EVIL DOES NOT EXIST

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B-
Editing: B-

Evil Does Not Exist is an odd title for any movie. The word “evil” alone is evocative of horror, but the rest of this particular title negates that. Or is that ironic, in which case one might still assume it’s horror? Evil may not exist, but nihilism does! One of the many things about this film that are lost on me is the fact that it’s actually a very simple and straightforward drama.

Emphasis on simple, as opposed to drama. To call this a feature-length exercise in deadpan delivery would be an understatement. The most “dramatic” sequence would be several minutes covering a community meeting for “feedback” by townspeople concerned about the impending construction of a “glamping” site in a rural area outside of Tokyo.

This is the first time things get even remotely interesting in Evil Does Not Exist, and it felt like it was about 45 minutes in. Here’s something I have no idea about: was this just a reflection of Japanese cultural politeness, or was this scene muted by even Japanese standards? I would guess the latter, but it’s a wild, uneducated guess. All I know is that several townspeople bring up perfectly reasonable concerns, from potential pollution to their groundwater to the impact on their local economy, and the two hired hands there to listen largely deflect by saying things like “We’ll take your feedback under advisement.” The small crowd gets increasingly agitated, but I use the word “agitated” loosely: they each take a turn to deliver their concerns calmly, while everyone else in the room is dead silent. One young man in the front row finally says “What?” in response to being told not to get too emotional, and he ultimately stands up aggressively—only to have Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) force him back into his chair.

Takuma is the central character here, a guy referred to as “weird” even by others in this movie, a widowed, reclusive “odd job man” living in a cabin with his young daughter, Hana (Ryo Nishikawa). One of the odder aspects of this movie is how the two hired hands sent to the village by the company planning the “glamping site” refer to themselves as “talent agents” who work in “show business,” even though they’ve just been sent to convince this town that a glamping site in their midst is a good idea. Is this the Japanese equivalent of “paid crisis actors”?

Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) ulimately try courting Takuma to take the job of full-time caretaker, after being told that is something they will need in order to keep guests from the city in check, and it’s a bit of a fool’s errand. All of this runs parallel to Takuma’s live with Hana, where they walk through the forest and he teaches her the names of trees and how to identify them. The visitors keep hearing distant gunshots, told they are people hunting deer in the area. Eventually the point is made that deer are not dangerous to humans, unless they are been shot and are still alive and cornered. This becomes an apparently crucial plot point in the end, and I could not put together how it related to the story overall.

Evil Does Not Exist is getting extremely high praise by other critics, but I just could not connect with it. Its first half hour or so is particularly challenging, with truly glacial pacing—the opening shot alone is just a slow pan looking straight up at barren winter tree branches, for what seem like countless minutes. Then it cuts to Takuma outside his cabin, chopping wood, for another several minutes. Not a lot happens in most of the scenes in this movie, until the aforementioned community forum. Not much happens there either, but compared to the scenes that preceded it, it practically feels like an action movie.

And then, at the very end, things take a jarringly dark turn. Maybe there is something allegorical going on here, or something subtle regarding Japanese culture, that I just don’t have the wherewithal to grasp. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. All I know is that it took a herculean effort to get halfway toward connecting with this movie, which in the end I could only respect as something I assume exist on a level I can’t grasp.

Hey can we take turns, and you can watch me chop wood for five minutes?

Overall: B-

BACK TO BLACK

Directing: C+
Acting: B+
Writing: C-
Cinematography: B-
Editing: C

Marisa Abela is clearly talented. She plays Amy Winehouse well enough that her performance is far and away the best part of the movie. She can even sing quite well. All of this means I’d really like to see her showcased in a better movie than Black to Black.

Also, there’s no escaping the shadow of the giant talent that Amy Winehouse herself was—Abela did Winehouse justice in an otherwise tedious biopic, but she’s got nothing on the real Winehouse.

Back in 2015, an excellent documentary feature was released, called Amy. I’m going to quote myself now, from my own review of that film:

She is shy, she is radiant, she has a charisma that can't be contained in spite of her apparent ignorance of it. She is the embodiment of nuance and vulnerability on the way to a tragic end, mirrored in the story arc resulting from the nearly perfect editing of this film.

Not one of these things applies to the 2024 narrative feature Back to Black, which feels a little like Winehouse’s family getting the last word in. Except, who is listening? This movie has barely made more then $3 million domestically. To be fair, the worldwide gross has reached $40 million, making it a rare English speaking film that made 93% of its groses internationally. Considering the budget was $30 million, that’s not the greatest profit margin.

It might have been, had there been good word of mouth, but no one is talking about this movie. Maybe because they are asleep. Marisa Abela has an undeniable onscreen charm, but with all due respect, saying she has a charisma that can’t be contained is not something that would ever have occurred to me. And she’d need that kind of charisma to elevate the deeply lackluster material, which seems to focus on the duller moments of Winehouse’s life, whitewash the enabling of her parents—and especially her father (Eddie Marsan)—and most baffling of all, de-emphasize the user of her actual music.

The music itself is clearly this story’s greatest asset. And we do get to hear several of her original songs, albeit often sung by Abela herself, which is the work of a competent singer rather than a superstar. But frankly, we don’t hear enough. Isn’t this supposed to be a music biopic? Instead we spend half the time on her rocky and drug-addled relationship with husband Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O’Connell), and her adoration or her Nana (Lesley Manville).

Mind you, these are worthy elements of Amy Winehouse’s story, certain relevant. But Back to Black would have gotten a much-needed shot of energy if it focused less directly on these relationships and more on how she processed them through her music.

There’s also the casting of Winehouse’s father and Nana, where the two actors are so close in age it’s distracting: Leslie Manville, at 68, is perfectly plausible as 28-year-old Abela’s grandmother. But Eddie Marsan is all of twelve years younger than Manville, and is playing her son. He’s also plausible as Abela’s father, at age 56, but onscreen he just looks too close to Manville’s age. Weirdly, Manville looks younger than 68 and Marsan could believably be in his early sixties.

Manville is a consummate talent herself, and would be the second-best thing in this film, even if she’s not given any material really worthy of her. It’s always frustrating to see performers doing well in a lackluster movie. Well before it’s 122-minute run time was up, I was ready for it to be over. Maybe three or four scenes in a row I thought to myself, “Maybe this is the end.”

None of Back to Black is outright terrible, but one does want a movie to aim above mediocrity. At least an actively bad movie elicits a genuinely emotional response. Back to Black has its priorities out of order, and has nothing to recommend it—even its good performances are by people who have done better elsewhere. Take my word for it and just spend three bucks to rent the 2015 documentary Amy on VOD. You’ll have a far better time.

The best thing in Back to Black still doesn’t make it good.

Overall: C+

SIFF Advance: SEBASTIAN

Directing: B
Acting: A-
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B

There’s a lot of gay sex in Sebastian. Many of these scenes go on longer than you might expect, and are unusually frank, it not overly explicit. It seems to be part of the point, given the title character is engaged in sex work in nearly every case, and he comments on how sex workers using modern technology regard it as a job, like any other.

As always, it’s the context that matters. “Sebastian” is actually a pseudonym, used by Max, a 25-year-old writer working for a magazine, getting short stories published, and working to finish a novel. This is where Sebastian’s premise gets particularly compelling: evidently unable to dream up scenarios for his fiction that feel authentic, Max’s “research” involves engaging in actual sex work.

Sebastian has far less to say about sex work, actually, than it does about the ethics of representation. Max is constantly telling people he gets the details for his content from interviews with sex workers; he’s not telling anyone he’s doing the work himself—and, somewhat predictably, he gets in over his head in this endeavor. Why Max doesn’t just do the actual interviewing of seasoned sex workers instead of lying about it is really never made clear. Perhaps he’s genuinely interested in sex work but can’t admit it to himself.

We never get a straight (so to speak) answer to this. There’s a memorable line during a conversation with Max about his novel in progress, another man tells him he spoke to a woman sex worker once, and asked about how she must, inevitably, find some of her clients repulsive. “She said it was never about them,” the man says. “It was always about her.”

Clearly we are meant to infer the same to be the case with Max/Sebastian. But why? To what end? This is, to me, the open mystery of Sebastian. There’s another exchange where Max complains about his own work having nothing to say. His friend retorts that his work need not always have something to say, it need only be true. The tension I constantly felt with this film was whether it’s presenting itself as something “true,” or if it indeed has something to say. I found it difficult to gauge, which kept me at a distance from it.

Which is not to say I didn’t find it engaging, if for no other reason than Ruaridh Mollica’s stellar performance as Max. There’s a moment when another character, another person in the home of one of his clients, says something that could have been the casting call description Mollica responded to: “You have this wholesome, boy-next-door look. But underneath. it’s all filth.” Mollica plays Max with a stunningly calibrated level of nuance, a guy who is eternally uneasy and vulnerable, but with a sturdy sexual confidence. I can’t think of any other character in film that I have ever seen quite like him.

Max’s clientelle tends to skew toward older men, and to Sebastian’s credit, these characters are all very well drawn, and feel like people with real-world dimensions. This film rightly doesn’t judge any of them, even as they have varying reasons for hiring a sex worker. Max has these experiences with them. and the way writer-director Mikko Makela puts this film together, it cuts mid-experience to Max at his laptop later, writing about the experience but from the perspective of Sebastian. This makes it impossible to tell how much truth there is to the rest of these hookup scenes, and how much Max is embellishing or inventing for his novel.

When Max develops a nonprofessional affection for one of his older male clients, Nicholas (Jonathan Hyde), he incorporates this turn into the novel he’s writing. Ironically, his publisher announces that this turn away from all the emotionally detached sex work is something that doesn’t work for the novel, while it’s the very thing that makes Sebastian more interesting. Max even makes reference to it being a means of handing down queer history between generations of gay men that might never have otherwise had anything to do with each other. I’d have loved for Sebastian to explore this more, but evidently the movie is as interested in that as Max’s publisher is.

By the end, Sebastian does manage to shift into a space I did find moving. But, overall, it feels like something is missing, something vital left unexplored. At least Ruaridh Mollica very much elevates the material with his performance, and I’ll be thinking about it for a while.

A perfect performance in an imperfect story.

Overall: B

I SAW THE TV GLOW

Directing: B
Acting: B+
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B-

Maybe I Saw the TV Glow just isn’t for me. Who am I to say it’s bad?

I don’t even want to say it’s bad, really. I just . . . really don’t get it. I’ve never seen a movie so chill and so wackadoodle. How does one accomplish that? This film was written and directed by Jane Schoenbrun, and Schoenbrun being both trans and nonbinary is, it seems, deeply relevant. I have a personal history myself of fitting not quite into such neatly defined categories, but on the periphery of their realm—if nothing else I would be called “gender nonconforming.” And still, I could find no way into I Saw the TV Glow, no direct point of connection. Perhaps it’s a generational thing. Schoenbrun is a Millennial, and I am a Gen-X girly-man.

I have read that the nineties TV show that the two main characters in I Saw the TV Glow watch and obsess over, called The Pink Opaque, is a loose parody of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Presumably it is also relevant to my perspective that I never watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and what few clips I have seen seem too dated and corny, something too far past its time to get into. When Owen grows up and revisits The Pink Opaque, he finds it surprisingly dated and corny. There could be something there.

It’s not difficult to find glowing reviews of I Saw the TV Glow with headlines like “‘I Saw the TV Glow’ is a profound vision of the trans experience”—written, ironically, by a cisgender man. Sometimes it feels like people who fancy themselves “allies” fall over themselves to praise odd—one might say, opaque—art like this. I’m not saying that’s what’s happening here. I very much get the sames that I Saw the TV Glow is just as profound as they say it is, and for some reason it just flew over my head. I still can’t help but wonder: do the critics understand what Schoenbrun is doing here as well as they think they do?

It was about half an hour in when I literally acknowledged to myself: This movie is losing me. I spent a legitimate amount of its run time legitimately baffled as to what was going on—mixed with a legitimate insecurity, visions of smart people I know watching it and then saying, “How could you not get it?” Forgive me, but I prefer films, even ones this laden with metaphor and allegory, to be a little more straightforward.

At least it didn’t annoy me. I wanted to understand it, and was frustrated that I couldn’t. I am very fond of the lead actor, Justice Smith, a gifted actor with talents squandered in the likes of Jurassic World Dominion (2022) or The American Society of Magical Negroes (2024). His performance here is fantastic, genuinely moving, the work of someone who clearly understands the material better than I did. (Side note: interesting that the leads should be cast with cisgender actors—but clearly it gets a pass if the writer-director is trans.) His Owen is deeply repressed, shy, nervous, and forges a tentative connection with a fellow student two years older than him in high school, over the aforementioned The Pink Opaque.

The older student, Maddy, is an out lesbian with abusive parents (indicated only by a passing reference to her stepfather breaking her nose), played just as compellingly by Brigette Lundy-Paine. Owen’s own sexuality is left much less clear, but he does get a quite memorable passage of dialogue when in conversation with Maddy on the otherwise empty high school bleachers: “When I think about that stuff, it feels like someone took a shovel and dug out all of my insides, and I know there’s nothing in there, but I’m still too nervous to open myself up and check.”

Later, when Owen asks his parents if he can watch The Pink Opaque even though it airs at 10:30, past his bedtime, this is the one line his father utters in the entire movie: “Isn’t that show for girls?”

Later in I Saw the TV Glow, when lines are overtly blurred between reality and existence inside The Pink Opaque, which stars two girls, one Black and one White (Owen has a Black mother and a White father; Maddy is White), we briefly see Owen trying on a dress, one similar to the one worn by the star of the show. Should I even be using he/him pronouns for Owen? I’m choosing not to worry about it, especially given almost none of the meaning in this film is made explicit.

I kind of wish I could have gone to see this film with one of the trans people in my life. Might they relate to it deeply, in a way I could never fully imagine? Or, maybe it is just a wild swing and a miss. I hate to be this ambivalent in one of my own reviews, but I guess you can’t always get what you want, like a complex trans allegory that makes sense at first glance.

To be fair, I kept feeling there was some quality thing in there, something I just could not put my finger on. The acting is excellent, and there is some deeply indelible, dreamlike imagery. But then, I Saw the TV Glow ended in a way I found so bemusing and bonkers, I’m tempted to call Jane Schoenbrun the trans-nonbinary Ari Aster. Perhaps they would be flattered by that. For my part, I guess I’ll just accept that I didn’t get it and move on.

A nervous attempt at guarded connection, like me and this movie.

Overall: B-

CHALLENGERS

Directing: A-
Acting: A
Writing: A-
Cinematography: A-
Editing: A-

Had Challengers been directed by anyone else, I likely would not have been interested. But, offbeat Cicilian director Luca Guadagnino is a game changer. This is the guy who previously brought us the beautiful Call Me By Your Name in 2017; the unusually subtle and lovely queer-ish limited series We Are Who We Are in 2020; and the jarringly tender cannibal love story Bones and All in 2022. He also made the wild mess that was the remake of Suspiria in 2018—the director can be all over the place with his projects, but one thing you can never say about him is that he is unoriginal.

Challengers is easily Guadagnino’s most mainstream project to date, with superstar Zendaya at its center, her injured-tennis-player-turned coach Tashi also being the center of a dysfunctional love triangle with two other rising tennis talents: Patrick (Josh O’Connor) and Art (Mike Faist, who played Riff in Steven Spielberg’s underrated 2021 version of West Side Story). This movie is also only about tennis on the surface, featuring plenty of onscreen tennis matches, but always as a metaphor for the personal tensions between the players. And of course, it wouldn’t be a Guadagnino film without some homoerotic undertones, which here occasionally veer into overtones.

It’s easy to say that these are the kinds of film details that speak to me, but it’s much deeper than that. I don’t think it’s even an accident that O’Connor and Faist are both hot young men, but almost pointedly unconventionally hot—as they compete for a woman played by one of the most universally attractive woman stars in the world. And this is a film that sexualizes all three of them, albeit in one case the camera zooms in on an inexplicably gratuitous shot of Faist’s butt in form fitting pajama bottoms. I found myself wondering if there were any conversations about the intentionality of that on set. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were.

Challengers is presented with a curious narrative structure, where “present day” is a 2019 tennis match that turns out to be a rematch between Patrick and Art after thirteen years, a pivotal match that we return to regularly throughout the film. It jumps back and forth from there to a week ago, or three days ago, or in a great many cases, thirteen years ago—when Patrick and Art first meet Tashi. This is where the homoerotic undertones begin: “I’m not a homewrecker,” she says, about getting in between the two of them, who have been “bunking together” since they were twelve.

I had mixed feelings about this approach to editing at first, and honestly it took several scenes at the beginning of the film before I started to find any of these characters interesting. But this is Guadagnino’s subtle, secret weapon: an expertly applied slow burn, getting you to a point where you don’t even realize yet that you’ve been won over. And in retrospect, Challengers would not have been as effective with a more linear plot line. As it was, every time we jump back to the “present day” match, at which point Tashi is married to one of the eternally competitive (yet unusually intimate) friends as well as acting as his coach, the stakes become clearer. Tennis is just used as a uniquely effective framework for a deeply compelling romantic drama.

Still, in anyone else’s hands, I could easily have lost interest. Guadagnino works with frequent collaborator Sayombhu Mukdeeprom for his cinematography, consistently finding angles on the action that are at once beautiful and offbeat. Several scenes largely hinge on their visual impact, from a sudden wind storm, to a bevy of unconventional shots during tennis matches: off-center closeups of the players’ tense bodies, or POV shots of the players hitting the ball with their racquets, or in one memorable sequence, taking on the point of view of the tennis ball itself. I remain eternally confused by how the hell tennis is scored, but somehow I remained deeply invested in everything happening onscreen.

The performances are excellent all around, but especially stellar on the part of Zendaya. Challengers had already more than won me over by the climactic end to the present-day tennis match at hand, but then the acting, the memorably propulsive score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the editing, and the cinematography all converge with first-time feature writer Justin Kuritzkes’s script, and everything comes together with such deep satisfaction, it’s like a beautiful puzzle where the picture isn’t clear until the final pieces are set in place. Sticking the landing is a significant challenge even in many otherwise great movies, but here it’s done so well that it elevates an already great film. I left the theater thinking about what a fantastic experience it was.

Match points: I suppose you could call this my favorite tennis movie.

Overall: A-

SASQUATCH SUNSET

Directing: B+
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+
Special Effects: B-

I went into Sasquatch Sunset expecting a kind of gross-out comedy that happened to be about Sasquatches. I had heard there was a lot of Sasquatch fucking and shitting. These things do happen in the movie, but, if you can believe it, they are used sparingly—which only heightens the impact when it does happen. What I was not quite prepared for was an ultimately bleak mood piece about extinction. In retrospect, the very title of the film should have been a clue.

There are only four characters in this movie, and none of them speak anything beyond a somewhat organized series of grunts. While watching, I kept thinking of the 1986 film The Clan of the Cave Bear, in which no verbal language is ever spoken. What I forgot about that movie is that they have established a form of sign language, with which the film presents subtitles. Sasquatch Sunset doesn’t even have that; in this movie, we just get the grunts. Beyond that, all communication and emotion is conveyed through a sort of mime by actors in hairy suits.

To say that Sasqutch Sunset isn’t for everyone is an understatement. There were reportedly many walkouts when the film played earlier this year at the Sundance Film Festival. This is not difficult to believe: I was one of six people in the theater when I went to see this, and a person in the row in front of us did indeed walk out in the midde. She even booked a seat for an AMC screening of Dune Part Two on her phone before getting up and leaving. An excellent choice, to be fair, but still, side note: don’t do that shit. Your phone screen is distracting and annoying—it’s why I know what movie you booked as an alternative, which you should do after leaving the theater.

I really thought Sasquatch Sunset would be funnier. If there’s so much sex and shit, why wouldn’t it be? Well, co-directors David and Nathan Zellner, working with a script by David, have created something akin to a nature documentary—but with mythical creatures as its subjects. They also mark their territory with piss, and in one fairly gross instance we see one vomit after eating too many fermented berries. But the thing is, once I got a recalibrated sense of the meditative tone of this film, I found myself surprisingly engaged by it. In the end, it’s a kind of family tragedy. About Bigfoot. But it takes an unusually “realistic” approach to what Sasquatch might actually behave as feral animals in the forest, particularly as a kind of “missing link” species between great apes and humans.

Speaking of humans, another curious detail of Sasqutch Sunset is that there are none. Inevitably, the Sasquatch characters encounter human civilization, in the form of things like a red X spray painted on a tree trunk, or a campsite. But, they never encounter any human beings. It’s unclear to me whether we are supposed to infer a loss of habitat due to human activity, though we do see them observe smoke from a forest fire in the distance. Several times the Sasquatch characters we’re following smack sticks against trees together in a coordinated pattern, clearly a signal to any other Sasquatch who might hear it. But, these are the only ones we ever see, and —spoiler alert—not even all of these ones make it to the end of the movie. I got to a point where I began to assume they would all be dead by the end of the film, but that’s not exactly how it ends. I suppose it depends on how you look at it.

I’ll definitely give Sasquatch Sunset credit for being absolutely unlike any other movie I have ever seen. I can’t think of a single person I would recommend it to, but I’m not sorry to have seen it. It’s certainly compelling to know that the Sasquatch characters are played, under intricate layers of makeup and prosthetics, by the likes of Jesse Eisenberg and Riley Keough, playing the one female among the group. There is also a juvenile played by Christophe Zajac-Denek, and Nathan Zellner himself plays the “alpha.” There is also a baby Sasquatch, performed mostly through what appears to be puppetry, with somewhat mixed results.

There are indeed a few genuinely funny moments, but Sasquatch Sunset plays much more like a meditative drama. And given whose story we are seeing unfold, your mileage may vary. By the time it ended, this Sasquatch story had kind of lost me and then, somehow, brought me back around again. This is a fascinating specimen of experimental cinema, with an unusual blend of absurdity and sincerity. Whether you’ll be into it, even if the premise intrigues you, may very well depend on when you watch and and what mood you’re in. Somehow, in my case, it had a hook that ultimately got me.

They have been to the top and it wasn’t what they were expecting.

Overall: B

HOUSEKEEPING FOR BEGINNERS

Directing: A
Acting: A
Writing: A-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

I don’t know why, until I actually watched Housekeeping for Beginners, I thought it was a Spanish-language movie. It even took a few minutes into the beginning of the movie for it to register: this doesn’t sound like Spanish. For a hot second I thought it was Portuguese. Was this movie Brazilian? I looked it up: of all places, this film is from North Macedonia. Have I ever seen any North Macedonian films before? Apparently, I have—Honeyland, a documentary I actually felt was the best film of 2019. And while that one was the true story of a rural beekeeper, this one is about an urban, blended queer family in the North Macedonian capital of Skopje. (It turns out, I even saw the previous film by the director of Housekeeping for Beginners: You Won’t Be Alone, about a shape shifting witch in 19th century Macedonia, which I did not like nearly as much, and did not have North Macedonia as a producing country, while this one does.)

One might rightly wonder how the hell I started from Spanish to that: within a European context at least, this film could hardly be further from Spanish. Such is the legacy of colonialism, I suppose—the English are hardly the only ones in the world to have such a history. Spanish is actually the second-most spoken native language in the world (behind Mandarin), which can make it easy to forget: there are 16 times as many people in the world who speak some other language. In North Macedonia, the dominant language is Macedonian, but there are other officially recognized languages, including Albanian, Turkish, Bosnian, Serbian, and one that becomes a key plot point in Houesekeeping for Beginners: Romani. That last one is the language spoken in the neighborhood of Shutka, an autonomous Roma community on the outskirts of Skopje.

It turns out, there is a lot to learn about this small corner of the world—a country of just under 10,000 square miles (barely larger than Vermont), a population of 1.8 million (about the population of West Virginia), its capital a metropolitan population of 537,000 (about the metro population of Huntsville, Alabama). Such is the case with just about every international location you can think of, actually—but here, writer-director Goran Stolevski, an openly gay thirtysomething man born in Macedonia who grew up in Australia, finds a unique way to turn our attention to it.

It’s not often we get queer stories in global cinema that blend queer life with racial and ethnic concerns, making Housekeeping for Beginners an unusually intersectional story. When the film opens, we see what appears to be two teenagers, Ali (Samson Selim) and Vanesa (Mia Mustafi), belting out along to a song they both apparently love, using household items as fake microphones. It’s a deceptively charming and simple scene, and only moves into a portrait of a rather chaotic household.

And the home includes a lesbian couple, Dita (Anamaria Marinca) and Suada (Alina Serban), and their gay housemate Toni (Vladimir Tintor). As we just hang out with this household for several minutes, it takes a little while to fully register what all the relationships are. Vanesa, and insanely cute little Mia (Dzada Selim) are Suada’s children. Ali, just a few years older than Vanesa, is Toni’s 19-year-old hookup—the opening scene of him singing with Vanesa really driving home how he’s rather young.

But, there are several other queer teens who also hang out at the house, which serves as a de facto safe house for kids who are rejected by their families or communities. And here, in a country with no legal recognition of same-sex couples or their children who are not blood relatives, this chaotically supportive mini-community they have created for themselves is massively disrupted when Suada is diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

The first third or so of Housekeeping for Beginners focuses on this lesbian couple, how they deal with a prognosis understood early on to be hopeless, and how they drag their feet in regards to informing the family. It’s not a spoiler, per se, to say that Suada dies, because the overall point of this film is Dita dealing with both her promise to Suada that she will be the children’s mother going forward, and in particular Vanesa’s passionate rebellion against that scenario, all while navigating the legal hoops and deceptions necessary for her to stave off any threat of the children being taken away. Toni, for his part, is resistant to being pressured into playing the part of a straight father / family man type. Ali organically settles into his own position in the family, his relationship with Toni having complications of its own.

I was fully absorbed and moved by ths movie, a rare feat of ensemble storytelling in which every principal character has dimension and character development. It should be noted, also, that both Ali and Suada happen to come from the aforementioned Shutka community, a people for whom “gypsy” is considered a bigoted term, and they are people of color—making Dita and Suada not just a lesbian couple, but an interracial couple, and then Dita a White woman raising children of color. There are many references to this dynamic in the film, and when Vanesa insists on seeking out a grandmother in Shutka she hasn’t seen in several years, deep cultural differences quickly become apparent.

I can only imagine Housekeeping for Beginners would be seen in a far more intricate way by Macedonian audiences, and I would be fascinated to learn how the film was received there—it was indeed their submission for the Best International Feature award from North Macedonia, but, criminally, it did not make the cut among last year’s nominees. This is a film that absolutely deserves attention, both in its home country and abroad—even the most frustrating characters are deeply human, and the domestic situation portrayed is emblematic of evolving ideas of family the world over. I won’t soon forget this one.

Love makes a family, and so does not taking any shit lying down.

Overall: A-

MONKEY MAN

Directing: C+
Acting: B
Writing: C-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-

I really, really wanted to like this movie. I have long enjoyed Dev Patel as a leading man. This being his feature directorial debut was a compelling idea. Most exciting of all, Monkey Man is a Hollywood-style action movie set entirely in India, specifically Mumbai, fully embedded in Indian culture. There’s only one White character in the entire movie, and he’s a South African underground boxing emcee (Sharlto Copley). There’s no American characters to be found anywhere, giving Patel—actually a British actor—the space to showcase the culture of his heritage. What’s not to love?

There’s a lot not to love, it turns out. Patel so directly wants us to think of Monkey Man as “John Wick in Mumbai” that his character, credited as “Kid” (side note: Dev Patel is 33), buys a gun from a man who directly references the Keanu Reeves films: “Have you seen John Wick?” the guy asks. “This gun was in it.”

Here’s the trouble with comparing this to John Wick—a franchise that consistently puts out solid-B action movies: there’s a purity to John Wick’s premise, which is also less serious but delighted audiences: some assholes kill Wick’s beloved dog, a crime worse than human murder to dog lovers, and he spends the first movie getting revenge for this wrong. As the series has gone on, the world of assassins in which John Wick inhabits gets increasingly ridiculous and elaborately structured, but at least it stays in its lane, and consistently offers moments of levity in between its many extended “gun fu'“ action sequences.

Dev Patel’s movie is also a revenge tale, but seeped in sectarian and religious tensions that have characterized India for decades. “Kid” is out to get back at both the police chief (Sikandar Kher) who killed his mother when he was a chid, and the Hindu nationalist politician (Makrand Deshpande) who gave the order to destroy the settlement on the land later used for his temple. This turns what could be a movie about good clean, personal vendettas into an action “thriller” that amounts to little more than political violence. I struggled to understand how I was supposed to sit in the theater and root for it—and make no mistake, Monkey Man is not a Dune-style commentary on the pitfalls of hero worship. It simply glorifies violence for its own sake, using the dressing of social justice in a way that is far more transparent than it realizes.

There is also a significant presence of transgender characters, known in India as hijras, which I have very mixed feelings about. Setting aside the fact that the prinary trans character is played by Vipin Sharma, a cisgender man—I cannot find any confirmation whether any of the other hijra characters were played by trans actors—the Kid character’s position among them never sat quite right with me. The way the hijra characters help Kid felt only a step or two away from a queer Indian version of the “Magical Negro” trope; the way Patel is clearly proud of himself for offering unprecedented trans representation in his film feels like a straight-Indian version of White saviorism.

In short, it never quite feels like the trans presence exists for the right reasons. And Monkey Man clearly wants us to applaud it for featuring these trans characters as badasses, an idea I very much support in theory—except they just engage in the same gruesome violence as anyone else, their saris shot spinning in slow motion while they slaughter nameless enemies with the same ruthlessness with which they themselves are targeted. Somehow, we’re supposed to feel good about this?

The fundamental problem with Monkey Man is that it’s convinced it has a righteous point of view while its moral center proves nebulous from start to finish. This applies to Kid’s showdowns with both the corrupt police chief and the Hindu nationalist politician running for Prime Minister. What should have been fun movie violence, with only very sporadic moments of minor humor, gets weighed down in South Asian politics with real-world implications that are muddled at best—a phrase that would be aptly applied to this movie as a whole.

The Hindu legend of the hanuman has more clarity than this movie.

Overall: C+

ONE LIFE

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B+
Cinematography: B
Editing: B+

More than eighty years on, with a seemingly infinite amount of books and movies and television shows produced about the Second World War, it’s easy to forget the stunning breadth of that global conflict. The holocaust, Hiroshima, Nagasaki—these are the most enduring symbols of World War, and they are really just the tip of the iceberg. Will we ever run out of new stories to tell about that period of history? Just last year, Oppenheimer asked us to consider the horrors we unleashed upon the Japanese, while also imagining where we would be had the Nazis managed to split the atom first.

And yet, there remain countless, only seemingly smaller stories left untold, a whole lot of them coming from places outside the locations that dominate typical World War II narratives, such as the United States, the United Kingdom, Germany, or Japan. The many places affected by both Japanese and German expansionism of the time are just as worth considering.

And that brings us, now, to One Life, a new film based on the amazing accomplishments of Sir Nicholas Winton (a wonderful Anthony Hopkins). Winton, a man of Jewish descent and son of immigrant parents who fled the Germany of World War I, traveled to Prague in late 1938 with the intent of assisting humanitarian efforts with refugees there. He led the impossible task of compiling lists of refugee children, most of them Jewish, getting them British visas with the help of his mother (played by Helena Bonham-Carter), lining up British foster parents to take the children in, and transporting them from Prague to London by train.

One Life focuses largely on Winton’s humility, cutting back and forth between Hopkins’s version in the late eighties, and the younger version working tirelessly on this project in 1938 and 1939, much of it later focused on logistics and paperwork back in the UK. The younger Winton is played by Johnny Flynn, exceptionally well cast as a man you could easily believe as a younger Anthony Hopkins. Hopkins, for his part, spends the first half or so of the film milling about his home, cleaning out his clutter, trying to come up with a use for a decades-old scrapbook of all these children, and otherwise just contemplating his past.

Winton’s stunning feat was saving 669 children from almost certain death; Germany invaded Czechoslovakia as expected, and rounded up virtually all of the parents of these children and sent them to concentration camps—the small number of survivors amounted to about a third the number of children Winton and his cohorts saved. This all went mostly unknown until Winton went looking for a place to conserve his scrapbook, and then a usually-silly British television program called That’s Life! picked up the story in the late eighties, reintroduced him to dozens of the former children he saved, and had the British press celebrating him as the “British Schindler.”

That phrase never actually gets used in One Life, somewhat wisely, despite the obvious parallels. The key difference is that Winton was among people who saw what was coming very early on, and took action immediately. All these children boarded trains, saying goodbye to their parents with the idea that they would return to them once it was safe to do so. There are many scenes of goodbyes on departing trains, and it’s impossible not to think about how this was actually the last time these kids ever saw their families. One Life is a somewhat unusual World War II movie in that it shows very little in the way of the grotesque violence of war—but is steeped in the widely understood expectation that it is coming. This was a time of panic, which those who kept their heads had to leverage into organized action.

The trailer to One Life gives way too much of it away, but doesn’t take away the effects of those later scenes that are sure to get the tears flowing. Anthony Hopkins is 86 years old, still working, and I watched this movie thinking about what a treasure he is—he was already 53 when he became truly famous as a deliciously wicked cannibal in The Silence of the Lambs, as iconic a role as there could ever be, and still has since embodied a stunning array of characters since. More often than not anymore, he plays a sweet old man, and Nicholas Winton would have to be in the hall of fame of such characters. Hopkins evidently really loves to work, because he’s been in plenty of films that aren’t as great as others, but he offers a performance here that is really worth a look, especially in the second half, when Winton shifts from silent rumination to getting caught up in the world’s discovery of his stunningly accomplished past.

As with any story like this, there is always the reminder of the far larger number of people who could not be saved than the number who could. In this case, just as the Nazis were arriving in Czechoslovakia, the last train was stopped, and more than a hundred children who were loaded on it did not get to leave. Winton never knew what became of them, but it’s easy to imagine. This is how we keep hope alive, however, by focusing on the 669 children he did help save, and the large number of them reunited with him 40 years later. It’s very difficult to watch those reunion scenes without weeping, and taking away from this movie the notion of hope and perseverance in the face of unimaginable horrors. Some people break through, and so does this movie.

Anthony Hopkins is a the top of his game leading yet another untold story deserving of remembrance.

Overall: B+

PERFECT DAYS

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B+
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

I guess you could say Perfect Days is a mood. In which case, your mileage may vary widely, depending on your frame of mind when you approach this film—if you approach it at all. This is another one of those movie where critics predictably adore it, and I know many people who would never have the patience for it.

Director and co-writer Wim Wenders focuses on Hirayama (a wonderful Kôji Yakusho, who is in nearly every frame of the film), an older man who spends his work days cleaning Tokyo toilets. The company he works for is apparently very literal when it comes to their business name: Hirayama’s jumpsuit is emblazoned with the words, in English, The Tokyo Toilet.

And to be clear: we spend a lot of time following Hirayama around, cleaning public toilets around the city. A more conventional film would spend a fair amount of time following him on his routine for, say, one day. And then the next day, maybe some variation. But Wenders really wants us to settle into Hirayama’s world, and we follow him around for multiple days, seemingly nothing of note happening to him. Any small variation that does occur—places he goes to eat, for example—prove to be just as much a part of his regular routine, just not necessarily on a daily cadence.

Watching this movie, I found myself thinking about the surprise #1 movie on the 2022 Sight and Sound list of the best movies of all time: Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. Both movies exist to make us feel as though we are living a person’s life with them. The key difference between Perfect Days is that we follow the character outside his home. He spends a lot of time driving through the mass of steel and pavement that is Tokyo—with a great many angles on the 2,080-foot Tokyo Skytree—and even more time cleaning toilets. But, many of these toilets are in city parks, small urban oases of lush greenery. And, in sharp contrast to Jeanne Dielman, whose point of view is ultimately bleak, Hirayama is a deeply contented man, living a simple life to which he is utterly suited. He is a man of so few words, he utters almost nothing in the film’s first 45 minutes.

And, over time, small details creep into notice. Other people passing through his orbit, using the toilets, indicate in very subtle ways how they think of him as dirty. When Hirayama finds a lost little boy and takes him by the hand to find his mother, the mother pays no attention to Hirayama and immediately disinfects the boy’s hands. I must admit to some ambivalence about this depiction, myself. I would also want to wash my hands immediately after, say, shaking the hand of a guy I knew just spent all day cleaning toilets.

Granted, there could be a cultural difference here. Hirayama cleans an astonishing number of single occupancy public toilets, and at least as depicted here, they look remarkably clean even before he gets to them. Whether this is typical of Japanese society or just a contrivance of this film, I have no idea. I just know that if these toilets were in the United States, they would look like a sewer exploded inside them within hours.

Hirayama indicates a tendency to notice and appreciate small pleasures, often while he’s doing his work. He takes photos, with an old camera that uses film, of branches overhead from his lunch bench in the park. He appreciates colorful reflective light under an overhanging roof of a toilet next to a busy street. The point is, if you are receptive to the specificity of what Perfect Days has to offer, it takes on a warmly compelling quality.

And, eventually, certain character details emerge. Hirayama’s young niece, Niko (Arisa Nakano), shows up unexpectedly, having run away from home. Hirayama is a man of so few words, he accepts this stoically, although he does call his sister soon enough. If this were an American movie, the niece would show up on day two. Here, the movie must be half over before she appears, interrupting Hirayama’s comfortable routine, but in a way that he accepts with passive grace.

Perfect Days is somewhat long, particularly at the pace it unfolds, at two hours and three minutes (counting the credits). But two key scenes occur in the last quarter of the film, and I am unconvinced that their impact would be quite as effective if we hadn’t spent all that time with him beorehand. One of them involves his sister, and one involves the ex-husband of the lady who runs one of the restaurants he frequents. Neither of them are major surprises—nothing in Perfect Days is jarring—but neither of the scenes that unfold are quite expected either. In a way, they just further enrich Hirayama’s world, whis is explicitly described to Niko as wholly separate from her mother’s. I found them to be unexpectedly, almost sneakily moving.

They don’t particularly change the mood, either. Perfect Days takes on a tone that evokes those days you spent out and about in a solitude you find yourself particularly enjoying. Hirayama has made that his way of life. We’ve just been granted the privilege of a brief visit into his world.

It’s a lovely day in the park. And in toilets.

Overall: B+