#And also beautiful visual set pieces and the performances and the perversion

[slugandthorn]

Person reading this can you tell me your favorite story and why it was the way that it was.

[grigori77]

Summer 2019′s Movies - My Top Ten Favourite Films (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

IMPORTANT NOTE:  You WILL NOT find It Chapter 2 here, but that does not mean it isn’t awesome.  I saw it AFTER I had sompleted this but while it was still editing.,  Technically it’s part of the Autumn/Winter period anyway, opening as it did in September.  Undoubtedly look out for it at the end of the year when I post my Top 30 for the year.

10.  CAPTIVE STATE – WAY back in 2011, Rupert Wyatt followed up his impressive directorial debut The Escapist with an even more astounding show helming sci-fi franchise reboot Rise of the Planet of the Apes, and I knew here was a talent it was definitely gonna be worth my while to watch in future.  Then the years ticked by and he spectacularly failed to follow it up, and I began to think he might become one of those frustrating auteur talents that explode onto the scene, wow us with their wares and then just STOP, like Donnie Darko’s Ryan Kelly or Blade’s Stephen Norrington.  I was just about to give up hope when Wyatt returned with this dark and troubling skewed take on the alien invasion trope, but now, perversely, this film’s failing fortunes make me think his career might just take a swan dive after all, and as far as I’m concerned, on the evidence of the final film, that would be a crying shame.  Instead of telling the story of how the Earth falls to the conquering might of invading alien forces, Captive State concentrates on what happens after, focusing on a humanity stagnating under the thumb of an all-powerful occupying force, the collaborating police force that maintains discipline on the populace through tagging and intrusive surveillance, and the deep cover resistance movement that’s built up in the eight years since “The Legislators” took over.  The main narrative focus of the story is Gabriel Drummond (Moonlight’s Ashton Sanders), a downtrodden Chicago youth working a menial job but dreaming of getting out with his pregnant girlfriend, who discovers a tentative connection to the underground resistance when his brother Rafe (White Boy Rick’s Jonathan Majors), whom he previously thought was dead, re-enters his life with a desperate request.  Unfortunately Gabriel has also come to the attention of local cop Will Mulligan (John Goodman), who’s looking to use this connection to finally penetrate the “dangerous terrorist element” his office has been working for years to eradicate.  This is about as far from the classical invasion action territory of films like Independence Day, Skyline or even Signs as you can get, playing out much more like a World War 2 occupation thriller, and this is, in my opinion, one of its great strengths – there’s a palpable, knife-edged tension throughout, Wyatt cranking up the suspense as each new plot development ups the stakes for all involved, and when that tension does eventually break it does so in suitably explosive style, leading to some taut and harrowing set-pieces, while the director and his co-writer Erica Beeney pull off some impressive twists and skilful rug-pulls that consistently surprise.  Indeed, this is one of the most skilfully written pieces of science fiction I’ve come across for a good while, brimming with big ideas and asking some suitably challenging questions throughout, before finally paying off our patience with a suitably powerful climax.  It’s also extremely well-performed by a uniformly impressive ensemble cast – Goodman offers a performance of cool subtlety that proves the equal to much of his showier work on hits like 10 Cloverfield Lane and The Big Lebowski, while Sanders and Majors are both exceptional in what should have been major breakthrough roles that really built on their already impressive debuts, and there’s quality support from the likes of Machine Gun Kelly, Vera Farmiga, Alan Ruck, Kevin Dunn and Madeline Brewer.  This is DEFINITELY one of the most robust and challenging pieces of scif-fi cinema I’ve seen this decade, and it certainly does deserve a lot more attention and appreciation than it’s received – it essentially bombed on its long-delayed release and suffered from painfully mixed, sometimes quite negative reviews, and I genuinely don’t understand either.  This is an EXCELLENT film, and it’s a strong indicator of just what a great talent Rupert Wyatt is – I just have to hope this hasn’t ruined his chances for the future, because I couldn’t bear seeing him pull an undeserved vanishing act like so many others …

9.  GODZILLA: KING OF MONSTERS – back in 2014, rising star director Gareth Edwards (already one-to-watch thanks to the sleeper hit success of his debut Monsters) proved he wasn’t going to be a one-hit-wonder when he aced his first major studio gig, reinventing Japanese superstar property Godzilla for western audiences and EFFORTLESSLY wiping out the appalling stigma of Roland Emmerich’s underwhelming previous attempt (needless to say he was then a no-brainer to helm the first Star Wars spinoff movie, Rogue One, but that’s another, even more awesome story). Suffice to say, the Big G’s name was good in western cinema again, and Legendary Pictures swiftly put their planned Monsterverse franchise into action, building on this solid foundation with a similarly stylish “prequel” in 2017’s Kong: Skull Island, with a showdown between the two screen icons intended further down the line.  The next major hurdle, however, was this super-important follow-up, intended to get all the gears turning – if THIS ONE flunked, the Monsterverse would take a massive nosedive.  Did it pull it off?  Not quite … turns out this one’s not looking likely to scrape even on its massive investment, never mind make a profit, but that sure ain’t for lack of trying. Sure, the plot’s a bit of a far-fetched muddle and, as with its predecessor, the human characters are drawn in broad strokes and somewhat lacking in real spark, but the spectacle’s still there in spades and besides, the REAL selling point of these movies has always been their more gigantic characters.  Godzilla’s just as much of a colossal badass as he was in the first film, still a skyscraper-high bruiser with a moody mean streak and some suitably apocalyptic bad breath, but ultimately just the kind of monumental reptile you want on your side in a cataclysmic scrap, and he’s sure got his work cut out for him with one serious collection of similarly massive monsters crawling out of the woodwork (or, in this case, compromised secure black sites controlled by covert Titan management organisation Monarch) – they’re a colourful bunch, from returning nasty Muto to newcomers Rodan and, particularly memorable, the beautiful but deadly Mothra, and most of them are heeding the call of the film’s TRUE scene stealer, triple-headed rival alpha Titan King Ghidorah, who is in every way a genuinely viable nemesis for the Big G himself.  Needless to say, the BIG stars are presented without compromise throughout, as gargantuan and terrifying as their reputations make them out to be, and whenever they’re on screen it just lights up, the visual effects budget working overtime and all the money’s up there on the screen, while the property damage quota shoots through the roof in suitably pulse-racing style … and yet again, the human story does kind of get buried in the fallout.  Not that they’re a completely unmemorable lot – it’s great to see Ken Watanabe return as elegantly noble Monarch honcho Dr Ishiro Serazawa, along with his assistant Dr Vivienne Graham (another winning turn from Sally Hawkins), and the rest of Monarch gets much stronger representation this time round as we’re introduced to a crew that includes Bradley Whitford, Ice Cube’s son O’Shea Jackson Jr. (Straight Outta Compton) and Aisha Hinds, while there’s a typically classy bad guy turn from Charles Dance as Alan Jonah, the amoral ex-soldier leading an eco-terrorist group who (for baffling reasons) want to awaken all the Titans at once so they can fight for supremacy.  The main narrative focus, however, is on the fractured family unit of former Monarch specialist Dr Mark Russell (Super 8’s Kyle Chandler) and his fellow scientist wife Emma and daughter Madison (Vera Farmiga and Stranger Things’ Millie Bobby Brown), who have both been kidnapped by Jonah, a story that’s contrived and clumsily written, shot through with plot-holes when the twists aren’t painfully telegraphed ahead of time, and Brown barely gets ANYTHING to do other than be scared or stubborn, but they still give it their all and, since they’re all great actors, they largely win out against the writing.  This certainly isn’t the best movie released this year, definitely leaning more towards the guilty pleasure category, but there’s more than enough good here to outweigh the bad, so this is definitely one of those wonderful movies where you get PLENTY out of it if you just sit back and GO WITH IT.  It’s certainly got a strong director and co-writer in Michael Dougherty, who cut his teeth working for Bryan Singer on X2 and Superman Returns (which was similarly flawed, but still enjoyable in its own right) before making his big break behind the camera on Krampus, and for all its clunkiness it wins you over with its big-wow factor, can-do attitude and industrial-sized bucket-loads of heart and emotional heft, as well as a particularly cracking score from Bear McCreary, one of the most deservedly well respected composers working on both the big and small screens today, so in spite of the flaws this still deserves to be counted as a pretty rousing success.  Thankfully Godzilla Vs. King Kong is still greenlit and scheduled to arrive next spring, so there’s still life in the old lizards yet – long live the King indeed.

8.  DARK PHOENIX – wow, this really has been a summer for mistreated sequels, hasn’t it? There’s a seriously stinky cloud of controversy surrounding what is now, in light of recent developments between Disney and Twentieth Century Fox, all but QUARANTEED to be the last true Singer-era X-Men movie, a film which saw two mooted release dates (first November 2018 then this February, before finally limping onto screens with very little fanfare in June, almost as if Fox wanted to bury it.  Certainly rumours of its compromise were rife, particularly regarding supposed rushed reshoots because of clashing similarities with Marvel’s major tent-pole release Captain Marvel (and given the all-conquering nature of the MCU there was no way they were having that, was there?), so like many I was expecting a clunky mess, maybe even a true stinker to rival X-Men Origins: Wolverine.  In truth, while it’s not perfect, the end result is nothing like the turd we all feared – the final film is, in fact, largely a success, worthy of favourable comparison with its stronger predecessors.  It certainly makes much needed amends for the disappointing mismanagement of the source comics’ legendary Dark Phoenix saga in 2006’s decidedly compromised original X-Men trilogy capper The Last Stand, treating the story with the due reverence and respect it deserves as well as serving as a suitably powerful send-off for more than one beloved key character.  Following the “rebooted” path of the post-Days of Future Past timeline, it’s now 1992, and after the world-changing events of Apocalypse the X-Men have now become a respected superhero team with legions of fans and their own personal line to the White House, while mutants at large have now mostly become accepted by the regular humans around them.  Then a hastily planned mission into space takes a turn for the worst and Jean Grey (Game of Thrones’ Sophie Turner) winds up absorbing an immensely powerful, thoroughly inexplicable cosmic force that makes her go powers haywire while also knocking loose repressed childhood traumas Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) would rather had stayed buried, sending her on a dangerous spiral out of control which leads to a destructive confrontation and the inadvertent death of a teammate. Needless to the situation soon becomes desperate as Jean goes on the run and the world starts to turn against them all once again … all in all, then, it’s business as usual for the cast and crew of one of Fox’s flagship franchises, and it SHOULD have gone off without a hitch. When Bryan Singer opted not to return this time around (instead setting his sights on Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody), key series writer Simon Kinberg stepped into the breach for his directorial debut, and it turns out he’s got a real talent for it, giving us just the kind of robust, pacy, thrilling action-packed epic his compatriot would have delivered, filled with the same thumping great set-pieces (the final act’s stirring, protracted train battle is the unequivocal highlight here), well-observed character beats and emotional resonance we’ve come to expect from the series as a whole (then again, he does know these movies back to frond having at least co-written his fair share). The cast, similarly, are all on top form – McAvoy and Michael Fassbender (as fan favourite Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto) know their roles so well now they can do this stuff in their sleep, but we still get to see them explore interesting new facets of their characters (particularly McAvoy, who gets to reveal an intriguing dark side to the Professor we’ve only ever seen hinted at before now), while Turner finally gets to really breathe in a role which felt a little stiff and underexplored in her series debut in Apocalypse (she EASILY forges the requisite connective tissue to Famke Janssen’s more mature and assured take in the earlier films); conversely Tye Sheridan (Cyclops), Alexandra Shipp (Storm), Kodi Smit-McPhee (Nightcrawler) and Evan Peters (Quicksilver) get somewhat short shrift but nonetheless do A LOT with what little they have, and at least Jennifer Lawrence and Nicholas Hoult still get to do plenty of dramatic heavy lifting as the last of Xavier’s original class, Raven (Mystique) and Hank McCoy (Beast); the only real weak link in the cast is the villain, Vuk, a shape-shifting alien whose quest to seize the power Jean’s appropriated is murkily defined at best, but at least Jessica Chastain manages to invest her with enough icy menace to keep things from getting boring.  All in all, then, this is very much a case of business as usual, Kinberg and co keeping the action thundering along at a suitably cracking pace throughout (powered by a typically epic score from Hans Zimmer), and the film only really comes off the rails in its final moments, when that aforementioned train finally comes off its tracks and the reported reshoots must surely kick in – as a result this is, to me, most reminiscent of previous X-flick The Wolverine, which was a rousing success for the majority of its runtime, only coming apart in its finale thanks to that bloody ridiculous robot samurai. The climax is, therefore, a disappointment, too clunky and sudden and overly neat in its denouement (and we really could have done with a proper examination of the larger social impact of these events), but it’s little enough that it doesn’t spoil what came before … which just makes the film’s mismanagement and resulting failure, as well as its subsequent treatment from critics and fans alike, all the more frustrating. This film deserved much better, but ultimately looks set to be disowned and glossed over by most of the fanbase as the property as a whole goes through the inevitable overhaul now that Disney/Marvel owns Fox and plans to bring the X-Men and their fellow mutants into the MCU fold.  I feel genuinely sorry for the one remaining X-film, The New Mutants, which is surely destined for spectacular failure after its similarly shoddy round of reschedules finally comes to an end next summer …

7.  FAST COLOR – intriguingly, the most INTERESTING superhero movie I’ve encountered so far this year is NOT a major franchise property, or even a comic book adapted to the screen at all, but a wholly original indie which snuck in very much under the radar on its release but is surely destined for cult greatness in the future, not least due to some much-deserved critical acclaim.  Set in an unspecified future where it hasn’t rained for years, a homeless vagabond named Ruth (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is making her aimless way across a desolate American Midwest, tormented by violent seizures which cause strange localised earthquakes, and hunted by Bill (Argo’s Christopher Denham), a rogue scientist who wants to capture her so he can study her abilities.  Ultimately she’s left with no other recourse than to run home, sheltering with her mother Bo (Middle of Nowhere and Orange is the New Black’s Lorraine Toussaint), and her young daughter Lila (The Passage’s Saniyya Sidney), both of whom also have weird and wondrous powers of their own.  As the estranged family reconnect, Ruth finally learns to control her powers as she’s forced to confront her own troubled past, but as Bill closes in it looks like their idyll might be short-lived … this might only be the second feature of writer-director Julie Hart (who cut her teeth penning well-regarded indie western The Keeping Room before making her own debut helming South By Southwest Film Festival hit Miss Stevens), but it’s a blinding statement of intent for the future, a deceptively understated thing of beauty that eschews classic superhero cinema conventions of big spectacle and rousing action in favour of a quiet, introspective character-driven story where the unveiling and exploration of Ruth and her kin’s abilities are secondary to the examination of how their familial dynamics work (or often DON’T), while Hart and cinematographer Michael Fimognari (probably best known for his frequent work for Mike Flanagan, including forthcoming Stephen King horror Doctor Sleep) bring a ruined but bleakly beautiful future to life through inventively understated production design and sweeping, dramatic vistas largely devoid of visual effects.  Subtlety is the watchword, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t fireworks here, it’s just that they’re generally performance-based – awards-darling Mbatha-Raw (Belle) gives a raw, heartfelt performance, painting Rith in vivid shades of grey, while Toussaint is restrained but powerfully memorable and Sidney builds on her already memorable work to deliver what might be her best turn to date, and there are strong supporting turns from Denham (who makes his nominal villain surprisingly sympathetic) and Hollywood great David Strathairn as gentle small town sheriff Ellis.  Leisurely paced and understated it may be, but this is still an incendiary piece of work, sure to become a breakout sleeper hit for a filmmaking talent from whom I expect GREAT THINGS in the future, and since the story’s been picked up for expansion into a TV series with Hart at in charge that looks like a no-brainer.  And it most assuredly IS a bona fide superhero movie, despite appearances to the contrary …

6.  ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD – since his explosion onto the scene twenty-seven years ago with his runaway smash debut Reservoir Dogs, Quentin Tarantino has become one of the most important filmmakers of his generation, a true master of the cinematic art form who consistently delivers moving picture masterpieces that thrill, entertain, challenge and amuse audiences worldwide … at least those who can stomach his love of unswerving violence, naughty talk and morally bankrupt antiheroes and despicably brutal villains who are often little more than a shade different from one another.  Time has moved on, though, and while he’s undoubtedly been one of the biggest influences on the way cinema has changed over the past quarter century, there are times now that it’s starting to feel like the scene is moving on in favour of younger, fresher blood with their own ideas.   I think Tarantino can sense this himself, because he recently made a powerful statement – after he’s made his tenth film, he plans to retire.  Given that OUATIH is his NINTH film, that deadline is already looming, and we unashamed FANS of his films are understandably aghast over this turn of events.  Thankfully he remains as uncompromisingly awesome a writer-director as ever, delivering another gold standard five-star flick which is also most definitely his most PERSONAL work to date, quite simply down to the fact that it’s a film ABOUT film. Sure, it has a plot (of sorts, anyway), revolving around the slow decline of the career of former TV star Rick Dalton (Leonardo Dicaprio), who languishes in increasing anonymity in Hollywood circa 1969 as his former western hero image is being slowly eroded by an increasingly hacky workload guest-starring on various syndicated shows as a succession of punching-bag heavies for the hero to wale on, while his only real friend is his one-time stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), a former WW2 hero with a decidedly tarnished reputation of his own; meanwhile new neighbours have moved in next door to further distract him – hot-as-shit young director Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha), riding high on the success of Rosemary’s Baby, and his new wife Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie). Certainly this all drives the film, along with real-life events that involving one of the darkest crimes in modern American history, but a lot of the time the plot is largely coincidental – Quentin uses it as a springboard to wax lyrical about his very favourite subject and pay loving (if sometimes irreverently satirical) tribute to the very business he’s been indulging in with such great success since 1992.  Sure, it’s also about “Helter Skelter” and the long shadow cast by Charles Manson and his band of murderous misfits, but these are largely incidental, as we’re treated to long, entertaining interludes as we follow Rick on a shoot as the bad guy in the pilot for the Lancer TV series, visit the notorious Spahn Ranch with Cliff as he’s unwittingly drawn into the lion’s den of the deadly Manson Family, join Robbie’s Tate as she watches “herself” in The Wrecking Crew, and enjoy a brilliant montage in which we follow Rick’s adventures in Spaghetti westerns (and Eurospy cinema) after he’s offered a chance to change his flagging fortunes, before the film finally builds to a seemingly inevitable, fateful conclusion that Tarantino then, in sneakily OTT Inglourious Basterds style, mischievously turns on its head with a devilish game of “What If”.  The results are a thoroughly engrossing and endlessly entertaining romp through the seedier side of Hollywood and a brilliant warts-and-all examination of the craft’s inner workings that, interestingly, reveals as much about the Business today as it does about how it was way back into Golden Age the film portrays, all while delivering bucket-loads of QT’s trademark cool, swagger, idiosyncratic genius and to-die-for dialogue and character-work, and, of course, a typically exceptional all-star cast firing on all cylinders.  Dicaprio and Pitt are both spectacular (Brad is endearingly taciturn, playing it wonderfully close to the vest throughout, while Leo is simply ON FIRE, delivering a mercurial performance EASILY on a par with his work on Shutter Island and The Wolf of Wall Street – could this be good enough to snag him a second Oscar?), while Robbie consistently endears us to Tate as she EFFORTLESSLY brings the fallen star back to life, and there’s an incredible string of amazing supporting turns from established talent and up-and-comers alike, from Kurt Russell, Al Pacino and a very spiky Bruce Dern to Mike Moh (in a FLAWLESS take on Bruce Lee), Margaret Qualley, Austin Butler and in particular Julia Butters as precocious child star Trudi Fraser.  Packed with winning references, homages, pastiches and ingenious little in-jokes, handled with UTMOST respect for the true life subjects at all times and shot all the way through with his characteristic flair and quirky, deliciously dark sense of humour, this is cinema very much of the Old School, and EVERY INCH a Tarantino flick.  With only one more film to go the implied end of his career seems much too close, but if he delivers one more like this he’ll leave behind a legacy that ANY filmmaker would be proud of.

5.  CRAWL – summer 2019’s runner-up horror offering marks a rousing return to form for a genre talent who’s FINALLY delivered on the impressive promise of his early work – Alexandre Aja made a startling debut with Switchblade Romance, which led to his big break helming the cracking remake of slasher stalwart The Hills Have Eyes, but then he went SPECTACULARLY off the rails when he made the truly abysmal Piranha 3D, which I wholeheartedly regard as one of THE VERY WORST FILMS EVER MADE IN ALL OF HISTORY.  He took a big step back in the right direction with the admittedly flawed but ultimately enjoyable and evocative Horns (based on the novel by Stephen King’s son Joe Hill), but it’s with this stripped back, super-tight man-against-nature survival horror that the Aja of old has TRULY returned to us.  IN SPADES.  Seriously, I personally think this is his best film to date – there’s no fat on it at all, going from a simple set-up STRAIGHT into a precision-crafted exercise in sustained tension that relentlessly grips right up to the end credits. The film is largely just a two-hander – Maze Runner star Kaya Scodelario plays Haley Keller, a Florida college student and star swimmer who ventures into the heart of a Category 5 hurricane to make sure her estranged father, Dave (Saving Private Ryan’s Barry Pepper), is okay after he drops off the grid.  Finding their old family home in a state of disrepair and slowly flooding, she does a last minute check of the crawl-space underneath, only to discover her father badly wounded and a couple of hungry alligators stalking the dark, cramped, claustrophobic confines.  With the flood waters rising and communications cut off, Haley and Dave must use every reserve of strength, ingenuity and survival instinct to keep each other alive in the face of increasingly daunting odds … even with a premise this simple, there was plenty of potential for this to become an overblown, clunky mess in the wrong hands (a la Snakes On a Plane), so it’s a genuinely great thing that Aja really is back at the height of his powers, milking every fraught and suspenseful set-piece to its last drop of exquisite piano-wire tension and putting his actors through hell without a reprieve in sight.  Thankfully it’s not JUST about scares and atmosphere, though – there’s a genuinely strong family drama at the heart of the story that helps us invest in these two, Scodelario delivering a phenomenally complex performance as she peels back Haley’s layers, from stubborn pedant, through vulnerable child of divorce, to ironclad born survivor, while reconnecting with her emotionally raw, repentantly open father, played with genuine naked intensity in a career best turn from Pepper.  Their chemistry is INCREDIBLY strong, making every scene a joy even as it works your nerves and tugs on your heartstrings, and as a result you DESPERATELY want to see them make it out in one piece.  Not that Aja makes it easy for them – the gators are an impressively palpable threat, proper scary beasties even if they are largely (admittedly impressively executed) digital effects, while the storm is almost a third character in itself, becoming as much of an elemental nemesis as its scaly co-stars.  Blessedly brief (just 87 minutes!) and with every second wrung out for maximum impact, this is survival horror at its most brutally, simplistically effective, a deliciously vicious, primal chill-ride that thoroughly rewards from start to finish.  Welcome back, Mr Aja.  We’ve missed you.

4.  BRIGHTBURN – torpedoing Crawl right out of the water is this refreshing, revisionist superhero movie that takes one of the most classic mythologies in the genre and turns it on its head with TERRIFYING results. The basic premise is an absolute blinder – what if, when he crashed in small-town America as a baby, Superman had turned out to be a bad seed?  Unsurprising, then, that it came from James Gunn, who here produces a screenplay by his brother and cousin Brian and Mark (best known for penning the likes of Journey 2: the Mysterious Island, but nobody’s perfect) and the directorial big break of his old mate David Yarovesky (whose only previous feature is obscure sci-fi horror The Hive) – Gunn is, of course, an old pro at taking classic comic book tropes and creating something completely new with them, having previously done so with HUGE success on cult indie black comedy Super and, in particular, Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy movies, and his fingerprints are ALL OVER this one too.  The Hunger Games’ Elizabeth Banks (who starred in Gunn’s own directorial debut Slither) and David Denman (The Office) are Tori and Kyle Breyer, a farming couple living in Brightburn, Kansas, who are trying for a baby when a mysterious pod falls from the sky onto their land, containing an infant boy.  As you’d expect, they adopt him, determined to keep his origin a secret, and for the first twelve of his life all seems perfectly fine – Brandon’s growing up into an intelligent, artistic child who loves his family.  Then his powers manifest and he starts to change – not just physically (he’s impervious to harm, incredibly strong, has laser eyes and the ability to disrupt electronic devices … oh, and he can fly, too), but also in personality, as he becomes cold, distant, even cruel as he begins to demonstrate some seriously sociopathic tendencies.  As his parents begin to fear what he’s becoming, things begin to spiral out of control and people start to disappear or turn up brutally murdered, and it becomes clear that Brandon might actually be something out of a nightmare … needless to say this is superhero cinema as full-on horror, Brandon’s proclivities leading to some proper nasty moments once he really starts to cut loose, and there’s no mistaking this future super for one of the good guys – he pulverises bones, shatters faces and melts skulls with nary a twitch, just the tiniest hint of a smile.  It’s an astonishing performance from newcomer Jackson A. Dunn, who perfectly captures the nuanced subtleties as Brandon goes from happy child to lethal psychopath, clearly demonstrating that he’s gonna be an incredible talent in future; the two grown leads, meanwhile, are both excellent, Denman growing increasingly haunted and exasperated as he tries to prove his own son is a wrong ‘un, while Banks has rarely been better, perfectly embodying a mother desperately clinging to the idea that her son is innocent no matter how compelling the evidence becomes, and there’s quality support from Breaking Bad’s Matt Jones and Search Party’s Meredith Hagner as Brandon’s aunt and uncle, Noah and Meredith, and Becky Wahlstrom the mother of one of his school-friends, who seems to see him for what he is right from the start.  Dark, suspenseful and genuinely nasty, this is definitely not your typical superhero movie, often playing like Kick-Ass’ even more twisted cousin, and there are times when it displays some of the same edgy, black-hearted sense of humour, too.  In other words, it’s all very James Gunn.  It’s one sweet piece of work, everyone involved showing real skill and devotion, and Yarovesky in particular proves he’ll definitely be one-to-watch in the future.  There are already plans for a potential sequel, and given where this particular little superhero universe seems to be heading I think it could be something pretty special, so fair to say I can’t wait.

3.  FAST & FURIOUS PRESENTS HOBBS & SHAW – it’s official, this summer’s most OTT movie is THE MOST FUN I’ve had at the cinema so far this year, a genuinely batshit crazy, pure bonkers rollercoaster ride of a film I just couldn’t get enough of, truly the perfect sum of all its baffling parts.  The Fast & Furious franchise has always revelled in its extremes, as subtle as a brick and very much playing to the blockbuster, popcorn movie crowd right from the start, but it wasn’t until Fate of the Furious (yup, ridiculous title, says it all) that it really started to play to the inherent ridiculousness of its overall setup, paving the way for this first crack at a new spin-off series for the post Vin Diesel years.  Needless to say this one has fully embraced the sheer ludicrousness, and director David Leitch is the perfect choice to shepherd it into the future, having previously mastered OTT action through John Wick and Atomic Blonde before helming manic screwball comedy Deadpool 2, which certainly is the strongest comparison point here – Hobbs & Shaw is every bit as loud, violent, chaotic and thoroughly irreverent, definitely playing up the inherent comic potential at the core of the material as he cranks up the humour. Dwayne Johnson and Jason Statham take centre stage now as, respectively, DSS agent Luke Hobbs and former SAS black operative Deckard Shaw, the ultimate action movie odd couple once again forced to work together to foil the bad guy and save the world from a potentially cataclysmic disaster.  Specifically Brixton Lore (Idris Elba), a self-proclaimed “black superman” enhanced with cybernetic implants and genetic manipulation to turn him into the ultimate warrior, who plans to use a lethal designer supervirus to eradicate half of humanity (as supervillains tend to do), but there’s one small flaw in his plan – the virus has been stolen by Hattie Shaw (Mission: Impossible – Fallout’s Vanessa Kirby), a rogue MI6 agent who also happens to be Deckard’s sister.  Got all that?  Yup, the movie really is as mad as it sounds, but that’s very much part of the charm – there’s an enormous amount of fun to be had in just giving in and going along with the madness of it all, as Hobbs and the two Shaws bounce from one over-the-top, ludicrously destructive set-piece to the next, kicking plenty of arse along the way when they’re not jumping out of tall buildings or driving fast cars at ludicrous speeds in heavy traffic, and when they’re not doing that they’re bickering with enthusiasm, each exchange crackling with exquisite hate-hate chemistry and liberally laced with hilarious dialogue delivered with gleeful, fervent venom (turns out there’s few things so enjoyable a watching Johnson and Statham verbally rip each other a new one), and the two action cinema heavyweights have never been better than they are here, each bringing the very best performances of their respective careers out of each other as they vacillate, while Kirby holds her own with consummate skill that goes to show she’s got a bright future of her own.  As for Idris Elba, the one-time potential future Bond deserves to be remembered as one of the all-time great screen villains ever, investing Brixton with the perfect combination of arrogant swagger and lethal menace to steal every scene he’s in while simultaneously proving he can be just as big a badass in the action stakes; Leitch also scatters a selection of familiar faces from his previous movies throughout a solid supporting cast which also includes the likes of Fear the Walking Dead’s Cliff Curtis, From Dusk Till Dawn’s Eiza Gonzalez and Helen Mirren (who returns as Deckard and Hattie’s mum Queenie Shaw), while there’s more than one genuinely brilliant surprise cameo to enjoy.  As we’ve come to expect, the action sequences are MASSIVE, powered by nitrous oxide and high octane as property is demolished and vehicles are driven with reckless abandon when our protagonists aren’t engaged bruising, bone-crunching fights choreographed with all the flawless skill you’d expect from a director who used to be a professional stuntman, but this time round the biggest fun comes from the downtime, as the aforementioned banter becomes king.  It’s an interesting makeover for the franchise, going from heavyweight action stalwart to comedy gold, and it’s direction I hope they’ll maintain for the inevitable follow-up – barring Fast Five, this is the best Fast & Furious to date, and a strong indicator of how it should go to keep conquering multiplexes in future.  Sign me up for more, please.

2.  SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME – this summer’s been something of a decompression period for fans of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, with many of us recovering from the sheer emotional DEVASTATION of the grand finale of Phase 3, Avengers: Endgame, so the main Blockbuster Season’s entry really needed to be light and breezy, a blessed relief after all that angst and loss, much like Ant-Man & the Wasp was last year as it followed Infinity War.  And it is, by and large – this is as light-hearted and irreverent as its predecessor, following much the same goofy teen comedy template as Homecoming, but there’s no denying that there’s a definite emotional through-line from Endgame that looms large here, a sense of loss the film fearlessly addresses right from the start, sometimes with a bittersweet sense of humour, sometimes straight.  But whichever path the narrative chooses, the film stays true to this underlying truth – there have been great and painful changes in this world, and we can’t go back to how it was before, no matter how hard we try, but then perhaps we shouldn’t.  This is certainly central to our young hero’s central arc – Peter Parker (Tom Holland) is in mourning, and not even the prospect of a trip around Europe with his newly returned classmates, together with the chance to finally get close to M.J. (Zendaya), maybe even start a relationship, can entirely distract him from the gaping hole in his life.  Still, he’s gonna give it his best shot, but it looks like fate has other plans for our erstwhile Spider-Man as superspy extraordinaire Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) comes calling, basically hijacking his vacation with an Avengers-level threat to deal with, aided by enigmatic inter-dimensional superhero Quentin Beck, aka Mysterio (Jake Gyllenhaal), who has a personal stake in the mission, but as he’s drawn deeper into the fray Peter discovers that things may not be quite as they seem.  Of course, giving anything more away would of course dumps HEINOUS spoilers on the precious few who haven’t yet seen the film – suffice to say that the narrative drops a MAJOR sea-change twist at the midpoint that’s EVERY BIT as fiendish as the one Shane Black gave us in Iron Man 3 (although the more knowledgeable fans of the comics will likely see it coming), and also provides Peter with JUST the push he needs to get his priorities straight and just GET OVER IT once and for all.  Tom Holland again proves his character is the most endearing teenage geek in cinematic history, his spectacular super-powered abilities and winning underdog perseverance in the face of impossible odds still paradoxically tempered by the fact he’s as loveably hopeless as ever outside his suit; Mysterio himself, meanwhile, frequently steals the film out from under him, the strong bromance they develop certainly mirroring what Peter had with Tony Stark, and it’s a major credit to Gyllenhaal that he so perfectly captures the essential dualities of the character, investing Beck with a roguish but subtly self-deprecating charm that makes him EXTREMELY easy to like, but ultimately belying something much more complex hidden beneath it; it’s also nice to see so many beloved familiar faces returning, particularly the fantastically snarky and self-assured Zendaya, Jacob Batalon (once again pure comic gold as Peter’s adorably nerdy best friend Ned), Tony Revolori (as his self-important class rival Flash Thompson) and, of course, Marisa Tomei as beloved Aunt May, as well as Jackson and Cobie Smoulders as dynamite SHIELD duo Fury and his faithful lieutenant Maria Hill, and best of all Jon Favreau gets a MUCH bigger role this time round as Happy Hogan.  Altogether this is very much business as usual for the MCU, the well-oiled machine unsurprisingly turning out another near-perfect gem of a superhero flick that ticks all the required boxes, but a big part of the film’s success should be attributed to returning director Jon Watts, effectively building on the granite-strong foundations of Homecoming with the help of fellow alumni Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers on screenplay duty, for a picture that feels both comfortingly familiar and rewardingly fresh, delivering on all the required counts with thrilling action and eye candy spectacle, endearingly quirky character-based charm and a typically winning sense of humour, and plenty of understandably powerful emotional heft.  And, like always, there are plenty of fan-pleasing winks and nods and revelations, and the pre-requisite mid- and post-credit teasers too, both proving to be some proper game-changing corkers.  The future of the property may be in doubt, but this is still another winner from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but then was there really ever any doubt?

1.  JOHN WICK CHAPTER 3 – needless to say, those who know me should be in no doubt why THIS is at the top of my list for summer 2019 – this has EVERYTHING I love in movies and more. Keanu Reeves is back in the very best role he’s ever played, unstoppable, unbeatable, un-killable hitman John Wick, who, when we rejoin him mere moments after the end of 2017’s phenomenal Chapter 2, is in some SERIOUSLY deep shit, having been declared Incommunicado by the High Table (the all-powerful ruling elite who run this dark and deadly shadowy underworld) after circumstances forced him to gun down an enemy on the grounds of the New York Continental Hotel (the inviolable sanctuary safe-house for all denizens of the underworld), as his last remaining moments of peace tick away and he desperately tries to find somewhere safe to weather the initial storm.  Needless to say the opening act of the film is ONE LONG ACTION SEQUENCE as John careers through the rain-slick backstreets of New York, fighting off attackers left and right with his signature brutal efficiency and unerring skill, perfectly setting up what’s to come – namely a head-spinning, exhausting parade of spectacular set pieces that each put EVERY OTHER offering in any other film this year to shame.  Returning director Chad Stahelski again proves that he’s one of the very best helmsmen around for this kind of stuff, delivering FAR beyond the call on every count as he creates a third entry to a series that continues to go from strength to strength, while Keanu once again demonstrates what a phenomenal screen action GOD he is, gliding through each scenario with poise, precision and just the right balance of brooding charm and so-very-done-with-this-shit intensity and a thoroughly enviable athletic physicality that really does put him on the same genre footing as Tom Cruise.  As with the first two chapters, what plot there is is largely an afterthought, a facility to fuel the endless wave of stylish, wince-inducing, thoroughly exhilarating violent bloodshed, as John cuts another bloody swathe through the underworld searching for a way to remove the lethal bounty from his head while an Adjudicator from the High Table (Orange Is the New Black’s Asia Kate Dillon) arrives in New York to settle affairs with Winston (Ian McShane), the manager of the New York Continental, and the Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne) for helping John create this mess in the first place.  McShane and Fishburne are both HUGE entertainment in their fantastically nuanced large-than-life roles, effortlessly stealing each of their scenes, while the ever-brilliant Lance Reddick also makes a welcome return as Winston’s faithful right-hand Charon, the concierge of the Continental, who finally gets to show off his own hardcore action chops when trouble arrives at their doorstep, and there are plenty of franchise newcomers who make strong impressions here – Dillon is the epitome of icy imperiousness, perfectly capturing the haughty superiority you’d expect from a direct representative of the High Table, Halle Berry gets a frustratingly rare opportunity to show just how seriously badass she can be as former assassin Sofia, the manager of the Casablanca branch of the Continental and one of John’s only remaining allies, Game of Thrones’ Jerome Flynn is smarmy and entitled as her boss Berrada, and Anjelica Houston is typically classy as the Director, the ruthless head of New York’s Ruska Roma (John’s former “alma mater”, basically). The one that REALLY sticks in the memory, though, is Mark Dacascos, finally returning to the big time after frustrating years languishing in lurid straight-to-video action dreck and lowbrow TV hosting duties thanks to a BLISTERING turn as Zero, a truly brilliant semi-comic creation who routinely runs away with the film – he’s the Japanese master ninja the Adjudicator tasks with dispensing her will, a thoroughly lethal killer who may well be as skilled as our hero, but his deadliness is amusingly tempered by the fact that he’s also a total nerd who HERO WORSHIPS John Wick, adorably geeking out whenever their paths cross.  Their long-gestating showdown provides a suitably magnificent climax to the action, but there’s plenty to enjoy in the meantime, as former stuntman Stahelski and co keep things interestingly fluid as they constantly change up the dynamics and add new elements, from John using kicking horses in a stable and knives torn out of display cases in a weaponry museum to dispatch foes on the fly, through Sofia’s use of attack dogs to make the Moroccan portion particularly nasty and a SPECTACULAR high octane sequence in which John fights katana-wielding assailants on speeding motorcycles, to the film’s UNDISPUTABLE highlight, an astounding fight in which John takes on Zero’s disciples (including two of the most impressive guys from The Raid movies, Cecep Arif Rahman and Yayan Ruhian) in (and through) an expansive chamber made up entirely of glass walls and floors.  Altogether then, this is business as usual for a franchise that’s consistently set the bar for the genre as a whole, an intensely bruising, blissfully blood-drenched epic that cranks its action up to eleven, shot with delicious neon-drenched flair and glossy graphic novel visual excess, a consistently inspired exercise in fascinating world-building that genuinely makes you want to live among its deadly denizens (even though you probably wouldn’t live very long).  The denouement sets things up for an inevitable sequel, and I’m not at all surprised – right from the first film I knew the concept had some serious legs, and it’s just too good to quit yet. Which is just how I like it …

[trashartandmovies]

Berlinale Film Festival 2021, Industry Event, Day 2

One of the great treats of going to a film festival is getting the chance to wake up and see some transgressive mindfuckery first thing in the morning. This can be either thrilling, like seeing ANTICHRIST at 10:00 AM in Toronto and then being excited to see if the rest of the day’s movies can top that; or it can knock you out for the rest of the day, like seeing IRRADIATED at last year’s Berlinale and needing to process my contempt and hope for humanity.

Of course, part of the thrill of these experiences has been sitting with an audience and going through the mindfuckery as a collective, feeling the energy, seeing people walk out, getting through it together. When things are moved online, and the timing and schedule of your streaming film festival is more or less up to you, many pleasures are lost. But I have to say, there was a thrill in getting up at sunrise to put on some headphones and sit with THE SCARY OF SIXTY-FIRST, an effectively wild and perverse shriek of a movie from first-time director Dasha Nekrasova, and part of this year’s Encounters section.

Shot in New York City, on beautiful 16mm film, THE SCARY is a steep plummet down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole, triggered by the death of Jeffrey Epstein and two roommates moving into a new apartment on 61st Street that may be linked to the man and the sex trafficking ring he was involved with. These details are merely the place setting for an aggressive and sometimes messy assault on good taste and mainstream cinematic conventions. The two roommates descend into different kinds of madness — Addie seems to be possessed by some sort of evil within the apartment, while Noelle is quickly consumed by the conspiracy theories circling Epstein, the royal family, pizzagate, etc. Wedged between the two is Nekrasova herself, playing an amateur sleuth who indoctrinates Noelle with lurid websites, pharmaceutical speed, and sex. From there, the rabbit hole just keeps getting wider and weirder, Addie becomes obsessed with Prince Andrew and creepy tarot cards keep popping up. There will be blood.

I found it all pretty damn intoxicating, but I can understand that others will be put off by its shrillness and lack of subtlety. While the movie is dedicated to Stanley Kubrick, and it gets some inspiration from EYES WIDE SHUT, it’s more along the lines of John Waters crossed with John Carpenter. If you hated FEMALE TROUBLE, you may want to stay away from THE SCARY OF SIXTY-FIRST. Otherwise, this movie sits comfortably next to the kind of outre indie horror movies that got passed from VCR to VCR in the late 80s and early 90s. But what really makes THE SCARY kick, is how directly it speaks to the age of QAnon, the equal parts seduction and repulsion of violence, and the horror that comes from being trapped in a system you have no control over. My only complaint is that the film leans a little too heavily on old horror tropes right at the end, but this couldn’t take away the thrills it provided up to that point. I’m already looking forward to how Nekrasova might follow-up this one.

This year’s Golden Bear for best film went, deservedly, to Radu Jude’s BAD LUCK BANGING, OR LOONEY PORN. Another extremely transgressive film, this one takes a flamethrower to contemporary values in Romania and any other place where racism, sexism and authoritarian fetishism have taken root — meaning, it’s both very specific to Romania and quite universal.

The movie begins with a very graphic and absurdly funny home porno, being shot on a phone. Soon enough, we find out the woman in the video is Emi, a respected history teacher at a private school in Bucharest. The first act of the movie is Emi walking through Bucharest. The city is littered with signs of capitalism run amok, juxtaposed against fervent religiosity. Gambling and wholesomeness. Tastelessness and righteousness. The camera makes these connections with some choice camera panning maneuvers. These movements bring to mind Robert Altman’s style of movement — casual yet smart and impactful.

As Emi makes her way to her destination, the film’s regard for realism begins to deteriorate. Bit by bit, drivers begin showing less regard for the safety of pedestrians. Everyone is foul-mouthed and inconsiderate of others, even while wearing pandemic masks. If you can’t afford a car, who cares about you? It’s not that far from reality, but the pointed exaggerations start piling up and lead us into the mid-section of the film, where we’re treated to an A-Z montage of our most pressing issues and what’s wrong with the world. It both serves as a rundown of the topics that are going to present themselves in the final act of the movie, as well as more visual evidence of our corrupted values and moral decay. It’s a bitter and bleak hoot.

It’s all leading to a confrontation between Emi and her school’s parent-teacher board. It’s one of the most absurd, insulting and cuttingly insightful trials put on film. What are a teacher’s responsibilities outside the classroom? What if the teacher in this situation were a man? What if the teacher is also including lessons about Romanian history that today’s citizens would rather not deal with? All of this and much more is on the table for riotous discussion. More than once, someone cackles the Woody Woodpecker laugh when the debate really goes off the rails. While the visual language in the final act settles into a more conventional groove, the sound editing is something of a tour de force. It’s punchy, freewheeling, obscenely hilarious and brings the movie to an unbelievable final moment.

BAD LUCK is a hard act to follow. If I’d known how ambitious it was, I would have saved it for day’s final screening. But for better or worse, the next film was a very quiet, understated Competition title — this one from Hungary (which was well-represented this year), entitled NATURAL LIGHT. Written and directed by Nagy Dénes, this is a gorgeously shot war-is-hell movie that follows a weathered unit of Hungarian soldiers as they try to round up Russian partisans during WWII. Yes, the title of the movie perfectly describes the golden, autumnal hue of the movie, as it is primarily set in barren forests, small, sooty villages and fields with plenty of mud.

The film is based on a massive book by novelist Pál Závada, but Dénes made the interesting decision to just focus his movie on a few days in the life of István Semetka, who is forced to step up and take charge of his unit early on in the film. Aside from capturing the unrelenting force of their natural surroundings, cinematographer Tamás Dobos also does an amazing job of capturing people’s faces — not unlike the films of fellow countryman, Bela Tarr. Ferenc Szabó, who plays the beleaguered Semetka, has two of the most soulful eyes I’ve seen on screen lately. This is of critical importance since the film has very little dialog until a couple of well-written monologues at the end. Semetka’s eyes say it all.

As mournfully beautiful as it is, NATURAL LIGHT isn’t an easy movie to sit through. It’s quiet and heartbreaking. But this level of sorrow and atrocities is also very familiar to cinema. In a way, it’s unfair because this story, in its way, is unique. But the message of how indifferent war is to soldiers with good intentions, has been told before. Few movies, however, have told it in such a wordless and poetic way.

Throughout the history of film, there’s always been a struggle to turn good theater into cinematic art. When talkies began and TV took off, we turned to the wealth of good theater scripts that already existed as readymade source material that could meet the demand for content. Sometimes it works, and the scripts can be well-adapted into the cinematic language. Other times, it’s like we’re just looking at a filmed documentation of a theater piece, which relies heavily on the strength of the words and performance, and not on any tools of the filmic trade. Denis Côté’s new film does a neat job of adding a new wrinkle to this long tradition of finding ways to turn monologues and long chunks of dialog between two people into an engaging work of film.

Côté has always had a strong experimental streak to his work, and even though he wrote this script and titled it “Social Hygiene” in 2015, it would seem that the current pandemic gave him the final push to turn the unusual idea of long, socially distant conversations in a field into a movie. Aside from a few shots that follow a young woman as she walks through nature, says hi to some livestock and offers an intermission dance sequence, SOCIAL HYGIENE is a series of static shots, framing different sections of rolling Canadian countryside, and containing a couple of people talking to each other across a certain distance. The framing, the sounds, the tone and rhythms of the conversation, are all very stylized. And in its way, perfectly cinematic. Côté pays attention to the ambient noises during these scenes. Birds turn into a cackling audience, construction noises go quiet and resume at just the right moments — it’s all very well-orchestrated.

The story and conversations of SOCIAL HYGIENE have nothing to do with the pandemic. It’s the fairly universal story of a charismatic, smooth-talking guy of unmet potential, who is consistently disappointing the women in his life. This man is Antonin, and we first meet him as he bickers with his sister. While Antonin is married, he’s currently living in a friend’s car, getting by through small-time theft and avoiding plans that might improve his lot in life, like working on that screenplay he’s been kicking around. Both his wife and his mistress try to prod him in the right direction, but he’s such a charmer that he enjoys spinning his destitution as the life of a lovable rogue, who’s morals and values can’t be met by traditional means.

More than any other film seen, so far, from this year’s Berlinale lineup, SOCIAL HYGIENE had me laughing-out-loud the most. And I’m very willing to admit that this is likely due to how much I related to Antonin’s faulty reasoning. But it’s also due to the fact that the script is supremely sharp and its deadpan delivery brought to mind Hal Hartley’s films. Like Hartley, Côté is anti-realist in his staging and delivery, meticulous in his timing, and yet uses humor to get at some very fundamental human dilemmas. I love Hartley and miss his sensibility dearly. So, yes, I loved every minute of SOCIAL HYGIENE.

Even with a press pass, it can be a challenge to sit for every Competition screening. There are simply too many other films that call for your attention. But in this streaming scenario, I was committed to seeing every last one. I felt like I didn’t have any good excuse not to when you can make your own daily schedule. So, Xavier Beauvois’s ALBATROS (or DRIFT AWAY, as it may end up being called in your neck of the woods) got a late Tuesday night home screening. It didn’t go down well.

The only one of Beauvois’s previous films that I’m familiar with is 2005’s THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT, which follows a homicide detective in La Havre. ALBATROS follows a police chief in the much more idyllic region of Normandy. Jérémie Renier plays the cop, Laurent, and just as the movie starts, he’s just proposed to his girlfriend of ten years, with whom he already has a young daughter. In the next scene he’s cleaning up after a suicide on the beach, and then there’s news of child abuse by local resident, and his friend is at the end of his rope dealing with farming regulations. Things are piling up quickly, and the chipper Laurent is soon getting edgy and taking his work home with him.

The beginning of the movie isn’t bad. It’s clearly building to something and it can hold your interest while it does that. But when that shoe drops, the film goes off the rails and descends into a completely ridiculous and phony final act. It doesn’t help matters that Beauvois never really finds an interesting visual language with which to tell this story. From the get-go, his camera is just there, shooting scenes and conversations in a way that makes everything seem slightly off and unnatural. It feels like things are being staged, much as the wedding photo on the beach that gets interrupted by a death at the very beginning. Unfortunately it never shakes this feeling, and two hours later, you can’t believe that you’re watching an ending so clichéd that Hollywood would probably think twice before giving it a greenlight. It’s the kind of denouement that is so cheesy and unearned that instead of choking back tears, you feel completely cheated.

Aside from ALBATROS, Day Two was a rich abundance. The punk stylings of THE SCARY OF SIXTY-FIRST, the anarchic Molotov cocktail of BAD LUCK BANGING OR LOONEY PORN, the austere meditation of NATURAL LIGHT, the playful theatrics of SOCIAL HYGIENE — these all had something special to offer. Tomorrow, we’ll visit China, France, Georgia and, once again, Hungary, for two more films with big rewards and two that struggled to transcend their formal trappings.

[ewh111]

2017 Annual List of Favorite Film Experiences

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

With each passing year, I find it harder to keep up with new release films, as well as the growing queue of ones on my “To See” list. On the other hand, it feels like quality films are sequestered till the end of the year (nothing against summer blockbusters, but with a few exceptions, many are forgotten by the time you get back to your car) and the growing appeal and abundance of quality television fostered by its broader canvas for in-depth storytelling and character development is another distraction. 

But that brings me to one of my favorite things about the holiday season in Los Angeles. The last six weeks or so of the year is filled with many appealing options as films jockey for exposure ahead of the awards season. And I have a great deal of appreciation and gratitude (and a bit of jealousy) for the many artists and others who have the passion to make these visions come to life for us to enjoy.

All the best for a wonderful 2018 and hope that you get a chance to see some of the films below that moved me in some way, sometimes filling me with emotion or awe, or provoking long-lasting thoughts, or just trigger the desire to re-experience and see it again. So, here they are, in no particular order.

Cheers, Ed

P.S.–I’ve gotten many requests to also review favorite meals of the year, so that might come in another post. :)

Indelible Coming of Age Tales

Call Me By Your Name — Northern Italy, summer, 1983. Having read the André Aciman novel, this was my most anticipated film of 2017. And it did not disappoint. This beautifully told and lushly shot coming of age romance features a remarkable and revelatory (and perhaps best of 2017) performance by newcomer Timothée Chalamet (also in Lady Bird), who achingly captures the universal yearning, passion, heartache, and torment of first love. Kudos also to Armie Hammer and director Luca Guadagnino. While many moments stand out, including the empathetic and compassionate speech by father Michael Stuhlberg (also in Shape of Water) that is the dream of every LGBT kid, it’s the minutes-long reactive close-up on Chalamet as the credits roll and song of yearning plays that devastatingly endures. My favorite of 2017.

Lady Bird — Sacramento, 2002. A semi-autobiographical coming of age in the suburbs tale featuring the humorous, turbulent, and affecting relationship between mother and daughter by Greta Gerwig in her directorial debut. With a fabulous performance by Saoirse Ronan as the head-strong teen who calls herself Lady Bird, a terrific Laurie Metcalf as her mom, and HW alum Beanie Feldstein ’11 as her best friend, this is the rare comedy that is smart, witty, and endearing.

Compelling Period Piece True Stories 

Dunkirk — Dunkirk, France, 1940. A visually and viscerally compelling piece of filmmaking about the miraculous evacuation of 300,000 British troops from the doomed beach at Dunkirk, masterfully crafted by director Christopher Nolan via three intertwined timeframes (a week on the beach, a day by sea, and an hour in the air) that intersect and fold back and ultimately, come together in the end. 

The Post — Washington, DC, 1971. Spielberg + Streep + Hanks = a highly timely and relevant telling of the Washington Post’s saga to publish the Pentagon Papers. Resonant on so many levels with urgent themes of today—the need for a free press, the role of women in a man’s world, and a judicial branch independent from an overreaching executive branch—all told with briskly entertaining and thrilling pace. 

All the Money In The World — UK/Italy, 1973. I’ll admit that I was initially attracted to this pic to see how director Ridley Scott erased Kevin Spacey and recast Christopher Plummer in the role of billionaire J. Paul Getty and reshot major portions of his film six weeks before its release date. Hats off to him for pulling off a very engaging thriller depicting the notorious kidnapping of Getty’s grandson. Michelle Williams is spot-on as the mother who goes toe-to-toe with her infamously frugal father-in-law who refuses to pay ransom for her child. 

Dark Master Works By An Irish Playwright and a Black Comedian 

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri — Ebbing, MO, present day. Loved this very dark dramedy whose story emanates from a tragic event in a small town. There’s plenty of levity and wonderfully drawn characters via Martin McDonagh’s clever screenplay that mixes revenge, redemption, and moral ambiguity, featuring a trio of tremendous performances by raging mother of deceased raped daughter Frances McDormand, small town police chief and target of McDormand’s ire Woody Harrelson, and racist, violent, alcoholic mama’s boy police officer Sam Rockwell. 

Get Out — Suburban countryside, present day America. A creepy, twisted, funny, scary, and subversive version of “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” crossed with a little bit of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” for the post-Obama era. A brilliant, provocative, and unnerving nexus of sophisticated horror, comedy, and extremely biting social satire by Jordan Peele in his directorial debut.

Strange and Untraditional Love Stories 

Phantom Thread —London, circa 1950s. I love Paul Thomas Anderson, and he’s made one strange but riveting movie here. A gorgeous Jonny Greenwood score swings from elegantly jazzy to intensely haunting, setting the mood for this darkly humorous film featuring hard to describe relationships (I hesitate to call it a love story) between an obsessively demanding and fastidious fashion designer (Daniel Day-Lewis supposedly in his last film role), his muse, and his ever-lurking sister/business partner and their respective emotional/psychological (and ultimately perverse) gamesmanship. And one may not listen to water-pouring or toast-buttering, or mushroom omelet eating in the same way again. 

The Shape of Water — Baltimore, circa 1962. Mix in a large dose of Cold War thriller and Creature from the Black Lagoon, plus a little Busby Berkeley, and you either get a political allegory (marginalized “others” whether mute, black, gay, or non-human vs. the Man) or romantic fairy tale. Leave it to Guillermo del Toro to bring us the more “romantic” one in this strange love stories category, an oddly beautiful and enchanting interspecies romance between two mute and isolated beings, one a cleaning woman (a wonderful Sally Hawkins) and the other a Creature From the Black Lagoon-inspired merman kept in a top secret government facility. Arguably, the “monster” in this story is the intensely sadistic government agent played with gusto by Michael Shannon. 

Bizarre Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction Tales 

I, Tonya —  Portland, OR, 1994. A stellar Margot Robbie plays the hard scrabble, trailer-trash, and ultimately disgraced Olympic figure skater Tonya Harding in this unbelievably crazy but true story of her life leading up to the infamous incident before the 1994 Winter Olympics. Told in zippy mockumentary style that is fun to watch, Allison Janney as her zany, abusive mother leads a supporting cast of inept characters involved in Tonya’s dysfunctional life. Directed by Craig Gillispie who also directed the offbeat gem, Lars and the Real Girl. 

The Disaster Artist — Hollywood, 2003. Another bizarre, but true real life story about the enigmatic writer/director Tommy Wiseau who made one of the most absurdly bad films ever that eventually turned into a cult classic (The Room). Humorously portrayed by James Franco, who also directed this offbeat but unexpectedly poignant movie about making a movie, though it’s ultimately more about the importance of friendship, having dreams, and America’s fascination with celebrity and movies. (And the side-by-side comparison of scenes from the actual The Room and recreations in Franco’s film are hysterical.)

Docs About Felines and Cheating Russians 

Kedi — Yes, this a documentary about cats, but it’s not just about cats. Rather it’s a meditative and heartwarming look at the community of felines that inhabit the streets of Istanbul, delving into their centuries-long symbiotic relationship with humans in the old city. The city is teeming with cats that are neither feral or domestic, each with different personalities and lives they share with the people they adopt. And therein lies the heart of this film, as the locals share their bonds and therapeutic experiences with these complex creatures, ranging from the mundane to the profound. 

Icarus – Putin + mysterious deaths + performance-enhancing drug conspiracy = A fascinating and crazy documentary that plays like a spy thriller. It starts out as an odd personal experiment by the filmmaker/amateur cyclist mimicking Lance Armstrong’s doping regimen, but through sheer dumb luck and serendipity, he develops a friendship with Gregory Rodchenkov, the affable, eccentric, and charismatic camera-loving head of Russia’s Anti-Doping Lab…and, as it turns out, the country’s mastermind behind its decades-long state-sponsored doping program. It then becomes a terrifying race to uncover the world’s biggest sports conspiracy, implicating everybody including the Russian president (resulting in the NY Times exposé) while trying to save whistle-blower Rodchenkov’s life from the clutches of Putin. 

Docs about Life and Death 

Obit. —While it may sound morbid, this behind-the-scenes look at the NY Times’ obituary staff writers is enlightening and fascinating, and in fact, quite lively (even its peek into the “morgue,” the paper’s clipping archive). Beyond celebrities and notables, who makes the editorial cut in the pages of the NY Times obit section? And how does one get appropriately celebrated in death, warts and all. Now you can find out.   

Chasing Coral – A wake-up call to the accelerating world-wide death of entire coral reef ecosystems by “coral bleaching.” This remarkably emotional doc follows a team of biologists, including a self-proclaimed “coral nerd” in a race against time to document this die-off with powerful visual evidence, and the result is an inspirational eco drama that moves you to act before it’s too late. 

Others Worth Mentioning 

Baby Driver (the soundtrack and editing alone are worth the thrilling 112 minutes of this stylish heist story about a young getaway driver); It (I don’t generally like horror films, but this retelling of Stephen King’s classic was one of the most engaging and well told of its genre); Star Wars: The Last Jedi (my favorite of the series); Loving Vincent (every frame of the film was hand-painted in the style of Van Gogh); Mudbound; Spider-Man: Homecoming (loved Tom Holland as the new Peter Parker); Beach Rats; The Big Sick; War for the Planet of the Apes;The Only Living Boy in New York; Wonder Woman; Spielberg; Battle of the Sexes; Stronger 

In the Queue

Coco, Darkest Hour, Detroit, Film Stars Don’t Die In Liverpool, Downsizing, Molly’s Game, Florida Project, Victoria and Abdul.

Binge-Worthy Television

13 Reasons Why, Stranger Things 2, The OA, Mindhunter, Big Little Lies, Grace and Frankie 

Trailers

All the Money in the World: https://youtu.be/KXHrCBkIxQQ

Call Me By Your Name: https://youtu.be/Z9AYPxH5NTM

Chasing Coral: https://youtu.be/b6fHA9R2cKI

The Disaster Artist: https://youtu.be/cMKX2tE5Luk

Dunkirk: https://youtu.be/F-eMt3SrfFU

Get Out: https://youtu.be/sRfnevzM9kQ

I, Tonya: https://youtu.be/OXZQ5DfSAAc

Icarus: https://youtu.be/qXoRdSTrR-4

Kedi: https://youtu.be/w9fwhVx9zR0

Lady Bird: https://youtu.be/cNi_HC839Wo

Obit.: https://youtu.be/BgpMNerK9cU

Phantom Thread: https://youtu.be/xNsiQMeSvMk

The Post: https://youtu.be/nrXlY6gzTTM

The Shape of Water: https://youtu.be/XFYWazblaUA

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: https://youtu.be/Jit3YhGx5pU

[micaramel]

Artist: Nicola Tyson

Venue: Sadie Coles, London

Exhibition Title: A Tendency to Flock

Date: June 23 – August 19, 2017

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Press Release:

Nicola Tyson’s 2017 exhibition at Sadie Coles HQ features a group of seven new paintings, embracing a range of subjects and scales. Tyson, who has been based in New York since 1989, is primarily known as a painter but has also worked with photography film, performance and the written word. Her work has continued to gain recognition for its reimagining of the female figure in relation to concepts of identity and the social gaze. She sets out to describe the female body as experienced rather than merely observed. Moving beyond a mimetic, objectifying approach, she explores the body as a constantly shifting set of felt coordinates. Through this process, her distinctive images often blur the distinction between representation and abstraction.

Adopting an intuitive approach, Tyson begins by drawing. She works quickly to “stay ahead of rational decision making”, not knowing what will appear but trusting that the “discovered” images will resonate with a complex range of meanings and associations. Selected sketches are then worked up into paintings through a slower, more deliberate process. Tyson’s expressive paint application is nevertheless characterised by a ‘one-chance only’ approach – that of using a dry brush to produce a sense of immediacy and dynamism of movement, in addition to her chromatically-heightened pallet of unlikely colour combinations, alternately perverse and beautiful.

Tyson draws influence from artists such as Bellmer, Bacon, Bourgeois and sources beyond, reformulating these precursors in the pursuit of an independent and idiosyncratic visual language. Her approach to her medium, and to the genre of figuration, has been compared with that of the pioneering Austrian painter, Maria Lassnig (1919-2014), who coined the terms Körpergefühl (body sensation) and Körperbewusstsein (body awareness) to describe her own approach. These twin concepts aptly reflect the combination of physicality and introspection which informs Tyson’s work. Her ambivalence about titling her works (often preferring numbers or minimal annotations) reflects her reluctance to guide the viewer towards any specific reading. She has stated: “for me, a successful drawing or painting is one that I don’t recognise… that surprises me”. Accordingly, the title of the exhibition — A Tendency to Flock — references nothing specific, save an urge to gather together. Like the paintings, the title elicits a gentle yet absurd humour.

In previous works, Tyson’s figures have been depicted with a coloured ground as their sole context, or occasionally find themselves positioned within some kind of landscape. In the new body of works (all 2017), the figures — or creatures — are engaged, indeed immersed, in an intense relationship with their surroundings. The paintings’ titles offer further clue: in Nectar, an airborne insect-like creature dips a long proboscis into the centre of a bloom. In Flyover a winged figure — viewed from above — hovers over a patchwork landscape of fields and in Jump a figure huddles on the back of a leaping horse. Tyson has also continued her investigations in self-portraiture, three examples of which are included in this show.

Nicola Tyson (b. 1960, London), has exhibited internationally. In autumn 2017, she will present a solo exhibition of works on paper, Beyond a Trace, at The Drawing Room, London. Earlier this year, she presented a survey exhibition at The Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis, St. Louis, USA. Recent solo exhibitions have taken place at Petzel Gallery, New York (2016), which included the catalogue Nicola Tyson Works on paper; Nathalie Obadia Gallery, Paris (2015); and Susanne Vielmetter Los Angeles Projects, Los Angeles, (2014). Her 2012 exhibition Bowie Nights at Billy’s Club, London, 1978, White Columns, New York (which travelled to Sadie Coles HQ, London in 2013), comprised an archive of compelling and evocative photographs documenting the London club scene of the late 1970s. Recent group exhibitions include Living Dangerously at the Cleveland Institute of Art, Cleveland, Ohio; Belief + Doubt: Selections from the Francie Bishop Good and David Horvitz Collection, NSU Museum of Art, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, (2016) and Portrait; Skarstedt Gallery, New York (2016); The Marked Self: Self-Portraits between Annihilation and Masquerade, Neue Galerie Graz, Austria (2015); The Nakeds, Drawing Room (2014). In 2013 she also published Dead Letter Men – a new book composed of a series of satirical letters to dead artists, with its roots in a performance piece in New York. Her work is held in various prestigious public collections internationally including the Museum of Modern Art, New York, Metropolitan Museum, New York, Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington D.C, and Tate Modern, London.

Link: Nicola Tyson at Sadie Coles

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from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/2fH57Xw

[riting]

Hi, Solo / Gala, Honey (Pieter Fundraiser)

Carmela Hermann Dietrich on Hi, Solo

Hi, Solo, a series inspired by Mark Haim, is curated by Alexx Shilling and Devika Wickremesinghe. This particular evening was a fundraiser for Pieter Performance Space. Inspired by Hi, Solo I set a timer for three minutes two times; during each writing session, I wrote whatever came to mind, first about Hi Solo, and then Pieter and the fundraiser.  And….go!

1.

I love Hi, Solo. I love the idea of it. That within three minutes you can make something that is a complete idea. That is the assignment. To create a 3-minute solo specifically for Hi, Solo. Someone I admire once told me, “when you’ve got something important to communicate, say it in three sentences”. I’ve used this when I want to run on at the mouth in an email, a text, in conversation. How often as choreographers do we run on at the body-mouth? Simone Forti, one of my primary artistic mentors, once told me that in the 60’s Robert Dunn gave his (now historic) composition class the assignment, “make something that’s three minutes long and don’t work on it for longer than three minutes”.

What was most interesting to me, was watching how the artists took on this challenge. I saw choreographed ideas that had a set beginning, middle and end; I saw works that weren’t set, but followed a strategic trajectory; some artists improvised, allowing their endings to be arbitrarily decided by the timer.  I saw some that drew me in, and some that didn’t. There were some that made my nine-year-old son laugh. And one that made him sad. I can’t get into specifics about all ten piece because … I only have three minutes to write.

2.

This particular Hi, Solo was a fundraiser to raise money for Pieter. Pieter needs a new floor. I love Pieter’s floor. I can see any inch of it on instagram and remember, “oh, yeah, that’s that spot where my hair always gets caught in the tape”. It’s a well loved floor. But as Jmy James Kidd, Pieter Protector, said, it’s also a bit dangerous. She revealed during the fundraiser pitch at Intermission, that she has a splinter “permanently lodged in her ass.” That’s not good. Pieter has been a radical dance space for creativity, safe expression, innovation, and exploration for seven years. I am there regularly. What’s so amazing about Pieter is not just the mix of people drawn to it’s community, but the welcoming attitude of the entire space. This is the vision of Pieter; a place where artists and people who want to be themselves and feel accepted are welcome. Yes, Pieter has some badass choreographers, but at Pieter the newbie who has never danced or performed is just as welcomed and accepted. Pieter supports Los Angeles’ people like no other. 

Carmela Hermann Dietrich is an L.A. based choreographer and improviser whose work has been performed nationally and internationally since 1995. Her last dance theater work, "In Plain Sight", featuring four real-life people grappling with compulsive behaviors, premiered at the Bootleg Theater. Carmela is also an Upledger Certified CranioSacral Therapist.

Maya Gingery on Hi, Solo

PIETER IS A PLACE

Names either stick or they don’t, and this one did.  It’s called Pieter and only Jmy knows why.

Pieter is a place that was created for community and a community has formed around this dance studio in Lincoln Heights.  After 7 years of pounding feet and rolling bodies, the past-its-prime flooring needs replacing, and so on April 15th Pieter held an evening of performance as a fundraiser for a brand new floor.

Hi, Solo was an evening of 3-minute works by a roster of local artists, some dancers, some performance artists, and a few that fall between the cracks. It’s an eclectic mix, a diversity of styles and forms that serve well LA’s appetite for inclusivity. And so it was, for this benefit show that also included a sweet testimonial from the hosts and board of directors about how Pieter has become the heart center for so many in the local dance and performance scene.

Here’s a short synopsis of what I experienced:

The show began with a work titled Emergency Landing choreographed by Dorothy Dubrule, and danced by P. Jason Black, a non-dancer as he explained it to me.  It could have been called an Ode to Aluminum Foil, as the rotund Jason was indelibly and fashionably wrapped in it, toga-style. To the tinklings of a piano sonata (Schumann perhaps?), Jason expressed as willingly as Isadora Duncan his interpretation of the classical poses of the gods, and just as willingly descended and rolled like a boulder on the ground, the kinetic antithesis to the greek statue. The contrasts worked.

LA-based Carol McDowell, dressed in summery turquoise, danced her own solo titled, Noetic Gestures No. 3.  There was a Latin aesthetic in her choice of music, and a lot of shifting directions and gestural use of space. Later I learned the dance was based on Hermeneutics, or the philosophy of interpretation. Since dance is a non-verbal form of communication, this seemed apropos. One could interpret it however one wished.

Wilfred Souly danced his solo Trapped to a live talking drum played by Magatte Sow. His movements suggested possession by something outside himself, as seen in African spiritualism. There were contrasts of up and down, side to side, in and out. It was a powerful male performance and it’s political intent was the driving force.

Performance/visual artist Luis Lera Malvacias presented a work that was both literally and figuratively dark and subversively visual. Covered in black clothing that completely obfuscated his body, his spine however was visually articulated with a row of white lightbulbs. On the stage lay a mysterious angular black object, also illuminated, a parallel to the objectification of his own body. The artist, bent over like the hunchback of literary fame, moaned and cried as he mysteriously hovered near the box, only his voice penetrating the sphere of this dark perverse world. It was weird and striking.

Maybe it was the psychological resonance from the previous piece, but I can’t remember a thing about dancer Maria Maea’s I choose here.  If that sounds harsh, one can be forgiven for not remembering everything in such a long and diverse program.  I do remember some video, some sound, some dance. However, it’s title couldn’t have been more perfect. Possibly the dance was perfect too. I hope Maria performs it again, when I will be ready to remember it well.

In the second half of the show Doran George presented Aid and Abet, a sexually-loaded interpretation of scholarship. Seemingly naked underneath a trenchcoat casually draped over them, they lay on piles of books and played dead, as Gillian Cameron recited gay poetry. Give me Love, she read in a monotone, as we waited for her to revive him with bon mots.  In the end Doran was resurrected, and rose to reveal themselves wearing a loincloth and a plaster-of-paris penis, fully-erect natch.  Some good ideas there.

Valerie McCann is not a dancer. She’s an actor, she explained to me, but she wanted to make a dance.  So she did.  It was called Helplessness Makes Patients Hard to Please, with the subtitle Love Hurts.  Based on the title I’m going to assume she has some experience with this.  She wore a terrific white robe that was a costume from a play she had been in.  She took that costume with her (who was wearing whom?) and made a dance play about gestures and trajectory that ended at the wall. She used the space well, and I never would have guessed it was her first choreography.  Loads of stage presence.

Dancer/Choreographer Kevin Williamson did an exquisite arm dance.  Feet planted firmly like the roots of a tree, he chose to be in profile as he manipulated his two upper limbs in every possible configuration that profile will allow.  It was a search for reason in an unstable world. To me it’s always within limitations that imagination has room to grow and I was in continual wonder as he took me on his bodily journeying.  He also chose to accentuate the oddness of the Pieter stage, a rectangle interrupted in the center by a square of four large pillars, by standing off-center and far upstage, inviting us to think about the scale and boundaries of human existence. Beautiful.

Dancer Alexsa Durrans wore red and black.  On first impression I perceived her flowing movement as a watery flamenco, though “weighted like water, this will happen again” turned out to be more motivated by fluidity than Spanish passions.  Not sure what would “happen again”, but when water is concerned it’s certain something will.  That’s the beauty of dance, it’s poetry in motion, it ebbs and flows like water, and what’s not seen is often just as important as what is.

Finally dancer Alexa Weir honored us with a wistful, idyllic ode to new motherhood. She filled her stage with potted plants and moved with delicate grace among them. Glass chimes tinkled in the background.  She called it Day Moon.  She choreographed it in a closet.  It was a lovely and calming conclusion to a Nabokovian program.

One problem I’ve encountered as both artist and audience is that no one is writing about independent experimental dance in LA. So naturally no one expects to be reviewed. I had a hard time finding and talking to the artists amid the din of chips, dips and beer-fueled conversations, but I persevered. (Sorry Maria, I couldn't find you!).  Let's be grateful for the creation of Riting.LA, an online place to bring focus to LA independent performing arts and the thousands of artists who make this city such a vibrantly growing creative space.

In conclusion, Pieter raised some money. We got to watch some dance and support the artists.  As always, the after-party was fun and the community communed.  LA is great.

Maya Gingery is a maker-dancer-choreographer-musician-educator-writer, lifelong creative and fellow human. She makes dances and other performative events, collects musical instruments, grows vegetables and sings a song every day. Her best friend Mimi is a deer. She was last seen on stage as Demeter, in the Four Larks development project of  ὕμνος/hymns at the Getty Villa.

Hi, Solo / Gala, Honey (Pieter needs a new floor!) happened on Saturday, April 15th, 2017. The night was curated by Alexx Shilling and Devika Wickremesinghe.

Pieter has since reached their goal to raise $10,000 for a new floor and cosmetic repairs. Pieter’s YouCaring campaign will be live through May 31st. Metabolic Studio will match all funds raised up to $15,000. Please consider donating to such a special space.  

photos by Amanda Bjorn