LAND

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

It didn’t occur to me until the credits were rolling that Land could have more meaning as a title than just the literal one. How intentional was that, I wonder? Things like that in movies are rarely a coincidence. In this case, Edee (Robin Wright) has moved into an abandoned cabin high in the mountains of Wyoming, to live through the grief of the loss of her family in absolute solitude. She has to learn to live off her new land, from gardening to hunting—but, this is also how she “lands” after the disorientation of her monumental loss. A little on the nose? Maybe.

For the first third or so of the movie, Land is mostly Edee on her own. If feels somewhat similar to a movie like the Robert Redford film All Is Lost (2013), which features only Redford onscreen in the entirety of the film’s run time. The key difference is that film is about a man learning of the hopelessness of his isolation on a wrecked sailboat in the middle of the ocean, and in Land Edee learns how to survive.

The Land script could have gone the All Is Lost direction, and in fact for a while it does. There is a moment when Edee basically gives up, and utters one of the more poignant lines in the film: “This isn’t working.” It’s not just that she is ill equipped to live off the grid as intended, but it’s also not taking her beyond her grief as she had hoped. And in the middle of her first winter, she collapses inside her freezing cabin and remains there, laying on the floor, until she happens to be discovered by a guy out hunting.

This is where Land makes the choice to go in a more hopeful direction, and makes it a slightly more uplifting movie—although to be clear, a whole lot of the movie has a gently melancholy tone, even as it is packed with truly gorgeous shots of the Wyoming mountains, over multiple seasons. Fall, winter spring: it’s all gorgeous. I would almost recommend this movie just for the cinematography. (It’s released on VOD today, but at the top-tier $19.99 price; I would also recommend waiting the requisite few weeks until the price drops to around six bucks.)

The man who discovers Edee is Miguel (Demián Bichir), who with the help of his nurse friend Alawa (Sarah Dawn Pledge), spends several days nursing her back to health—but only within her cabin, as Edee refuses to be taken to the hospital. Over time she develops an acquaintance with Miguel, once she reluctantly agrees to his offer to teach her how to hunt and trap animals. It’s a very gradual process over months, but this turns into a friendship, and thus veers Land away from being a movie focused exclusively on one person. Even through all of this, Edee still insists on otherwise total isolation, asking Miguel not to tell her any news of the outside world, which he respects.

Land is thus a film about grief, and about the healing powers of time, with a beautiful backdrop of nature. Robin Wright is not only playing an unusual part for her, but she is also the director of the film, an impressively strong feature directorial debut. The circumstances of Edee’s grief and loss could not be more different from current real-world concerns (although they are unfortunately common to how the world was before the pandemic, and likely will be again after it ends), but it may still be that this is the perfect time for it. Grief is relatable no matter what causes it, and Land could be in some part cathartic for anyone going through it.

Or hell, for anyone who just needs a good cry, it could be just the thing. Land isn’t what I would call a major tearjerker, but it did make me cry. There’s no question this movie won’t be for everyone—reviews have been somewhat mixed—but it worked for me. Even in its melancholy, Robin Wright’s screen presence has a soothing quality to it. It’s an effective ode to both those we have lost and those who make us want to keep living.

Another day on the mountain.

Overall: B+

THE WOLF OF SNOW HOLLOW

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

The Wolf of Snow Hollow is the kind of movie you realize leaves far too many questions unanswered the longer you think about it. That doesn’t make it any less enjoyable, really; it just means you have to let go of nitpicks if you want it to work. I had fun watching this movie, and don’t even mind having paid six bucks to watch it (it’s currently only available on VOD). It’s entertaining for what it is, and a perfectly brisk diversion for its brief, 84-minute run time (closer to 80 minutes when not counting the credits).

Written and directed by Jim Cummings, he also stars as John, the deadbeat, alcoholic dad who also works as the Sheriff in this tiny Utah mountain town whose local economy is tied to the skiing industry. He has an irritable ex-wife whose existence in this story is brief and incidental, and a 17-year-old daughter (Chloe East) who feels increasingly disconnected from him. His dad (Robert Forster in his final film role) is also a local policeman, who is in denial about his declining health and ability to do the job. Evidently the most understanding person in his life is fellow Detective Julia Robson (Riki Lindhome, always a welcome presence), who is also about the only person in the town who sides with John in his conviction that the cause of some sudden and gruesome murders is not a werewolf.

This essentially becomes the central mystery of the film itself: is the perpetrator a giant werewolf? Is this a genuinely supernatural story, or is it not? The editing and cinematography, when it comes to the “wolf attacks,” are pretty clever in retrospect, once this central question is answered. And although that question does get answered definitively, and I have no interest in spoiling it here, I still can’t decide whether or not I am disappointed in the answer.

That answer does tie back into the unanswered questions, however. A lot of The Wolf of Snow Hollow really tests suspension of disbelief. On the other hand, no one watches a movie about wolf-man attacks for its realism. Still, one thing I simply cannot let go is that in this movie there is a full moon two nights in a row. That does not happen! On the other hand, given the historical reasoning for murders happening during a full moon being the light making it easier to get the job done, one way off from a full moon will presumably do the trick just as well. Also, this movie has no consistent sense of time anyway, as so many attacks happen on so many full moons and you never get any sense of a month having passed. Which brings us back to my original point: just go with it.

Besides, in this case, what might make you want to watch this movie is its rather snarky sense of humor. John in particular is comically belligerent, even if his alcoholism moves into some fairly sad areas. This movie thus lacks a certain amount of tonal consistency, where in one scene it seems to take itself seriously and then the next it’s utterly preposterous. I got a few good chuckles out of it, though. And for a little horror-comedy like this, it also provides two or three authentic jump scares. That said, The Wolf of Snow Hollow is neither particularly funny nor particularly frightening; instead it moves between amusing and serviceably suspenseful.

It should still be given due credit, given its meager budget of $2 million. Jim Cummings stretches those dollars beyond expectations, making it a bit more like a little movie that could. It looks great, it delivers on what it promises, and wraps things up nicely. You could certainly do worse with eighty minutes.

Look if you want to succeed and gruesome killing you need some light.

Overall: B

MINARI

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

Minari is a minor miracle of a movie, something unlike anything else you have ever watched, and yet no less an American story than any other American film. It’s a incredibly specific story that focuses on one family of Korean immigrants attempting to start a farm in Arkansas, and still a reflection of the very story of countless setters who were an integral part of what made this country what it is. It’s a story of struggle and rebirth, of hope borne of adversity, an example of the American dream that shows it’s not as simple as this country wants to tell itself.

It certainly shows that the American dream has many faces, brought in from places all over the world: America is made of immigrants and always has been. In this case, it is largely inspired by the memories of writer-director Lee Isaac Chung’s own childhood—hence its setting in the 1980s—and it is so well constructed, all of its threads so beautifully woven together, it is easily one of the best films of the year.

One of my favorite things about it is how it effortlessly avoids clichés or stereotypes. And I don’t just mean in regards to the Korean-American family at the story’s center; this applies every bit as much to the locals in the rural part of Arkansas this family moves to. There’s a certain irony to the likelihood that if this movie were written and directed by yet another white guy out of Hollywood, it would have depicted the Arkansas natives into caricatures. Chung treats every one of his characters with respect and humanity, even the crazy-religious man (Will Patton) hired by Jacob (Steven Yeun) to help on his Korean vegetable farm. This is a guy who spontaneously breaks out into speaking in tongues, whose Sunday “church” involves dragging a crucifix down a long road every weekend—someone the local white kids make fun of. Chung presents this man matter-of-factly, even as Jacob occasionally has his patience tested by his antics, and never plays him for laughs.

There’s something perfect about the timing of this movie’s release (currently only available on VOD), in the midst of a spike in anti-Asian violence. You might expect to see racism as part of Jacob and his family’s struggles in Arkansas, but that is not at all a part of this story—suggesting it was also not much of Chung’s real-life family’s story either. No doubt it was present, but it’s not the point of this particular story, nor does it have to be part of the story of every ethnic minority’s family. Instead, Minari is simply about the hope and bravery of the immigrant experience, the idea of coming to America for a better life than was offered in their native land, and the challenge of making their way in a new and entirely different land. Basically, the story of every immigrant since before the birth of this country—and this offers a framework for easy empathy. Minari tells a story so tender, and moving, and sad, and funny, it’s impossible to think of these people as “other.” They are every bit as American as any of us.

The performances are excellent all around, with Steven Yeun as Jacob and Yeri Han as Monica, a married couple whose relationship is tested by the decision to uproot their lives in California, where they could not keep up with the pacing demands of a job sexing chickens. They buy a mobile home in a large tract of land which Jacob converts into a farm. It must be said, however, that the performances of their two children, Noel Cho as Anne and Alan S. Kim as little David, is astonishing. It’s always impressive when child actors are found who are not overly precious or precocious, and these kids have a naturalistic screen presence that makes them irresistible. Alan S. Kim, at seven years old, is almost unbearably adorable, but he doesn’t just skate by on his looks. He’s a talented little actor.

And all that’s without yet even mentioning Yuh-jung Youn as Soonja, the grandmother who comes to live with them and give lonely Monica some company and assistance with the kids. David keeps telling her “You’re not a real grandma” because she doesn’t do the expected grandmotherly duties like bake cookies and has a foul mouth, but it’s because of these things that she might be my favorite character.

As you might expect, certain tragedies befall this family, but never in the ways you might fear or think you can predict. I spent a fair amount of Minari particularly afraid that something really horrible would happen and turn it into a major tear jerker, but as it turns out this isn’t really that kind of movie. It’s not really any kind of movie—it has that in common with Nomadland: these movies could not be more different from each other, yet they are fundamentally their own thing, and yet both are also quintessentially American. They yield the floor to certain populations not typically given voice in American cinema, a sad irony indeed. But Minari is rich with detailed specifics of experience, beautifully shot in lush Southern wilderness, a window into lives that are steeped in both Korean and American tradition. And that blending of tradition is the case for all of us if we just go back enough generations.

“Minari,” by the way, is a water celery, an easily grown Korean vegetable that Soonja grows on the banks of a nearby creek after spreading seeds there. The more you think about Minari the film, the more you consider how much of it can be regarded as metaphor, such as in this case, putting down roots in a new place. By the end of this family’s story, they are collectively a phoenix rising from literal ashes, symbols of perseverance against the odds. It’s a beautiful meditation on the resilience of humanity and the strength of collective resolve.

Hope will be tested and it will win.

Overall: A

ANOTHER ROUND

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

Talk about ethical gray areas. It’s nearly impossible to imagine Another Round being made as the same movie by an American director, about American characters. Every culture has its own rather specific history with alcohol, after all, and this film’s original title in Danish was Druk, which essentially translates to Drunk, or if you plug it into Google Translate, it comes up as Binge Drinking. And here in the States, changing the title to Another Round feels a little like sanitizing the subject matter.

The basic concept is this: four middle aged men, all friends who are teachers at a high school, take it upon themselves to become both researchers and subjects in an alcohol-related “experiment”: Norwegian psychiatrist Finn Skårderud theorized that having a constant level of alcohol in your system—specifically, a Blood Alcohol Concentration of 0.05%—leaves you more creative and relaxed. These four men, discussing it over a 40th birthday dinner, decide they will put the theory to the test. Martin (Mads Mikkelsen), the primary protagonist of the film, is hesitant at first, but realizing his life is very much in a rut, ultimately decides to go along.

They create certain rules. Perhaps most amazingly, they drink only during the day, leaving themselves time in the evenings to sober up in order to be “refreshed” the next day—which means starting in the mornings and maintaining their 0.05% BAC right through their work days. At a high school.

This being an international feature, one of the many interesting things to consider here is the differing attitude toward alcohol consumption from one society to another. In Demmark the legal BAC limit for drinking and driving is 0.05%, as compared to 0.08% in the United States—and yet, in Denmark the legal drinking age is 16. (This does get nuanced; they can purchase beer or wine at 16, but must be 18 to drink in restaurants and bars, or to purchase liquor—still lower than the U.S. age of 21.) Another Round doesn’t get into the weeds about this stuff, given it’s made for a Danish audience already well familiar. But these are important distinctions for international audiences, particularly those from the United States, as is the average overall alcohol consumption in Denmark, which does get some reference in the script. Martin’s wife, at one point, says to him, “I couldn’t care less if you drink with your friends. This entire country drinks like maniacs anyway.”

And this seems to be essentially what director and co-writer Thomas Vinterberg seems to be getting at, although his film is never particularly judgmental about alcohol consumption. The basic message seems to be “everything in moderation,” and the idea of moderation is where this “social experiment” goes off the rails. It takes some time to get there, though, and curiously, Another Round is bookended by opening and ending sequences that feature excessive public drinking, in both cases presented as joyous, jubilant occasions.

Granted, the opening sequence features a minor incident of drinking school kids going a bit too far, raising concerns among the high school faculty. The immediate consensus among the staff, in response to any ideas of limiting the binge drinking, much of which is tied very deeply with local tradition, basically amounts to “good luck with that.” And shortly thereafter, the aforementioned four friends make their decision to conduct this social experiment. What effects might there be on their professional and social lives? We get occasional title cards with short notes from a prospective “research paper,” along with regular updates on where exactly their BAC level is. They are so mindful of the details and control of this experiment—which inevitably gets sloppy, whether they want it to or not—that they buy home breathalizer gadgets, so they can take regular readings on themselves.

Where a story like this goes is very much dependent on context, however, and the fact that these characters are all written as high school teachers is likely no accident. This creates a kind of risk that would not be present at other jobs, such as the possibility of students getting their hands on their teachers’ alcohol, in some cases by accident, in others on purpose. One of the teachers not only suggests a stressed out kid take a couple of shots to calm himself before a test, but he even provides it. Another Round never depicts any consequences for this, or even makes any kind of judgment call about it. There’s something you won’t see in American films.

That said, Another Round absolutely does take all four of these characters into a space of consequences, just as a result of indefinite day drinking, with varying degrees of severity. “Professional and social negative effects,” as the verbiage in the ongoing “paper” puts it. Marriages are put to the test, and one of them slips over the threshold into alcoholism. What I like about this movie’s approach is that it doesn’t bother being declarative in any way that applies to all people: this doesn’t turn everyone into an alcoholic, but rather, perhaps, unveils those who are more susceptible to that path.

The pacing of Another Round is slower than we are generally used to in the U.S., but I found the editing to be exactly as it should be; the only technical aspect I found occasionally distracting was the exclusively handheld cinematography. If you find the concept itself compelling, then I would consider it worth watching—the complicating factor there being that it’s not on any streaming service but only available at the moment to purchase on VOD; I paid $6.99 to watch it on Prime Video, and although I would not have considered it worth any more than that, I think it’s a fair price. It’s easy to imagine that other opinions on that will vary.

From an American perspective, it’s the cultural differences, as well as where cultural norms parallel, that make this movie more compelling. There’s also the ever-present contextualization of the pandemic: Another Round proved to be a cinema sensation in its native Denmark, even with theaters at 50% capacity. It had its biggest domestic box office its opening weekend in seven years, but how much of that was just because of how few other new movies there were to choose from at the time? I was very impressed by this film, but there is no universe in which it would be a runaway success in the States. This is why recommending it in the U.S. feels like it might need certain caveats. If you’re someone who enjoys foreign films, who doesn’t mind reading subtitles, who doesn’t need the plot to unfold at breakneck speed, then it’s worth a look.

Mads and friends: about to get maintenance drunk.

Overall: B+

THE UNITED STATES VS. BILLIE HOLIDAY

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

There’s a moment in The United States vs. Billie Holiday, maybe two thirds of the way through, in which the camera closes in on the face of star Andra Day, playing the title character, singing her signature song “Strange Fruit.” We see her perform the entire song—three haunting verses about the lynching of Black people in 1930s America—while she never breaks eye contact with us, the viewers. The scene has an unforgettably confrontational power to it, much as Billie Holiday herself had in the era, as she insisted on singing the song live in spite of government pressure not to do so.

If only the rest of the movie had that kind of power. This latest offering by director Lee Daniels is a little too preoccupied with sporadic artistic flourishes that make little sense, editing meant to resemble really old stock footage at distractingly inconsistent moments, and cinematography that briefly slips into black and white for only a few seconds at a time. Almost as if it’s a trick to fit more into the film’s already-long 130 minutes, in the second half we get several montage sequences that seem only to serve as narrative shortcuts.

A biopic is always better when it focuses on one specific time or one specific element of a person’s life—this was precisely what kept Lee Daniels’s 2013 film The Butler from quite achieving greatness. The United States vs. Billie Holiday, however, attempts to have it both ways, narrowing focus on that song “Strange Fruit,” but still covering her life through two different decades.

The end result is something that lacks focus or narrative cohesion, with Daniels’s gaze into Holiday’s life often turning away from the specificity of that song. The U.S. government is obsessed with silencing her by any means necessary—a frequent theme in films of the past year or so, reflecting an unfortunately frequent theme of the U.S. government for decades—and they often use Holiday’s heroine addiction against her. In some cases they literally framed her, couching their actions in the “war on drugs,” illustrating how very old that naive and misguided notion really is. This might have made a better film if it were more explicitly about that exploitation, but instead it’s a film that doesn’t quite know what it wants to be about. All of these things are worthy of attention in film, but they also need a dramatic center.

If anything makes The United States vs. Billie Holiday worth the time, though, it’s Andra Day, in her first starring role, in which she also songs a bunch of Billie Holiday songs incredibly well. The film would be truly dull affair without her in it, as she’s the only character given much in the way of nuance, all the other parts being too small to allow for performance to rise above Suzan Lori-Parks’s relatively aimless script. Holiday moves from one relationship with an abusive man to another, the most complicated being that with FBI agent Jimmy Fletcher (Moonlight’s Trevante Rhodes), the one you could argue was the least directly abusive but still doesn’t treat her right.

Fletcher, as it happens, is one of multiple supporting characters who are fictionalized. There’s nothing inherently bad about that, as it depends on how it’s done. For instance, The United States vs. Billie Holiday is also given a loose structure that barely holds together, wherein the story is told in flashback from a radio interview Holiday is giving to “Reginald Lord Devine,” also fictional, played by Leslie Jordan with a wig of curly white hair with so much body that at first I thought the character was supposed to be an old lady. The movie only returns to this interview so infrequently that you nearly forget that’s where we started, and it leaves you wondering why they bothered with the conceit at all.

The great Natasha Lyonne also appears as Tallulah Bankhead, with whom Holiday was romantically involved. Lyonne is only in a few scenes, and although I would not suggest that more white people need to be included in a Black person’s story, it seems odd to cast Lyonne in this part if her talents are just going to be underused. Someone else needs to give Natasha Lyonne better roles, in other movies. If nothing else, Daniels could have delved deeper into Holiday’s open bisexuality, as it exists here exclusively as yet another thing for the government to attempt using against her.

That said, The United States vs. Billie Holiday had every chance to be better, and it just overall slightly misses the mark. It tells a story that is too broad when so much of Billie Holiday’s story requires pointed focus, but at least it has a memorable performance at its center. Here’s hoping this jump starts Andra Day’s career, and she gets starring roles in better movies herself.

Just hearing her sing is the best thing.

Overall: B-

THE MAURITANIAN

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

The Mauritanian has the potential to enrage, for all the right reasons, and for some reason it refuses to go the distance, unfolding with a kind of caution that seems designed to placate viewers who might otherwise think it goes “too far.” And who needs that kind of blandness? There’s a lot of talent at play here, particularly onscreen, and somehow director Kevin Macdonald turns it into something that might be moderately impressive for a standard cable original movie, but falls short of meeting the standards of cinema.

Oh sure, I’m being a bit of a film snob about this. That doesn’t change how much better this movie could have been, yet doesn’t bother to be. It’s the true story of Mohamedou Ould Salahi, a Mauritanian man who was detained in his home country on suspicion of involvement in the 9/11 terrorist plots, and then held at Guantanamo Bay without charge for 14 years.

And this man’s story should infuriate anyone who claims to hold what are supposedly American ideals. Part of my disappointment with The Mauritanian is how little it actually leans into the outrageousness of his treatment—and, by extension, the treatment of countless other detainees in that facility. This film leans hard on this injustice, and offers a window into the unbelievable inhumanity of it. But, offering a window also counts as holding back, lest it make viewers too uncomfortable. I’m not saying a movie like this should subject us to overlong sequences of explicit torture, but it certainly shouldn’t coddle its audience with kid gloves either.

I spent most of my time watching this movie thinking one of two things. First, the dialogue and plotting are trite and contrived enough to be borderline insulting to its subjects, especially given the story it’s telling. Second, the horrors it touches on are widely known to be the tip of the iceberg, eliciting flashbacks to the fury unleashed by the George W. Bush administration. These are the things conveniently forgotten by those who blithely said “Bush doesn’t seem so bad now” after a Trump presidency. Specifically military policies under Bush were every bit as horrible as the worst things perpetrated by those working for Trump. And, by the way: it should not be ignored that Mohamedou was kept detained for another seven years after he won his case, thanks to appeal by the Obama administration.

The Mauritanian barely touches on these things, opting instead to focus on Mohamedou’s legal defense and telling one man’s story. That’s a respectable enough approach, when the movie isn’t too scared of truly challenging its viewers. The very subject here is challenging, so why be so tentative about getting to the heart of the matter?

If anything elevates The Mauritanian, it’s the performances. Tahar Rahim is excellent in the title role, making it almost possible to ignore the transparently formulaic nature of his lines. Jodie Foster is a welcome presence as his activist lawyer Nancy Hollander (also a real person); Benedict Cumberbatch is impressively Southern as prosecutor Stuart Couch; and Shailene Woodley is honestly somewhat wasted as Hollander’s assistant on the case. But, Rahim is easily the best thing in this movie, indicating a capacity for joy and passion even in the face of nearly hopeless circumstances—that being one thing the film has not contrived, as evidenced by footage of the real Mohamedou during the end credits.

I just wish the movie overall had more guts. It’s a strange irony for a movie whose characters are profiles in courage to have virtually none of its own. Mohamedou Ould Slahi published a best-selling memoir about his time at Guantanamo Bay, and there is little doubt that his own account was far more memorable to its audience than this movie could ever hope to be.

Get ready for moderate disappointment.

Overall: B-

FREAKY

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

Slasher movies and body-swap movies are both as old as time, it seems, at this point . . . or at least forty to fifty years. Psycho , arguably the grandfather to all slasher films, goes back to 1960 and has been imitated ad nauseam. The original Freaky Friday was released in 1976, was remade in 2003, has had a couple of TV iterations, and featured a concept either ripped off or cleverly tweaked in countless other movies. It would seem there’s nothing left to do with either of these genres.

Think again! Enter Freaky, which drops the second word of that original body-swap title and conveniently makes for a perfect slasher movie title mashup with the body swap concept. It’s almost surprising nobody thought of this sooner. And to be honest, that clever conceptual twist almost makes the movie worth watching on its own.

Even better are the two bodies that get swapped: a serial killer and a teenage girl in high school. To be frank, the script, by Michael Kennedy and Christopher Landon, leaves a lot to be desired. The opening sequence features shades of the original Scream, only without any of that movie’s satirical wit—we just see several teenagers get dispatched in semi-innovative ways by a giant brute in a mask. Here is villain name is coined “The Butcher,” and Christopher Landon, who also directs, goes out of his way to establish long-worn slasher movie tropes. It would work better if it had any satirical edge of its own, rather than playing as just as corny as any other subpar slasher movie.

What absolutely saves Freaky, then, is the inspired casting: Vince Vaughn, a truly giant and imposing man, as The Butcher—this guy may have an established record in comedy, but he easily slips into the role of the creep. (He played Norman Bates in the 1998 remake of Psycho, after all.) The thing is, if Vaughn stayed “The Butcher” for the entirety of this movie, it would be absolutely forgettable and easily written off. It’s when The Butcher stabs a high school girl with a cursed antique dagger and swaps bodies with her that he truly shines, with a flair of empathy for teenagers, never playing it campy, the ample humor all coming from the fish-out-of-water context.

Vaughn isn’t even the first grown man to play a teenage girl surprisingly well: Jack Black did it first in Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017). These are two very different teeange girls, though: like any category of human, they contain multitudes. Millie, for her part, is reserved and meek, still grieving the loss of her dad a year before—a plot device a little too heavy for a movie so otherwise enamored with ridiculously gruesome murders and gallows humor, but it serves as some approximation of a launching pad for Millie’s character development.

Millie, by the way, is played by Pokémon: Detective Pikachu’s Kathryn Newton, and I don’t want her to be completely overshadowed by Vince Vaughn (both literally and figuratively), as when she plays The Butcher, she is rather delightful in her own right. Millie is far less interesting when playing herself—the same being the case, of course, when Vaugh is The Butcher, who is just a raving psychopath who doesn’t get even a shred of his own backstory. That would detract from the novelty of the film’s concept, I guess? In any case, it’s when Vaughn plays Millie, and Newton plays The Butcher, that Freaky is fun as hell. Even the dialogue gets much better.

We’re also treated with a delicious supporting appearance by Alan Ruck, who plays a hardass teacher who is an asshole for no good reason (honestly, his behavior towards Millie strains believability). He really exists only to be a sacrifice to one of the film’s more entertainingly gruesome turns, and on that front he does not disappoint.

Millie also has two best friends, a Black girl and a gay white boy, Nyla and Josh (Misha Osherovich and Celeste O’conner), whose respective race and sexuality evidently only exist for Josh utter the honestly kind of hacky line, “You’re Black and I’m gay: we’re dead!” Still, they wind up sharing more screen time with Vince Vaughn than they do Kathryn Newton, and the juxtaposition never really gets old. In fact, Freaky doesn’t wast too much time before Millie convinces Nyla and Josh that it’s her inside that huge man’s body, albeit after a pretty funny scene where they quite understandably think he’s the town killer. The somewhat lame twist at the end is slightly closer to a waste of time, but still offers a satisfying conclusion for Millie.

The truth is, even though Freaky has a ton of potential it’s frankly just too lazy to realize, I still had a great time watching it. This movie still offers everything you’d want from either a slasher movie or a body swap movie, creating something novel and entertaining just by mashing them together. Both Vince Vaughn and Kathryn Newton give performances that are better than the movie deserves, and in so doing make it a fun couple of hours.

Some teenage girls, you have to watch your back.

Oerall: B

SUPERNOVA

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

There’s something pleasantly naturalistic about writer-director Harry Macqueen’s dialogue in Supernova—at least, until it turns inevitably heartbreaking. He immerses us into the decades-long relationship between Sam and Tusker (Colin Firth and Stalney Tucci), introducing us to them as they drive an RV through the beautiful English countryside, embarking on a sort of last-hurrah road trip. The first thing we see is them bickering like an old married couple—instantly reminding me of my own grandparents, who spent nearly two decades of their retirement traveling full-time with a travel trailer—because that is essentially what they are. And the things they talk about are very typical and trivial, but it’s so well written, and instantly gives us a sense of them as individuals, that it is both compelling and a kick to listen to. Again, just like it had been with my own grandparents.

Sam and Tusker do not have children, though, and thus no grandchildren either; they do have a preteen niece, who clearly looks up to them, whom we meet when they briefly visit the house of Sam’s sister (Pippa Haywood). They have a dog, who travels with them, and also a bit of am emotional albatross: they are taking this trip with the full knowledge that it will be their last while Tusker is fully lucid. Tusker has been diagnosed with early-onset dementia.

So yes, this is another one of those movies about an older couple dealing with memory loss. The key difference here is that the couple in question is gay, although that fact is almost entirely incidental to this story. And it is indeed heartening to see more movies about topics that are not inherently related to sexuality but the main characters just happen to be gay. It also helps that Firth and Tucci are very close friends, and though the actors are straight, their closeness almost certainly informs their performances.

The more pertinent difference between Supernova and other movies like it is how the entire story stays within the framework of the person losing his memory still having most of his memory. This is the story of a man who knows full well that his memory is slipping, and is tortured by it.

And Macqueen allows us to spend a lot of time with them before the the emotional turmoil becomes fully clear. This is an effective storytelling strategy, given how much fun it is to hang out with Sam and Tusker. Anyone would be so lucky to have them as their uncles—or brother and brother-in-law, or whatever. Supernova gives us a sense of what is getting lost, before the loss has fully occurred. This is very much a drama, and even a bit of a tearjerker by the end, but you’ll also get several good chuckles out of just hanging out with them for a while first.

A whole lot of the narrative follows them as they drive along English country roads, offering some beautiful cinematography, wide open spaces to contrast with the intimacy between Sam and Tusker. Not much in the way of sex per se, but with the exception of a surprise party sequence, the vast majority of Supernova is just these two main actors. And they carry the film with exemplary strength and sensitivity.

Things do take a slightly more dramatic turn in the end, but not enough to keep this film from succeeding as a quiet and moving meditation on love and loss, and particularly grieving someone who is not quite gone yet. Anyone who has dealt with dementia of any kind in their family can relate. Supernova might feel a bit to slight for some, but it had more than enough depth to keep me moved.

There but for the grace of stardust go I.

Overall: B+

I CARE A LOT

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

Let’s start with the things I love about I Care a Lot, now streaming on Netflix, as there’s a few. I love that three of the four principal characters are women, including the protagonist. I love that said women are just as shady as characters as any of the “Russian mob” men they get mixed up with: we need more nuanced woman villains! I love that Diane Wiest is cast in a key part, as we don’t get to see her enough.

On the other hand, we still don’t get to see Diane Wiest enough, even in this movie, and I don’t love that. She features more prominently in the first half than in the second, and I spent too much time hoping her character would be the one to get the last laugh in the end, only to be disappointed. Jennifer Peterson is a fascinating character, and I wish writer-director J Blakeson had given her more agency. She’s really the only character in this movie who deserves to take charge of her own fate, and she winds up being the only one denied it.

I’ll still credit Blakeson for how much agency he gives Marla Grayson (Rosamund Pike, effectively playing her as an unsettlingly amoral person), regardless of how villainous she is. This is a woman running a practice that is legal but, to put it euphemistically, “morally dubious” as they mark elderly people to be deemed unable to care for themselves. Marla gets courts to grand her guardianship over these senior citizens, places them into assisted living facilities, and sells off all their assets.

I’ll even credit Blakeson for casting Peter Dinklage as Roman Lunyov, her most direct nemesis and Jennifer Peterson’s mob boss son. Nothing in the script indicates that Roman is a little person, and nothing in the dialogue is changed to make a single reference to his size. He just exists as another person here, albeit a clearly evil, criminal one who wields a lot of power. In someone else’s hands, they might make his lifelong resentment of being marginalized a part of his psychological portrait—it certainly was in Game of Thrones—but here, it’s completely incidental, and only Dinklage’s performance has any relevance to his presence in the cast. (And he’s very good.)

On the other hand, I have somewhat more mixed feelings about the choice to make Marla, and her partner/lover/accomplice (Eiza González), lesbians. Sure, this detail is also incidental and does not hinge on the plot in any way. Still, the slight sting of history remains, where far too many films have made their most horrible characters gay.

All that said, for much of I Care a Lot, we are treated to a riveting game of cat and mouse between Roman and Marla, who surprises him by being every bit his match. This is a surprise to him because he is part of a very powerful mob family, and makes the mistake of underestimating Marla as a small-time crook. Marla is an incredibly dynamic, intelligent woman who refuses to be intimidated by the men who assume they can easly shut her down. This makes her an unusually compelling character, even as an awful person herself, especially as Rosamund Pike plays her.

And, no disrespect to Peter Dinklage—who is reliably great—I just wish that cat-and-mouse game had rather been between Marla and Diane Wiest’s Jennifer. This is one of the problems with I Care a Lot, as even though it gives women (good or bad) far more credit than most movies do, at the same time it gives the elderly no credit or agency whatsoever. In this universe, every old person is helpless and vulnerable, a potential victim for prey. Even when Jennifer begins to realize, and deviously delight in the fact that Marla has gotten in over her head by involving her son, that remains the context: she is dependent on her son. I want to see the movie where Jennifer is the clever one.

I suppose you could argue it’s just too easy not to be happy with these things, especially when it’s a movie that has so much going for it—and, I Care a Lot has a lot. It does make several narrative leaps of faith over probability, but I won’t spend much time nitpicking over that; what crime thriller doesn’t? I can say this much for the film: it delivers on the promise of the genre, being plenty suspenseful, and sprinkled with dark humor, throughout. I used to gauge whether I’d recommend a movie based on whether I thought it was worth going to the theater to see. Would this one have been? It would have for me; I’m just not sure it would be for others. Lucky for you, you can already fire it right up from your couch. From there, it’s plenty worth your time.

Strong, nuanced women, all of them awful . . . it’s great!

Overall: B

NOMADLAND

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

Why do I love Nomadland so much? It’s hard to say . . . and maybe it being hard to say is why I love it so much.

It’s hard not to love a movie that pushes the form into new territory, does something few, if any, other movies have done. The Harry Potter series followed along as a bunch of kids grew up, and also a bunch of adults got older, over some eleven years. Boyhood took the concept to a further extreme by having the cast meet a few days each year for twelve years, then edited the footage together to create a story for a single movie, in which we watch the characters age in real time. We could even bring in the MCU here, noting that Marvel managed to produce over twenty movies over just over a decade, which collectively tell a single, overall story.

Nomadland pushes the medium of film into new territory in both smaller and newer ways. Granted, it’s not unprecedented to blend real-life people into a fictionalized narrative (consider the excellent 2011 film Bernie, which tells a true story through interviews with real people who were there, but actors depicting the story they tell). Nomadland blends them in a uniquely seamless way, though, with the vast majority of the supporting characters being real-life nomads, essentially playing themselves: they all use their real first names in the film.

There’s an immersive element to Nomadland that is hard to shake, the fact that director Chloé Zhao and stars Frances McDormand and David Strathairn actually living in vans themselves during production. This approach clearly elevates the final product, in which it is impossible to tell how much is actually scripted. This is based on the 2017 book by Jessica Bruder, but the film’s production inserts itself into the lives of these so-called nomads as they actually exist. Many of them take periodic seasonal jobs in order to fund an otherwise incredibly minimalist life, including work at Amazon fulfillment centers. (Interesting that the film is not streaming on Prime Video, but rather on Hulu.)

There’s not much plot to speak of; Nomadland is instead much more of a portrait: of both an alternative way of life, and of a particular character. The woman Frances McDormand plays, Fern, is a childless widow who is from Empire, Nevada, a town which emptied after its lifeblood and main employer United States Gypsum closed down its mine in the wake of the Great Recession in 2011. This is the year in which Nomadland is set, with Zhao filming McDorman’s travels through seven states over several months.

I can’t help but wonder how much total footage Zhao got. The final result it superbly edited, beautifully shot, creating a portrait that is ultimately quite moving, offering an understanding of how people might choose to live this way. There is an anti-capitalist undertone to some of it, but mostly it’s just people living their lives with a kind of freedom most of us only dream of. McDormand embodies the role of Fern as well as any she’s ever done. Strathairn plays Dave as a man whose interest in Fern never quite moves into romantic territory—the only romance here is with the open road—and whose prioritization of nomadic life shifts along with his own familial relationships.

Zhao subtly illustrates how this life is not for everyone, but for some, it’s everything. For several, it’s a fitting last act to their life. Fern is a bit younger than a lot of them, and when she runs into certain people from Empire, they worry about her far more than they necessarily need to, thinking of her as “homeless” when that is not technically true. In the meantime, Fern learns many lessons in the ways of her new life, some as trial by fire, some as favors from the people she meets along the way.

There’s a hint of sweetness to the overall arc of Nomadland, as Zhao finds to need to find any of the nomads to be sinister or predatory. Instead, she finds a very cooperative society of travelers, each of them with their own story, none of them boring. The fact that almost all of them appear just as themselves means that there is no element of “Hollywood glamor” in any of these depictions, and McDormand fits right in among them. This is a woman who is the epitome of aging gracefully, a beacon of naturalistic beauty with no obsession over youth. Fern is just a woman who wants to move on, to keep moving on.

“See you down the road,” they say, as a means of never saying a final goodbye. It’s the basic vibe of Nomadland, and it’s the perfect sentiment with which to leave us.

It’s the journey . . . there is no destination.

Overall: A-