through the crowd he saw the body of the boy he had accidentally killed, we suddenly lose him and never see him again, mirroring the loss he felt at that moment. The boy who tried to protect him from this truth grew in the process.

The old man (Mark Rylance) and his grief is hidden well, his motivation remaining a mystery until the very end. When we learn that he has recently lost his older son in the Air Force, his early comments and determination are explained.

Successful, minimalistic storytelling. It left its mark on me.

[meupila]

Minority Report (2002)

Seen on June 14th, 2017.

The tonal shifts stretched my suspension of disbelief to its limits, but never broke it, making for an absurd and trippy yet coherent and immersive experience. There is humor in the action, but the stakes are high, and visceral pain for at least one of the characters often feels imminent.

I have not read the book (by Philip K. Dick), so I don't know which themes dominate in the original. The film's religious undertones, carried by lines like the recurring "Can you see?" give the sci-fi an edge of mystery. Precognition would be considered by most a divine power, and the story pits our protagonist, John Anderton (Tom Cruise), against it. Either this divinity exists and Anderton is predetermined to sin, or this power is fallible and humans have free will after all.

There is nothing in the film to suggest that precognition is fallible-- all its predictions come to fruition.

As the film repeatedly drives home: "the fault is always human".

[meupila]

No Somos Animales (2013)

Watched on 8/22/17 with my mother and father (he recommended it). What a film! I just saw it and I feel like it needs to marinate for a little bit before I can say anything meaningful– a second viewing seems very necessary, maybe more–but I also feel that writing now will help me parse and process its sprawling landscape.

One character claimed the movie they were making was supposed to be like a painting. This works for the overall film as well, or at least I felt it could by the end, especially when we linger on the shot of the pier after the heartwarming story about father (played by director Alejandro Agresti) and son looking at the night sky. However, I don’t know if I would have thought of it as a painting if it wasn’t mentioned.

One character claimed that film criticism is dead, and that no one reads anything about films anymore. I suppose that’s true for many, but I enjoy reading and writing about films.

I learned things about Argentina that I did not know before, and even just for that I’d say this film is worth watching– as a veiled documentary.

It contains discussions of all kinds of violence; throughout, even in the darkest moments, I felt a constructive undercurrent in the filmmakers’ intentions. I don’t know if it was there, but it felt that way to me, so they succeeded in creating a sense of trust– I trusted them to handle this content with care and purpose.

I have no idea how much of the actors’ performance was role-play and how much, if any, was them being themselves on screen. Regardless, the acting was great, in that it evoked in me strong feelings and seemed genuine. The only faces I’d seen before were John Cusack’s and Al Pacino’s (the latter was splattered on the Netflix thumbnail although he plays only a minor role, but who can blame the marketers? Then again, as the character Pesto says, ~“advertising is a horrible thing, is it not?”~).

In fact, I have no idea how this film was made, because it’s entirely possible that the production process mirrored the chaotic production process of the film-within-the-film.

I don’t know if it was recorded on film or digital cameras. I sometimes noticed the grain of film but it could have been digitally recreated because there were other moments that clearly showed digital enhancement of a high ISO.

I don’t know if there was a completed script that was filmed or if it was largely improvised. I can’t say I know anything about how this movie was likely made, and I can’t say that it actually matters.

The feeling I got from No Somos Animales was resilient wonder laced with melancholy. I am not well-informed about Jackson Pollock’s work (I have seen one piece of his in the NY Guggenheim), but he was mentioned in the film, and if the viewing experience was meant to evoke an abstract feeling like one of his paintings might, then I imagine my emotional reaction may have been the intended one.

I liked the line from one of the characters that the quality of film they were making was barely above masturbation (intellectual or otherwise), but that they were at least willing to admit it.

It seems that the film offers the viewer a choice as to where to apply their curiosity during the viewing experience: either we can mainly pursue questions of how the film was made and structured, or we can mainly focus on the emotional and personal reactions we have to it. To me personally, doing one makes the other difficult. Despite my impulse to wonder about the production process, in the end I was pulled into the heart of the film and engaged with it first and foremost emotionally. If this was the intended effect, I’d say it was successful.

And regardless of its success or failure (a dichotomy its characters overtly criticize), it did something for me, so I am glad I saw it. There is no doubt in my mind that multiple viewings will reveal more.

[meupila]

Valerian and the City of A Thousand Planets (2017)

Seen on 19/8/17 with my father and brother. I did not go into the movie knowing that Luc Besson wrote and directed it, and I had only seen images of the main characters online. I was not completely surprised to see his name when the credits rolled, however, as I grew up loving The Fifth Element and recognized some of that quirky mojo beneath this story. I didn’t have my glasses with me so I was worried the 3D glasses would give me a headache but they didn’t.

It was a full, exciting, and fleshed out world. I felt completely immersed for most of the film, both in terms of character design and locations. Props to the costume and special effects teams. Given the success of sci-fi franchises like Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy, I imagine it was hard to be creative and original with the feel of the universe, but Luc Besson and the crew succeeded, both in the visuals and in the sound design.

I loved the small side characters like Bob with the submarine, and Bubble, and the three “pigeons”. They were their own entities on their own paths and we got tiny glimpses of their wide and varied world.

The chemistry between Valerian and Laureline felt a little forced at first and the first time I fully believed it was when she went looking for him after he disappeared in the “dead zone”.

Initially, I didn’t quite understand why the film is named after Dane DeHaan’s character, Valerian. If anything, Cara Delevigne’s character, Laureline felt like much more of a driving force and pushed forward the plot more significantly. Going back through the story, however, i saw something different: Valerian was chosen as the vessel of the humanoid princess that died at the start of the film, it was his choice to steal the pearl when he saw it at the Market, he managed to escape the goopy sacks after Commander Filitt (Clive Owen) got captured, he chased the assailants into the dead zone – I don’t remember, did Laureline’s arrival actually resuscitate him or did he awaken in his own?– then he met Bubble and rescued Laureline, and then they found the humanoids and he was persuaded by Laureline to give them the Converter. I suppose most of the events indeed centered around him, not Laureline, so then what was my issue with him?

He seemed kind of bland, even for the proverbial “hero”. What did he learn? I did not believe the changes he claimed to undergo, especially the grand moral journey from Fear/Avoidance/Non-commitment to Love/Trust. It felt like his “transformation”, symbolized by his agreement to give the humanoids their converter, was entirely based on his desire to woo Laureline, leaving the whole central story feeling somewhat hollow and even phony. Furthermore, this made her acceptance of him seem mistaken, which was a bitter feeling on which to end, and there was little indication that this was the goal.

In the film’s third act, it seemed that the whole story came to a grinding halt so that we could be given a ton of spoken exposition setting up the grounds of a moral debate just so the characters could then have a short discussion and solve this complex political and philosophical conundrum to which they’d only just been introduced. It both felt tacked on to the rest of the film and simultaneously trivialized the complex problem at hand. Clearly the genocide of the humanoids was central to the story, given their early introduction and consistent involvement in the plot, so then why did the moral debate at the end feel tacked on? Perhaps it felt disjointed from the two main characters and their personal journey– suddenly Valerian’s opinion about how to best help the humanoids became crucial to his relationship with Laureline and became tied to whether or not he could Trust her– this equivalence did not feel earned.

Perhaps a world this rich and colorful and filled with so many fascinating characters and places would have been better explored in a series format. The best parts of this movie were the first two acts, where the world unfolded, and even though they were paced well, they were very close to feeling rushed, and might benefit from a longer format. For example, consider Bubble, who is fascinating and lovable, but we only have about 10 minutes to get know both her and her backstory before she is killed off. Or take a character like the intimidating pirate captain on Big Market, voiced well by John Goodman, who promised to chase down Valerian no matter where in the universe he went, yet never featured again in the story. Whether this was purposeful or he was cut from the final product, I don’t know, but when a two and a half hour film is this tightly edited and has to cut corners with characters this interesting, it may be doing them a disservice. After writing this, I discovered that the film is based on a comics series, and that makes total sense.

The performances were mostly believable and there were only a couple of moments that Cara Delevigne’s acting took me out of the film, but this was only near the very end. Otherwise, she was very good, especially in the first act and when she was rescuing Valerian, and she brought a great sense of adventure to all the action scenes. Dane DeHaan in the role of Valerian was alright, although once again his transformation was not convincing, but that may be more the fault of the writing than his performance. Clive Owen had a simple part to play and he did it well– particularly striking was his explosively genuine and surprisingly reasoned response to Laureline’s accusations at the end. Rihanna was memorable as Bubble, both in the live action and the voice acting, selling us on her character in the short time she was given.

Overall, this film was highly immersive and very entertaining. Perhaps it was packed too full and some of the character arcs did not mesh well, but it was certainly worth seeing.

[meupila]

Okja (2017)

Seen on 7/19/17. Jake Gyllenhaal’s performance was the only one that took me out of the movie, temporarily spoiling the immersion. However, as with the other characters, I could relate and empathize with him, so it was a successful performance overall. His character’s deeper “showman” voice made a striking contrast to his regular high-pitched voice, especially when first heard.

If there is ever a movie that would make me consider being a vegetarian, this would be it. While I empathize with animals and enjoy being around them, this has so far not been enough to motivate me to change my eating habits– whenever I’ve considered it, the reason has been practical, such as slowing climate change. This film, especially with the final scene in the production facility where thousands of super pigs voice their pain, has made me empathize with the animals I regularly eat, and for the first time, this empathy feels reason enough to change my habits.

Excellent writing, direction (by Joon-ho Bong), and acting helped this quirky story work. Humor made the Animal Liberation Front palatable, as their idealism taken straight may have turned bitter and sappy. Their introduction was hilarious and unexpected and immediately upgraded a little girl’s hopeless mission into something possible. An unshakeable Paul Dano brought many laughs while also serving as the beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak setting. The pacing is fast and the film quickly gets past the predictable introduction.

At no point did the CGI falter or distract, which is an achievement given its nearly constant use. Seo-Hyun Ahn, playing Mija, completely sells us on the meaningful bond her character shares with Okja.

It was unexpected to see a more old-fashioned capitalism be Okja’s savior. As opposed to the marketing and image-based brand mentality that initially resisted the notion of selling an iconic super pig, the simpler profit-based mentality at the end allows just that. Tilda Swinton played this contrast very well.

[meupila]

Manchester By The Sea (2016)

Seen on 1/30/17. Heavy film. Honest performances and clean direction.

Casey Affleck gives a convincing portrayal of grief and shows it coagulate and clog his channels of expression. The main struggle of his character, Lee Chandler, is to remain kind. When he tells his nephew that he “can’t beat it”, the “it” remains nebulous and unnamed but we have been shown its silhouette and we know that there is something he is fighting.

This is a successful depiction of the difficulties of communication despite the best intentions and efforts of those involved.

I wonder why the film is named after the town it takes place in. Landscape plays an important role throughout this film; often we and the characters end up staring off into it. Perhaps Chandler’s reluctance to move back to Manchester-by-the-sea is because the town itself has become synonymous with tragedy.

The soundtrack is restrained and the repetition of motifs, such as the gentle choral melody, serve to connect different movements in the story.

The final scene is an understated argument that youth brings hope. Look to youth for malleability and adaptability.

[meupila]

Silence (2016)

Just watched Scorcese’s Silence (1/13/17). Disturbing and good film. It rekindles in me the fear of relativity, the fear that beliefs are arbitrary. It’s the story of a man being told that his experience is not based in reality, that the images he holds dear are nothing but that, and that his truth is not universal. It feels to me a sign of maturity and wisdom to accept the likelihood of that being true and to find a way to contribute and find purpose in this world regardless (as Ferrera, Neeson’s character, did).

‘Silence’ highlights the ego and pride that go into the personal struggle to keep one’s faith, as when Rodriguez, Garfield’s character, for a long time would rather let harm come to others than denounce his faith, in order to mirror the glory and perseverance of his idol, Christ. The selfless devotion associated with Christianity was best seen when he stepped on the icon to set free the prisoners.

One can champion a set of values without subscribing to the image representing them. It angered me to see Rodriguez presented with this logic and spend so long refusing to see it. As Ferrera says, “if you’re gonna pray, pray with your eyes open”.

Be awake to what’s in front of you.