A HERO

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

I have seen and loved Asghar Farhadi’s films in the past, starting with A Separation in 2012 (A), then The Past in 2014 (B+), and The Salesman in 2017 (A). Apparently he shifted from Iran to Spain for a 2018 film starring Penélope Cruz and Javier Bardem called Everybody Knows, which I never saw, somewhat surprisingly. While The Past had connections to Iran but was set in France, both A Separation and The Salesman had elements of subtle revelation about Iranian culture and daily living, and A Hero largely returns to that. Apparently, a person can be sent to jail for being too far in debt, and the debtor is the person given the power to choose whether said person is set free without the debt having been paid.

That’s a big part of the story this time, and it just didn’t hook me the way Farhadi’s previous films have. Generally speaking, it has about the same, relatively impressive production value, but with this one I’m not quite seeing the same greatness as a slew of other critics are. Maybe I’m just not as moved by a “modest morality tale.”

Farhadi, who once again both writes and directs, does weave elements of social media consequences through the narrative here in a way he hasn’t quite done before. A Hero did hold my attention for its 127-minute run time, yet again presenting Iranian people to an international audience with a deeply human eye.

Maybe I’m just missing something here, but I couldn’t quite get my head around the motivations of the central character, Rahim Soltani (Amir Jadidi), who spends a lot of time smiling at oddly uncomfortable moments. He has a young woman who hopes to marry when he is released from prison, who brings him a handbag full of gold coins with the hopes of selling them for enough cash to pay his debtor. This first attempt at getting himself out of jail happens during a two-day leave from the jail, and starts a chain reaction of sorts that only further complicates his position, instead of solving it.

The title, A Hero, refers to Rahim’s ultimate decision, after discovering the gold is not worth enough to bail him out, to return them to the owner of the bag. This woman is only seen once, and Rahim himself never even sees her; the exchange happens with his sister, and the original owner of the gold coins is never seen again. Rahim makes certain choices to engineer the spread, through word of mouth, of his “good deed,” which even gets to the point of his being interviewed by the local news. But, as his story is revealed to be increasing levels of shady or suspicious, particularly in the mind of his debtor, Rahim gets more desperate and makes self-destructive choices. Some of them, unfortunately, are inspired by a desire to endear himself to a young son who happens to have a stutter—ultimately another key plot point in the proceedings.

All of this is well and good, except although suspicions surface on the part of the woman to whom the gold was returned, Rahim tries in vain to find her in an effort to convince a potential employer that his story is true, and he cannot find her. This is the one element of A Hero that I remain stuck on. I want to know more about that lady, but instead she exists only as a transparent plot device. One could argue, perhaps, that it’s beside the point of the film, but to me it feels like an unnecessarily glaring loose end that’s never tied up.

That said, the performances and particularly the direction are solid, and A Hero fits well into Farhadi’s history of films with little action but great tension through narrative momentum alone. I don’t regret having watched it, I enjoyed it, and it’s a worthwhile couple of hours on Prime Video—it’s just not Farhadi’s best. His last Iranian film, The Salesman, is notably superior, and is also available on Prime Video. I recommend watching that one instead. But, if you like it, watching A Hero next might still be worthwhile.

Rahim hopes to present himself to his son as A Hero.

Overall: B

THE VELVET QUEEN

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

Maybe this is hyperbole, because I have seen so many movies in my lifetime, and even so many documentaries, that I can’t possibly remember them all, so who knows if this claim is accurate. Still, right now at least, I am convinced I have never seen a documentary more beautifully shot than The Velvet Queen.

It all takes place in the largely unexplored Tibetan plateau, with renowned French wildlife photographer Vincent Munier, who has taken French writer and traveler Sylvain Tesson with him on his latest expedition. Their goal, here, is to get rare photos and footage of the elusive snow leopard. Spoiler alert! They get their shots, but not until after weeks of hiking and searching, in weather averaging between 3° and 14°F. Along the way, they get plenty of photos and footage of other fascinating, majestic, or also otherwise elusive wildlife, from birds to Pallas’s cats to foxes to a rare sighting of a Tibetan Brown Bear family.

It should be noted that there is no sense of frustration whatsoever in Munier and Tesson’s endeavors. It takes weeks for them to catch glimpses of a snow leopard, and yet they find joy in the hunt itself. And I don’t mean hunting to kill—just to observe and record. These men, who are both in their mid-forties, have a passion and joy in what they do that is infectious. It never seems to matter what the interest is, it’s always fun to see people do what they truly love.

As such, in contrast to most movies, and even most documentaries, The Velvet Queen features no conflict to speak of. There’s a central challenge, which is the search for the snow leopard, but that’s distinctly different. We’re not watching these people with any hope that they “overcome” any obstacles, because there are none to speak of. A lot of what they endure is astonishing; I’d be whining like a big baby within minutes in those conditions. These guys are as happy as pigs in shit the entire time.

They also have a bit of a relationship with local rural Tibetan farmers, who have young children nearly as fascinated with Munier and Tesson as they are with the wildlife. We see them interact only briefly, in maybe three brief scenes. In one, Tesson is attempting to ask an eight-year-old boy a question, using a Tibetan language book. This is the only time either of these guys show any real frustration, and even this scene is filled with joy.

“Joy” is a somewhat tricky word to use for this film, actually, because for Munier and Tesson, emotion that intense comes in short bursts. Most of the time, a better word might be serene. We get voiceover narration of journal entries, and sometimes see conversations between them, about how contented they are just to pick a spot in the wilderness, sit still, and wait, for hours. As they do this, they get the photos and footage that packs the film that is The Velvet Queen, usually of wildlife but often just of landscapes, all of it stunning and gorgeous. Sometimes, you think you’re just looking at landscape and then you’re informed of the camouflaged wildlife you didn’t even realize was in the frame. In one incredible still shot, the wildcat peering just over the ridge of a rocky mountainside wasn’t even spotted until the photo was reexamined later.

The only slightly odd thing about this film is how it’s presented as though it’s just Munier and Tesson on a trip by themselves, except of course, there is someone else there holding the camera. It’s not just footage we see the two of them filming themselves, and we often get the two of them onscreen together. Title cards at the end of the film note that it was filmed “with a small crew,” and with a crucial goal of not interfering with any of the wildlife—they use wide angle lenses from quite far off, and often discuss how the animals still know they’re there. They never discuss the crew during the film, though, and I often found myself thinking about them.

Whoever shot this movie, they did a spectacular job. The still shots and live footage alone make The Velvet Queen worth seeing. Once they finally get their glimpses of a snow leopard, it’s just icing on the cake. They are overcome with emotion. A couple of tears are shed. I didn’t get emotional in the same way watching it, but it sure was wonderful to watch it happening to others who care so very deeply about something.

Yasss queen, werk!

Overall: A-

PARALLEL MOTHERS

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

You can practically recognize a Pedro Almodóvar film on sight. Parallel Mothers is his 22nd feature film, and his track record, dating back to 1980, is overall so great that I will see any movie, regardless of what actors are in it, based on his name alone. This is not always a guarantee, of course; some of his more recent output as varied slightly. In the past 25 years, seven of his films have featured Penélope Cruz, whose best work has arguably been under Almodóvar’s direction. Almodóvar has more than one muse—he’s made eight films with Antonio Banderas, who was in his last film, 2019’s Pain and Glory (as was Penélope Cruz)—but Cruz brings a softer, if still complex, tone to his projects.

Almodóvar also has a history of unique stories centered around women, which is what he returns to with Parallel Mothers. And instead of pairing Cruz with a man as the co-lead, we get 25-year-old Milena Smit, playing 17-year-old Ana, who happens to be hospital roommate to Cruz’s Janis when they both give birth at roughly the same time. Janis as a character never states her age, except to say she’s nearly 40; Cruz herself is 47. I suppose she has to play at least a few years younger to make her getting pregnant at an unusually older age slightly more plausible.

Janis and Ana become friendly in the hospital, and to a degree, bond over their shared experience. They exchange numbers and, over time, develop the kind of relationship you might only expect to see in an Almodóvar film. The overall arc of the story here has to do with their respective babies and their relationships with them, and early on it becomes clear what unfortunate circumstance ties them together. The knack that Almodóvar has, however, is for taking his stories, which often only seem at first to be predictable, into shockingly bizarre directions. Granted, Parallel Mothers never gets as overtly weird as, say, The Skin I Live In (2011), but it still has its own “wait, what?” paths to take.

This is a hard movie to discuss without giving away too much. It has sort of gentle twists, even as Janis, who is ultimately the central character, endures some moments that are deeply shocking to her. These are revelations that we can see coming as viewers, though, and it’s much more interesting to consider the psychological implications of her position. A lot of it begs questions of what it means to be a mother, and how much genetics truly comes into play when bonding with an infant or a child.

Genetics play a larger contextual part of Parallel Mothers than just mothers and children, and Almodóvar folds in a subplot here tied to the Spanish Civil War, which Ana clearly is not very well informed about. But, Janis is in the process of getting the unmarked grave of her murdered great grandparents excavated, and discussions about this are what both open and close the film. Exactly how this dark part of Spain’s history ties directly to the story of Janis and Ana and their babies is kind of lost on me, but there must be some connection.

In the meantime, the acting is great across the board in this film, but Cruz’s performance is stellar, and although odds seem about even regarding her getting an Oscar nomination this year, she certainly deserves one. The uniquely complex emotions of the character she plays are unparalleled in their rendering onscreen, and Cruz alone makes this movie worth seeing. But then, so does the rest of the cast. So does Almodóvar’s direction, even with his sometimes odd or quirky choices of editing or cinematography. Parallel Mothers starts with several scenes that leave you compelled yet wondering exactly where this is going, and then ends having taken you places you had no idea you’d ever have wanted to go.

That shirt is very . . . direct.

Overall: A-

CODA

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

In my 17 year history of reviewing movies, CODA must be setting a new record, in that I have never reviewed a movie this long after its release. This was released in theaters, and even streaming on Apple TV+ (as it still is now), on August 13—a good five months ago. In the “Before Times,” before the pandemic, if I didn’t catch a film in its initial theatrical release, I simply did not review it. Those were the rules—self-imposed, sure, but I stuck by them without exception for sixteen years.

The year 2020 changes a lot of things, of course, including this—and indeed, when I finally took up reviewing movies either streaming or VOD that had otherwise been originally intended for theatrical release, in the fall of 2020 after an unprecedented six-month hiatus, over time I wound up reviewing movies then that had been available for an unusual amount of time already. This increasingly became the case as I restarted my reviews in September 2020 but did not actually venture back into theaters until May 2021, which meant eight months straight of reviewing exclusively streaming or VOD content. For all I know, some of the films I reviewed in that period may have had their initial streaming releases five or more months prior to my reviewing them. But, I don’t think so.

My point is, I loved CODA so much that I felt it warranted this sort of exception, for its own sake. This isn’t a movie I’m reviewing because I can’t see movies in theaters. Granted, I am actively avoiding theaters again, temporarily, due to the current surge of the Omicron variant. But, this time it’s a choice I’m making rather than one imposed upon me—and although I had heard of CODA a while ago, my interest piqued after its recent two notable nominations for SAG Awards, including Outstanding Cast, that awards body’s equivalent to the Best Picture Oscar. The other is Best Supporting Actor, for Troy Kotsur, who plays the father of the family central to the story. Both nominations are well deserved.

All this is to say, CODA, which stands for Child of Dead Adults, is a movie you should see. It hasn’t aged past its moment. Its moment can still be right now, if that’s what you make it. Granted, it’s no longer in theaters and is only available on Apple TV+, which not everyone has. Most of the time, I don’t either. Just do what I do and sign up for a free trial month subscription, canceling immediately so you don’t get auto-renewed. Trust me, this movie alone will make it worth the effort.

I expected to enjoy CODA, and still it significantly exceeded my expectations. I had no idea it would be so funny. Technically it’s more of a dramedy, but it should be noted that I laughed a lot. High school senior Ruby (a wonderful Emilia Jones) is the only hearing member of her four-person family, and she loves music and singing and turns out to be very talented, which means, somewhat ironically for a movie revolving so much around deaf characters, CODA also features a fair amount of quite lovely music. I laughed, I was moved, I cried, I got to hear deeply affecting music. Really this film offers everything you could possibly ask for in a fantastic movie watching experience.

I suppose there could be some discussion about a film ostensibly about deaf people and how they integrate themselves into a hearing world, yet making a hearing person its central character. On the other hand, with three of the four principal characters being deaf and—thankfully—played by deaf actors, CODA offers a level of deaf representation rarely seen on film. It’s true we’ve gotten it before, but how often, particularly in mainstream films? Maybe, what, once or twice a decade?

We do get Marlee Matlin, always a welcome presence, as Ruby’s mom. Then there’s the aforementioned Troy Kotsure as her dad, and Daniel Durant as her brother, Leo. All of these characters, including Ruby herself who is hearing but also fluent in American Sign Language, are drawn as characters with nuance and dimension. In every other aspect, they are just regular people like any other, with hopes and dreams and fustrations and lusts. Director and co-writer Sian Heder has no pity for these people, because they don’t need any. Sometimes they have insecurities that are tied to their deafness, sure, but that’s never what CODA is about. The story here is about Ruby, who bridges the divide, caught between their expectations of her as part of an independent fishing family, and her awakening dream of pursuing a music education.

I have comparatively, somewhat mixed feelings about music teacher Bernardo Villalobos (Eugenio Derbez), who is written as a little over the top and then Derbez’s performance goes even a tad further over the top. He’s objectively entertaining, but he’s also the one character who feels more plausible in a movie than in real life.

But, that’s about as close as I get to any true complaint about CODA, which consistently surprises in its ample delights. I really can’t recommend it enough. If you’re looking for something to watch that will make you laugh, move you, and raise your spirits, you can’t go wrong with this one.

Yes, CODA, I love you too.

Overall: A-

BERGMAN ISLAND

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

Maybe Bergman Island is above my intellectual pay grade. I always say a film should work on its own merits, but some films are built to be fully understood only in real-world contexts, and I fear that is very much the case with this one. Would this be far easier to understand and appreciate with a working knowledge of Swedish film director and writer Ingmar Bergman? Having nearly zero such knowledge myself, I find myself presuming the answer is yes, although I have no way of knowing for sure. At least, not without doing a ton of research I don’t feel I should have to do. Maybe this movie just wasn’t made for me.

And yet, I say all that, still having found myself interested and compelled by this film, in spite of my having watched the entire thing feeling like I was missing something. That feeling is what prevents me from saying any of you need to fire up Hulu to watch it; the movie, released theatrically October 15, has been streaming since yesterday (January 14).

Part of it may just be that I tend to approach films about writers with interest, being a writer myself. I also have a soft spot for the kind of writing where the lines between reality and fiction get blurred. Typically this means an interest in meta fiction, which used to be a lot more novel than it is these days—we now get movies like The Matrix Revolutions, which hit us over the head with it—but French writer-director Mia Hansen-Løve is far more subtle.

In Bergman Island, middle-aged couple Chris and Tony (Vicky Krieps and Tim Roth) are writer-directors themselves, both with a deep love of the works of Ingmar Bergman, going on a writing retreat of sorts—on the Swedish island of Fårö, where Bergman lived and worked. For fully half the film, we see Chris and Tony arrive on the island, get settled there, and have subtle struggles, both with communicating with each other and with their respective relationships to both their current writing projects and with Bergman’s work. Bergman, of course, looms large in this area of the island, largely attracting tourists. In one sequence, Tony goes on a “Bergman Safari,” while Chris winds up with a local young man, Hampus (Hampus Nordenson), who gives her a personalized tour of Bergman points of interest on the island.

Hampus, as it happens, is the one character we see both here, and within the rendering of the film (or maybe TV series, she hasn’t decided) Christ relays the story of to Tony. About halfway through Bergman Island, Chris tells Tony she needs some advice about what she’s writing, and she begins to tell him the story. The narrative we see onscreen then switches to the story she is telling, of other characters also coming to this same island, this time a younger couple of people, these ones sort of estranged after years of near misses for a potential relationship. These are Amy and Joseph, played by Mia Wasikowska and Anders Danielsen Lie. They are both headed to the wedding of a mutual friend, and Hampus appears as another guest at the wedding.

When this happened, I wondered if maybe the characters Chris created might somehow show up in her real world in some way—that would be the predictable twist in a more overtly “meta” story. But that’s not the direction Hansen-Løve is interested in, and she leaves a lot more open to interpretation. Bergman Island is a surprisingly pleasant and quiet experience considering all the food for thought it provides, if you think long enough anyway: consider that the second half veers into a “movie within a movie,” and yet the primary characters we’ve watched up to that point are also characters in a movie. They don’t even realize it. And later, there is an abrupt transition from us seeing the rendering of Chris’s story, to Chris and Joseph being in the same scenes together—because we are now seeing the man who plays Joseph, on the set of the film (or series?) Chris eventually shoots in the same location.

How much all of this echoes the work of Ingmar Bergman, I couldn’t say. That’s, perhaps, something for people with a working knowledge and memory of his films to explore. This does leave me feeling limited in my capacity to process all that is onscreen in this film, which feels very intentional, nothing accidental, no matter how subtle. But, as I said, I found myself compelled by it anyway. I just can’t say exactly how or why. I even finished the movie kind of feeling like, I don’t get it. The reason I’ll still give this film credit, though, is because I don’t care about that so much. I enjoyed the journey regardless, even though I never quite gleaned what was its destination.

Is Chris reading what her husband wrote, or what we are watching?

Overall: B

FINCH

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

Finch has a compelling concept, which then gets squandered by a fatal mix of cutesiness and implausibility.

I was actually kind of enjoying it for a while, even as “Jeff,” the robot character created by Tom Hanks’s title character, evolves to become more “human” in ways that make less sense as time goes on. I kept wondering about anyone watching with even slight scientific knowledge (which, by and large, I do not have). I can easily imagine such people pulling their hair out in frustration. People who don’t mind, those who take this movie as simple escapism, either have no critical thinking skills or are happy to turn them off completely. More power to them, I guess.

The premise of a post-apocalyptic world ravaged by a massive solar flare that destroyed the ozone layer is plausible enough, I suppose, although I presume this movie gets pretty ridiculous the more details it gets into even with that—I don’t have any idea how it could be that cities like St. Louis and Denver are roasted and dead shells of what they once were, but the air around San Francisco and the Bay Area is somehow just fine.

What gets me more is the very concept of “Jeff” himself, basically a self-teaching android, whose very existence is never fully explained. When we meet Finch, he’s scavenging St. Louis with another robot creation that serves to place valuable items into its body basket with an extended robotic arm. He hasn’t even finished creating “Jeff” yet, and it’s never clear how Finch is smart enough to create an android but not smart enough to head west any earlier than this, when random weather systems threaten to destroy the laboratory he lives in and was once his place of work. Doing what, exactly, I don’t have any idea. The place doesn’t seem like a robotics lab, but that’s evidently what Finch has turned it into.

Jeff, as voiced by Caleb Landry Jones, is a vaguely humanoid robot that evokes memories of similar robots in earlier, superior films. He’s like a cross between the metal skeleton of The Terminator and Johnny 5 from Short Circuit. His voice is robotic in a way that recalls Stephen Hawking, and evolves over time to become “more human” until he sounds like a naive dipshit. In the film’s latter half, when my patience with it increasingly ran out, Jeff does narratively pointless things like give Finch a hug even though he can’t physically feel anything, or move his shoulders up and down as though he’s breathing—like, what? It’s not like Jeff is a replicant, as in the Blade Runner movies; he’s literally a walking collection of metal parts. I had a really hard time getting past this stuff.

To be certain, Finch would be a far worse film without the presence of Tom Hanks, who spends more time onscreen without any other human present than in any other movie since Cast Away (again, a far superior movie). Even at 65, Hanks remains a bona fide movie star, among the last of a dying breed, a man with such charisma and screen presence that he truly elevates anything he’s in. I was happily suspending my disbelief for a good two thirds of the movie thanks to Hanks’s performance alone. And even this is far from his best performance. But, he’s basically the only human face we ever see in the movie, with the very brief exception of a little girl in a flashback sequence. That flashback features one other grown man and one other grown woman, and neither of their faces are seen.

Finch is also fairly impressively rendered, on a visual and technical level. I can’t find any information as to its budget, but it looks like a movie that made the most of its limitations. I just wish the same had been done with its script, which clearly expects us to fall in love with this robot that exists to be heartwarming even though he was created by a terminally ill character who is dying from the effects of an extinction level global event. Why does this story need such a deeply incongruous, devastating framework? Finch creates Jeff with the sole purpose of leaving something behind to care for his dog. How sweet, right? I guess, if you’re okay with also seeing Tom Hanks cough blood all over himself.

This was Tom Hanks’s second movie to release straight to Apple TV+. The first was last year’s Greyhound, which wasn’t great either but at least it was good. Still, this process is starting to feel like the twenties equivalent to “direct to video,” the movies that have some value but aren’t quite good enough for theatrical release. Given its limited amount of content, Apple’s fledgling streaming service could stand to up its game a bit.

A great man and a couple of dummies.

Overall: C+

SWAN SONG

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

Mahershala Ali is an actor of such caliber, I can’t imagine anyone minding the idea of getting two of him in one movie. In the case of Swan Song, that is meant in a more literal sense than usual: his character, Cameron, is literally cloned, and we see many conversations between the two of them. Cameron is terminally ill, you see, and in a near future in which new technology allows for it, he is being entirely “regenerated,” his duplicate given all the same memories, so that he can be replaced with a healthier version of himself, his wife and son being none the wiser.

“Duplicate” is the word more frequently used in his movie, as opposed to “clone.” There are no discussions of “nature vs. nurture” here, as the duplicate Cameron—given the name “Jack” for the duration of their coexistence—has the memory of all the same experiences. This is often discussed when considering cloning, the way experiences shape an entirely different person. Is cloning a new person at the exact same age even possible? Will it ever be? I have my doubts, and writer-director Benjamin Cleary, in his feature film debut, never truly directly addresses that question, except to say that, in the world of Swan Song, it is indeed possible. He’s more interested in what the experience looks like in the case of it being possible, and to a much lesser degree, the ethical implications.

I’m not going to lie, I thought about what it would be like for me to be in this position, locked away with another version of myself in a secluded bunker outside Vancouver, B.C. with a medical and psychological staff of three, and AI systems that “do the work of fifty people.” I mean, let’s get real: I’d immediately want to fuck myself. On the other hand, I thought about even this idea maybe more realistically than I ever have before, and especially in regards to a duplicate of me at exactly the same age (as opposed to, say, a version of myself ten years younger), and I’d probably get right sick of myself after a week. Maybe less.

I suspect, actually, that it’s considerations like this that prompt Cleary to write Cameron as a deeply decent, loving, family man. What about people like me who, sure, would not want to devastate my spouse but am also very selfish? Making a movie like this about such people might be more realistic, but it’s maybe not as compelling.

It does make Cameron kind of dull as a character, though. Swan Song is a very meditative look at a hypothetical situation only possible in the context of vague science fiction, the kind that includes no real science because we aren’t actually that close to something like this really being possible. At least not in the “near future,” one in which, by the way, nature is beautiful and serene and somehow not being wrought by devastation. These narrative limitations are no doubt informed also by Benjamin Clearly not being a scientist himself. He’s just a film director with an interesting idea.

Don’t get me wrong, though; Swan Song is compelling throughout, in spite of these limitations. Clearly strips away complications in his characters to give them space to process the extraordinary nature of their circumstances. It helps that it features a stellar cast, in addition to Mahershala Ali: Naomie Harris as his wife, Poppy; Glenn Close as the benevolent Dr. Jo Scott; Awkwafina as Kate, another terminally ill patient at the facility whose duplicate has already been fully integrated into her family. Where the writing of their characters lack dimension, their performances add it.

If nothing else, Cleary succeeds at establishing and maintaining a tone, in this case contemplative and somber. It feels appropriate for both the subject matter, and for the lush forest landscapes around the secluded medical facility where the “duplication” work occurrs—Cameron being apparently only the third time it’s been done. There’s a lot that Clearly doesn’t bother examining, such as how much this costs or how Cameron can afford it, his clearly well-paying job notwithstanding. Dr. Scott only ever behaves as though she exists to offer ways to save families from the anguish of untimely loss. But, surely she’s profiting from this?

One might say that I am overthinking all of this, and for what appear to be Benjamin Cleary’s purposes here, I can’t deny it’s a valid argument. If you just want to lose yourself in the somber notes of this film with beautiful landscapes and skilled editing, it should work quite well for you. It did work for me, really; I liked the movie, in spite of its many questions that Cleary doesn’t bother to answer. It doesn’t even feel pointed, but rather almost as though he feels they are beside the point. Maybe they are.

It’s what that point is, precisely, where I struggle a little. But, I can also let it go, and enjoy the film for what it is, and leave thinking about how I might approach the same kind of opportunity. If the “duplicate” is functionally exactly the same person, indistinguishable from the original by anyone around him, with no memory even of having been duplicated (another key plot point), then what difference does it make? Why not?

Mahershala Ali externalizes his internal struggles.

Overall: B

THE LOST DAUGHTER

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

The Lost Daughter could easily be held up as an example of how film critics are just movie snobs with little interest in just having a good time. The reviews have heaped lavish praise on this film, but on the review aggregate sites, the user reviews are decidedly mixed. Having seen it, this split is wholly unsurprising.

So, I guess, let’s just get this out of the way: if the only purpose movies serve in your opinion is to entertain, then you’ll have no business with The Lost Daughter. This is a deeply nuanced drama, a humane portrait of mothers who are sometimes inhumane, and at times challenging to relate to.

Or, maybe it just depends on who’s watching it. I do find myself curious as to how mothers in particular respond to it. I watched this by myself, on Netflix, because I knew even beforehand that my husband would find little interest in it. Even I only watched it because of the critical praise, which can easily persuade me. I don’t have kids, and this movie deals a lot with how overwhelming parenting can be. It makes me grateful I don’t have children, honestly. To be so endlessly frustrated by the children you still ache for? I’m happy to go without any of that shit.

It took me a while to get the meaning of the title. For a long time I thought it referred to a daughter who must have died young, and the woman lives her life feeling guilty about it. The literal reference is actually to a doll, which a little girl loses on a beach and Olivia Colman’s Leda has actually stolen. It’s still not clear to me why she does this, and perhaps we are not meant to; when Leda is eventually asked why she says herself, “I don’t know.” She also says, “I’m an unnatural mother,” the line I will always remember from this movie.

Leda is 48 years old. Her age gets mentioned several times. Her daughters are now grown, although as grownups we never see them onscreen. Instead, The Lost Daughter is so filled with flashbacks of Leda as a young mother of two young daughters that Jessie Buckley is third-billed as Young Leda.

In the present day, Leda is vacationing in Greece. After a tense introduction in which Leda responds to friendliness with obstinance, Leda starts getting to know a large family vacationing nearby and sharing the same beach. This includes another young mother, Nina (Dakota Johnson, almost unrecognizable), who is so frustrated with her own little girl—the owner of the aforementioned doll—that it triggers Leda’s memories with her own children.

There is something peculiar, almost subversive, about The Lost Daughter, which is incredibly well directed and written by Maggie Gyllenhaal in her feature directorial debut, adapting from the novel of the same name by Elena Ferrante. Mothers on film have typically been characterized as either selfless heroes or, less often, abusive nightmares. The mothers in The Lost Daughter decidedly occupy a space between those extremes, rarely seen. Leda clearly has some mental instability, but she’s not abusive. In fact, she clearly loves her daughters, even though she rarely seems locked in when it comes to motherhood. She seems like the type of person who maybe should never have had children to begin with. But, she has them now, so what can she do?

She does something pretty drastic, actually, which I won’t spoil as it’s revealed rather late in the film. And this film does take its time, the first several scenes just casually following alongside Leda as she arrives at her beachfront apartment rental in Greece and hangs out on the beach or in the town. Eventually, you discover that Maggie Gyllenhaal has assembled a bevy of talented filmmakers, particularly editor Affonso Gonçalves (Carol), without whom this film would be something different entirely. Between his editing and the handheld cinematography by Hélène Louvart (who shot last year’s incredible Never Rarely Sometimes Always), The Lost Daughter feels like a collection of memories, whether set in the present or in the past. It sets a unique mood, one that’s difficult to describe because that’s what unique means. In any case, we feel very much like we are in Leda’s guilt-ridden, deeply insecure head.

There is an incredible amount of talent onscreen in this movie. Olivia Colman will surely be nominated yet again for a Best Actress Oscar. Jessie Buckley, to be honest, is a bit underused as Young Leda, seen in large part as random memory clips. She does eventually get to some content with meat on it, but none that illustrates how she is easily one of the most talented actors of her generation. That said, whether it’s Ed Harris as the longtime caretaker of the house Leda’s staying in, or Peter Sarsgaard as Young Leda’s professorial fling, or anyone else in this movie for that matter, the cast is fantastic across the board.

Nearly everything about this movie is great, really, aside from it telling a story that I couldn’t quite lock into. And even there, I hesitate to criticize too much, as the clear themes of motherhood are things I cannot speak on with any authority. Leda is an odd lady, and sometimes her behavior really makes you think, What the fuck? But Colman plays her with a grace of performance that belies the character’s regular awkwardness and inelegance. This is an understated portrait of the melancholy side, if not the dark side, of motherhood, and for those open to giving it a look, it’s likely either illuminating or validating.

You’ll find her eventually.

Overall: B+

DON'T LOOK UP

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

Don’t Look Up is a little on the nose. Scratch that, it’s a lot on the nose. Still, I got several good laughs out of it, although those laughs were consistently bittersweet, betraying a quick realization of the depressing basis of the humor.

Responses to this movie have been quite evenly mixed, and once you see the movie—if you see the movie—it’s easy to see why. Some of those who praise it have compared it to Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 satire masterpiece Doctor Strangelove, and frankly, anyone who makes such a comparison instantly loses credibility. It does beg the question, though: does satire even work anymore? The most successful satire of the past, from decades to centuries ago, have gleaned humor from subtle exaggerations of absurdist potential. These days, real life is far more absurd than any legitimate attempt at satire can even imagine.

Arguably, that’s the very point writer-director Adam McKay is making. In the face of imminent disaster, this actually is the way people behave. But, why bother making a movie out of it? Are we meant to be entertained by an accurate reflection of how easily manipulated the world’s populations really are, even when what they are told runs directly contrary to what’s right in front of their eyes?

This film’s title is itself a literal reference to the irony of people happily acting against their own best wishes, just taken to the extreme. When a planet-killing comet is finally visible to the naked eye in the sky, and the scientists struggling to be believed (Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence) plead with people to “Just look up!”, Meryl Streep’s Trumpian President Orlean holds rallies in which she quite easily convinces people “Don’t look up!” These crowds, the long-disrespected “working class,” should keep their heads down and get their jobs done.

And the kicker of it is, absolutely none of this is a stretch. This movie was conceived as a metaphor for climate change and how much we all blithely go about our business as though everything is fine. The unexpected onset of a viral pandemic only put its themes into even sharper relief, making McKay’s reflections even more accurate than he could have predicted, particularly when it comes to the swift polarization and politicization of a global problem that has nothing to do with politics. It’s a curious thought experiment, to wonder how much better Don’t Look Up might have played had the pandemic never happened, and all it made us think about it was as a metaphor for climate change. Instead, numerous details feel like a direct metaphor for how the pandemic has played out instead. And then, principal photography was first delayed by COVID, and then it occurred in the middle of it.

It’s also fascinating how, even though this movie is packed with movie stars, the real star of this production is Adam McKay himself. Most people aren’t seeking this movie out just because of the actors that are in it, but because of the nature and tone of the film, and who directed it. This is the guy who first brought us the Anchorman movies and later both The Big Short (2015) and Vice (2018), in more recent years increasingly preoccupied with movies that have something to say. The results have been mixed, and although it’s not on a steep curve, over time it’s been diminishing returns. In the case of Vice, for example, it was a movie with a lot to recommend it, except for its greatest flaw, which was to tell the story of horrible people. That sort of thing loses its appeal pretty quickly.

And, such is the problem with Don’t Look Up as well. Not only is it about the despair that comes with living in a world run by horrible people, it serves as a reminder that such is the world we actually live in. The two main protagonists, Michigan State University astronomy professor Dr. Randall Mindy and MSU doctoral candidate in astronomy Kate Dibiasky, are among the few decent characters here. When they discover a comet and find foolproof calculations indicating a direct hit with Earth in about six months (I would be interested in how sound the science actually is in this script), they are predictably dismissed, and then forced to go on a media tour on which they face people who don’t even seem to know how to take them seriously.

There’s something slightly off about DiCaprio’s and Lawrence’s performances. Their acting is decent enough, but a far cry from what we’ve seen them do in other films. Again, this likely traces back to Adam McKay, who is the real star here, offering us characteristically snappy editing and a sprinkling of clever gags. All the while the actors seem to be just along for the ride. DiCaprio’s Randall Mindy is written as a man paralyzed by a multitude of mental and anxiety disorders; Lawrence’s Dibiasky is characterized as a bit of a young hipster, in a way that never quite feels fully authentic. It doesn’t help that she sports a terrible haircut with unfortunate micro bangs. DiCaprio, for his part, plays against type as a bit of an insecure frump, but give that it’s him, it’s hard to believe him as the character. Nearly all of the rest of the star-studded cast in much smaller parts, from Cate Blanchett to Jonah Hill (who is the best part of this movie) to even Mark Rylance as a Zuckerberg-type tech billionaire, among others to numerous to name, comes across as more genuine characters.

There’s also the run time of Don’t Look Up, which is two hours and 18 minutes—at minimum, twenty minutes too long. With some better finessing in the editing room, I might have liked this movie a lot more. McKay needs to decide whether this is a disaster drama or a satirical comedy, and the movie never quite settles on one or the other. It ends with a sequence that comes close to being actually moving, but the storytelling is so halfhearted up to that point that it isn’t earned.

In other words, Don’t Look Up is a work of relative mediocrity that lacks clarity as to what it wants us to get out of it. It never lost my attention, I’ll give it that; I was entertained enough for a couple of hours on the couch in my living room. The greatest irony is how quickly forgotten it will be, and how the very act of watching this movie qualifies as the very kind of time- and resource-wasting bullshit we all spend our time with rather than actually doing something to make the world better. This is a movie preaching to a choir which itself is only half-interested. It lends an air of disingenuousness, which I think may be my biggest problem with it. There’s nothing to illuminate us here, nothing provocative that has not already been retread ad nauseam. Don’t Look Up is either a film of unearned self-importance, or it’s just trafficking in cynicism as entertainment. And why go to so much effort just to be cynical? It’s exhausting.

Granted, you can watch this movie and not be exhausted by it, so long as you choose not to spend your time thinking critically. In which case, you’re the very person the movie is making fun of. But, to what end?

When the world is ending, you’ll want to go shopping. Oh and Timothée Chalamet is in this too.

Overall: C+

Cinema 2021: Best & Worst

Below are the ten—okay fine, eleven—most satisfying and memorable films I saw in 2021:

11. Nomadland A-  

Let's call this one an "honorable mention." A good half of the films on this year's list consists of ones that are technically 2020 movies, but they were not made available for me to see until this year—including Nomadland, which absolutely would have been on my top ten in 2020 had I been able to watch it then. It won Best Picture, for Christ's sake! Best Actress too, for Frances McDormand. The trouble is, I so want to include these other ten movies on my top ten for 2021 that I am forced to relegate this one to . . . let's call it "#11." Sure, I'm cheating. You'll live. This beautifully meditative movie about a woman living out of her van in retirement, taking seasonal jobs to support herself, and shot with non-actors who actually live the life being depicted, is a beautifully unique cinematic experience. Its quietness and casual observations of American landscapes left me unsure of its rewatch potential, and then when I saw it again with Shobhit when he got his screener for the SAG Awards, I enjoyed it every bit as much.

What I said then: 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.

10. French Exit B+  

I gave out eight solid As and ten A-minuses this year, so why am I including a B-plus movie on this list? The reason is simple: I have shifted my definitions for these annual lists to most satisfying and memorable, which is not synonymous with "best." I can fully acknowledge that a movie featuring a cat who turns out to be containing the soul of a dead husband, and who can converse with live humans via seance as though on the telephone, kind of degrades the objective quality of a film. The thing is, those very elements are still a big part of what made me love this movie, which I wish with all my heart would become a cult classic, as it would have had that potential decades ago. Today, it passed by all but ignored, but I have already watched it twice, and can easily imagine watching it many more times as the years go on. Michelle Pfeiffer hasn't been so quintessentially perfect for a part, here as an eccentric and sardonic rich single mother of a barely-grown man (Lucas Hedges) who has just lost all of her money, since she played Catwoman in 1992. This movie may not be high art, but it is compulsively rewatchable.

What I said then: Still, it all comes back to Michelle Pfeiffer. Performances like this are what the word “iconic” was made for. That word is so overused it has lost all meaning, but Pfeiffer brings it full circle. I haven’t loved her so much in a movie since she played Catwoman nearly—let me check my notes—thirty years ago. This woman is a national treasure, she commands attention, and so does this charmingly peculiar movie.

9. Mass A-  

The vast majority of this film is just four people, played by Martha Plimpton, Jason Isaacs, Ann Dowd and Reed Birney. They play two upper-middle-aged couples, parents of students involved in a local school shooting six years prior; one couple is the parents of the culprit, the other couple parents of one of the many victims. They have agreed to meet and basically process their shared trauma over the event, maybe put out feelers for the possibility of forgiveness and some kind of redemption—not among the teenagers (dead in either case), but among themselves in regards to how things went down in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy. The film unfolds mostly with just these four alone in a room, and is very like a stage play, except one that works incredibly well for the screen (it's actually an original script, by director Fran Kranz). Admittedly not the most uplifting stuff, but it's laden with meaning and purpose, and I found it captivating.

What I said then: Kranz’s writing is also exquisite. By definition with a presentation like this, there has to be a great deal of exposition—the whole movie is nothing but dialogue. It never feels like exposition, though, and a vast array of details are revealed to the story of how they all got here, just through the organic unfolding of their gut wrenching, yet riveting conversations

8. Judas and the Black Messiah A  

After writing a genuinely rave review of Judas and the Black Messiah, I later encountered criticism that its women characters, particularly writer and Black Panther activist Deborah Johnson (Dominique Fishback), are underserved, which is fair. I was so enamored with the performances of Daniel Kaluuya and LaKeith Stanfield, as Black Panther Party Chicago Chapter Chairman Fred Hampton and deceiving FBI informant Bill O'Neal, respectively, that in my initial review I failed to even mention any of the women characters, some of whom played key parts, albeit a bit underplayed in the movie. The film is so successful on every other level, however, that I can't bring myself to discount it. Every aspect of this film, from the acing to the direction to its technical finesse, is top notch—a heavy story that is eminently compelling.

What I said then: It’s a rare thing when you can tell a film is of superior quality from the first frame, and Judas and the Black Messiah is one such example. I was unaware of director Shaka King before this, but you can bet I’ll be remembering that name, seeking out his other work, and looking forward to what he does in the future. That this is only his second feature film is a stunning accomplishment.

7. The Power of the Dog A  

Here we finally get another movie about deeply repressed gay cowboys, only this one, while still a bit downbeat, is less tragic and more beautifully shot than Brokeback Mountain. Funny that that earlier film (from 2005) spawned years of joke references to its title, and The Powero the Dog managed the unlikely feat of inspiring a surprising number of "Bronco Henry" memes. Anyway, this is a quiet, incredibly slow yet immensely powerful story of an emotionally abusive cowboy (played by Benedict Cumberbatch) who won't stop talking about his late mentor, and eventually takes a shine to his brother's new wife's just-grown son in a way that may or may not be romantic. There's no sex, no violence, although often the threat of it—the film is brimming with a tension that is precisely what makes it great. It's also gorgeously shot, the landscape standing in for 1920s Montana actually being New Zealand notwithstanding. This is easily Jane Campion's best film in nearly thirty years.

What I said then: The Power of the Dog is a bit of a narrative puzzle, and over the course of its second half they fall into place, linking inextricably into each other, with deep satisfaction. This is a superbly constructed film.

6. C'mon C'mon A  

I finished watching C'mon C'mon and immediately wanted to tell all my friends who are parents to watch it. Writer-director Mike Mills (Beginners, 20th Century Women) has a knack for presenting a unique point of view that sucks you right in, by turns telling stories inspired by elements of his own life: the late coming out of an elderly father; the relationship with a carefree mother; and now with C'mon C'mon, the existential challenges of having parenthood thrust upon you. Joaquin Phoenix plays a single, childless man who suddenly looks after his ten-year-old nephew (Woody Norman, who is wonderful) when his sister (Gaby Hoffman) must tend to the mental health of her estranged, bipolar husband (Scoot McNairy). Thus this is about a middle-aged, deeply empathetic man getting a crash course in caring for a child. It sounds simple, but this film is anything but. I was deeply moved by it, to such an extent that I could barely fathom how much more I would have been affected if I actually had children of my own.

What I said then: Ultimately, you night say, it’s about emotional vulnerability, within the context of the hopes and dreams we have for the very children that drive us crazy. This movie is very honest about parenting, and about what it’s like to deal with children, in a way that few movies really are. Jesse doesn’t exist to amuse, or be precocious, or serve as a plot catalyst in the way children typically are in film. He just is, and he exists as a wholly dimensional human being.

5. Collective A  

The best documentary I saw all year, this film technically from 2020 is an astonishing look at the objective mess that was (and perhaps still is?) the health care system in Romania. One of the most shocking and dramatic documentaries I have ever seen, this makes a unique case for retaining the integrity of investigative journalism. This movie has to be seen to be believed, the kind of high-level government corruption usually reserved for fiction. Just when you think they couldn't possibly be any worse, over and over, they prove you wrong.

What I said then: My jaw kept dropping as I watched this movie, over and over, lower than the last time. It’s not just the examples themselves but the sheer scale of the corruption and lethal negligence in Romanian hospitals.

4. Quo Vadis, Aida? A  

Call this movie "homework" if you want. This tragic tale of a mother desperately trying to get her family out of Bosnia during the Srebrenica Genocide at the hands of Serbians should be required viewing. The Jewish holocaust was not the only genocide we should always be aware of, nor is it anywhere close to the most recent—this one occurred in 1995. I was 19 years old. This shit occurs all over the world at regular intervals, and they should not be ignored. There are Serbs to this day who refuse to call it a genocide, even though it's clearly what this was. Writer-director Jasmila Zbanic takes it down to a human level, narrowing the focus on one woman (Jasna Djuricic), a translator for increasingly ineffective Dutch army protectors, almost certainly spared early annihilation herself by virtue of her useful job. In the meantime, she takes increasingly desperate efforts to get her husband and two barely-grown sons out of the country to someplace safe, virtually the entire movie following along with these efforts. What sets Quo Vadis, Aida? ("Where are you going, Aida?") truly apart is Jasmila Zbanic's refusal to give this story a neatly tied up, comforting ending. This isn't the typical story of hope in the face of adversity that storytellers love to tell; it's a defiant reflection of the fate of the majority in scenarios like this. Rare is the film of such high integrity.

What I said then: In other words, it’s not a good time. Instead, this is a film that serves as a challenge to remember, and to acknowledge the extent of conflict around the globe. I thought a lot about the 1993 Steven Spielberg film Schindler’s List while watching this—there are many similarities. A key difference is that Quo Vadis, Aida? does not in any way present itself as “art.” There is no black and white cinematography here, no symbolic child in a red coat. This is straightforward drama, and a gripping one at that.

3. Minari A  

Trigger warning for the far rightwing dipshits: Minari is the lovely and simple tale of Korean immigrants in 1980s rural Arkansas, and it doesn't get more American than this. This is another technically 2020 film that I could not see until this year, garnering a much-deserved six Oscar nominations, including a win for Best Supporting Actress (Yuh-Jung Youn, playing the delightful grandmother). It's a refreshing departure from the countless films about people of color in America that tend to turn their focus to racism; this film doesn't pretend racism doesn't exist, but tells a story that turns out to have little to do with it. That's the trick of Minari, really, how it tells the story of an immigrant family, an experience universal to the ancestors of everyone in this country who is not Indigenous, and reminds us of both the value of our differences and the pertinent things we have in common.

What I said then: 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.

2. Passing A  

In sharp contrast to Minari, Passing is quite overtly, even provocatively, about race—so literal, in fact, that it is shot in black and white. Based on a 1929 novel by Nella Larsen, it takes a peculiar point of view on the idea of "passing," in this case a light skinned Black woman (Ruth Negga) successfully living as a white woman in New York City. Instead of telling the story from that woman's perspective, we see it unfold through the eyes of her childhood friend (Tessa Thompson), who becomes fixated on her friend and how she has managed to pull this off—going so far as to marry and have a child with an apparently imperceptive—and predictably racist—white man (Alexander Skarsgård). This movie forces us to confront largely unexamined questions about how we approach race, which is a concept that has no basis in actual biology or genetics, revealing the fallacy of the constructs we build around ourselves. This is a starkly shot film dense with meaning and built on measured, intentional performances, and will not be soon forgotten.

What I said then: Irene is the protagonist, a woman who, in the subtly attention-grabbing opening scene, finds herself “passing” almost by accident while shopping in higher-end stores of New York, tilting her large hat to obscure her face just enough. From the start, the dialogue is highly stylized, meticulously crafted, exquisitely written. Combine that with incredible performances nearly across the board and stunning black and white cinematography by Eduard Grau (A Single Man), and Passing is practically impossible for any cinephile, anyone with an appreciation for film as art, to resist.

1. Spencer A  

I doubt this movie will top anyone else's top ten movies of 2021, but to me that's perfectly fitting, given that it feels like Pablo Larraín simply made a movie tailor made for Matthew. This is the guy who directed the similarly excellent Jackie, which would have been my #1 movie of 2016, if not for the existence of surprise Best Picture winner Moonlight. Both Jackie and Spencer are about royals, of sorts: the former figurative, the closest thing the United States has ever had to it; the other much more literal, focusing on Princess Diana and her holiday visit with the royal in-laws. Although both characters are connected to historic assassinations, Spencer leaves Diana's ultimate fate to subtext, instead focusing on her inner torment in a loveless marriage. There has been some criticism of this film's somber tone, claims that Diana was far more amiable than depicted here, but I don't care. I can only say that the casting of Kristen Stewart as Diana turns out to be inspired, as her embodiment of Diana as a character is nothing short of astonishing. The rest of the cast is excellent too, but they all revolve around her, enduring a series of mystifying traditions that control her every move, right down to different outfits worn to every separate family meal (the costume design is superb). It's a strange thing to be both an anti-royalist and endlessly fascinated by members of the royal family rendered victims of their own strictures, but this is a movie that fits squarely, perfectly, into that space.

What I said then: We can find ways to dismiss her struggles within the context of objectively insane amounts of privilege, but Spencer refuses to let us forget how any existence in that exclusive world can be a genuine prison all its own. Larraín is brilliantly capturing Diana’s desperate feelings of loneliness and emotional isolation. There is a sad poetry to the overall presentation in Spencer, which features such beauty, including on the part of Diana herself, her face, her exquisite outfits, every detail of that beauty just being another link in the fencing of her cage.

Five Worst -- or the worst of those I saw

5. Dear Evan Hansen C+  

If it weren't for how much I enjoyed the music, I would have truly hated this movie. As it is, the music is about its only redeeming quality, the premise being truly bonkers, as an insecure teenager goes along with the assumption that he had been secretly friends with a boy who committed suicie, even though he wasn't, and worms his way into the lives of the dead boy's family in the process. The widely mocked age of the actor (Ben Platt, 27) playing the title character is the least of this film's problems, which revolve around deeply unethical practices without ever truly addressing them as such.

What I said then: Dear Evan Hansen is the perfect movie for people with no critical thinking skills. ... Watch this movie and then try imagining the exact same story as a non-musical stage play. You'd be ready to slit your own wrists by the end of it.

4. Reminiscence C+  

This might be the most "blah" movie I saw all year. I found nothing inherently bad about it, except for its definitive mediocrity. The most memorable thing about it is seeing a near-future Miami skyline largely submerged in sea water. The fact that we never see any of the natural disasters that would contribute to such a mess is the least of its problems; there's also the setting of a famously multicultural city but a principal cast of mostly white people. Blech. Yawn. What the story is about frankly doesn't even matter because you'll be bored and distracted before it becomes relevant. It has some nice special effects, though, so its wild implausibility notwithstanding, it's often quite pretty to look at.

What I said then: I basically wasted two hours watching Reminiscence in the movie theater. It’s also available streaming on HBO Max, and I wouldn’t even recommend you watch it there. You’ll still wish you could get those two hours back. Well, if you have any taste or sense of quality, anyway.

3. Titane C  

This French "body horror" movie is weird as shit, and to no discernible purpose. The first half of it follows a woman with a titanium plate in her head who commits a series of gruesome murders, has sex with and gets impregnated by a car (yes, really), and then the second half details her somehow successfully convincing a grieving man that she is his missing son. Did I mention this movie is all over the place? I suppose there is some novelty in the idea of a woman fucking a car and then giving birth to a titanium-plated baby with motor oil as amniotic fluid, but . . . let's just say I wasn't feeling it.

What I said then: All I really got out of Titane was an hour and forty-five minutes of thinking, What the fuck? We never see Alexia bleed, although we regularly see her leaking motor oil, out of tears in the skin of her belly revealing more shiny metal underneath, or even leaking out of her nipples. Her body goes through a lot of abuses, much of it self-inflicted in her attempt to make herself look like Vincent’s missing son. I had to turn away from the screen a lot. I was just relieved when I could turn away one last time and leave the building.

2. Malcom & Marie C  

This movie is the epitome of self-serious pretension disguised as high art. I mean, it is beautifully shot in black and white, but those shots are framing only two insufferable L.A.-based actor characters spending the entire run time arguing about vapid Hollywood bullshit. This was writer-director Sam Levinson's answer to "lockdown movies," where cast and crew were minimal, but I guess he took "write what you know" pretty extremely to heart, reportedly inspired in part by his once forgetting to thank his girlfriend in an award acceptance speech. I mean. Who cares?

What I said then: What I cannot figure out is who this movie is for. Fans of the actors? People merely interested in seeing how filmmaking can work (or can’t work) in the midst of pandemic-related restrictions? Maybe just rubber-neckers eager to witness a disaster? Why this had to go on for 106 minutes, I’ll never know.

1. New Order C  

The most unpleasantly nihilistic movie I have seen in recent memory, maybe even in decades, New Order is a Mexican film with competent cinematography and acting, which come nowhere close to making up for its premise. A class warfare uprising quickly turns into a military coup. This starts off compelling and then swiftly devolves into utterly meaningless brutality. Of the few movies I genuinely lost my patience with in 2021, I lost my patience with this one the quickest. It's doubly frustrating to see clear talent went into the making of it, only to have all that talent completely squandered. Forced multiple viewings of this film could be used as an effective interrogation method.

What I said then: The movie is both intentionally and effectively unsettling, until the events unfolding desensitize you into not caring about any of the people onscreen—just as the oppressive forces taking over Mexico City don’t care about anyone. I just . . . don’t get it.


Complete 2021 film review log:

1. 1/2 I'm Your Woman B+ *
2. 1/3 Soul A (2nd viewing) *
3. 1/6 The Dissident A- */**
4. 1/8 Pieces of a Woman B *
5. 1/13 Tenet B *
6. 1/14 Promising Young Woman B+ */**
7. 1/15 One Night in Miami A- *
8. 1/20 Ammonite B+ *
9. 1/23 Derek DelGaudio's In & of Itself A- *
10. 1/24 Syvlie's Love B *
11. 1/25 MLK/FBI B+ *
12. 1/28 The White Tiger B+ *
13. 1/29 The Little Things C+ *
14. 1/31 The Dig B *
15. 2/5 Malcolm & Marie C *
16. 2/6 The Trip to Greece B *
17. 2/8 Little Fish B+ *
18. 2/10 Greenland B *
19. 2/15 Judas and the Black Messiah A *
20. 2/17 The Kid Detective B+ *
21. 2/19 Nomadland A- *
22. 2/20 I Care a Lot B *
23. 2/21 Supernova B+ *
24. 2/22 Freaky B *
25. 2/24 The Mauritanian B- */**
26. 2/27 The United States vs. Billie Holiday B- *
27. 2/28 Another Round B+ *
28. 3/1 Minari A *
29. 3/3 The Wolf of Snow Hollow B *
30. 3/4 Land B+ */**
31. 3/5 News of the World B */***
32. 3/6 The Father B+ */***
33. 3/10 Coming 2 America B *
34. 3/13 Stray B- *
35. 3/17 Body Brokers B- *
36. 3/19 Night of the Kings B+ *
37. 3/20 Notturno B *
38. 3/21 Two of Us B+ *
39. 3/26 Quo Vadis, Aida? A *
40. 3/27 Acasă, My Home A- *
41. 3/28 Tina A- *
42. 3/31 Godzilla vs. Kong C+ *
43. 4/6 Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar B *
44. 4/7 A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon B+ *
45. 4/9 Summertime B */****
46. 4/10 Potato Dreams of America B- */****
47. 4/11 Valentina B */****
48. 4/13 In the Same Breath B+ */****
49. 4/14 Collective A *
50. 4/15 Sumer of 85 C+ */****
51. 4/17 My Octopus Teacher B *
52. 4/18 Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street B+ */****
53. 4/20 The Man Who Sold His Skin B *
54. 4/21 Better Days B- *
55. 4/22 The Mole Agent B *
56. 5/5 Nobody B+
57. 5/7 The Mitchells vs the Machines B *
58. 5/9 The Disciple B *
59. 5/11 Shadow in the Clouds C+ *
60. 5/12 Finding You C+ */**
61. 5/15 Those Who Wish Me Dead B *
62. 5/16 Dance of the 41 A- *
63. 5/19 Shiva Baby B+ *
64. 5/22 Saint Maud B *
65. 5/23 Georgetown B- *
66. 5/24 The Dry B *
67. 5/26 New Order C
68. 5/30 Cruella B
69. 5/31 Plan B B+ *
70. 6/2 Hating Peter Tachell B+ *
71. 6/4 Raya and the Last Dragon B *
72. 6/6 Changing the Game B+ *
73. 6/8 Riders of Justice A- *
74. 6/11 In the Heights B+
75. 6/16 Holler B *
76. 6/17 The Sparks Brothers B+ */**
77. 6/23 Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It B+
78. 6/24 Luca B *
79. 6/30 Zola C+
80. 7/4 No Sudden Move B+ *
81. 7/5 The Tomorrow War B- *
82. 7/6 Wolfgang B+ *
83. 7/11 Black Widow B+
84. 7/17 Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain C+
85. 7/20 Pig B+
86. 7/22 Stillwater B
87. 7/27 Sublet B+ *
88. 7/31 The Green Knight B
89. 8/5 The Suicide Squad B+
90. 8/10 Nine Days B
91. 8/12 French Exit B+ *
92. 8/14 Free Guy B
93. 8/19 The Protégé B+
94. 8/21 Respect B
95. 8/24 Reminiscence C
96. 8/26 Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed B- *
97. 9/1 Together B+
98. 9/2 Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings B+
99. 9/7 Worth B+ *
100. 9/8 The Lost Leonardo B
101. 9/12 The Card Counter B
102. 9/18 Language Lessons B-
103. 9/21 Copshop B
104. 9/24 Dear Evan Hansen C+
105. 9/26 The Eyes of Tammy Faye B-
106. 10/4 Titane C
107. 10/7 No Time to Die B
108. 10/9 Lamb B-
109. 10/16 The Last Duel B+
110. 10/19 The Rescue B+
111. 10/21 Dune B+
112. 10/24 The French Dispatch B
113. 10/26 Mass A-
114. 11/4 Spencer A
115. 11/6 Eternals B
116. 11/9 Last Night in Soho B
117. 11/10 Passing A *
118. 11/11 The Hand of God B
119. 11/16 Belfast B+
120. 11/18 East of the Mountains B+
121. 11/20 King Richard B+
122. 11/29 House of Gucci B-
122. 12/2 The Power of the Dog A *
123. 12/3 C'mon C'mon A
124. 12/4 tick, tick... BOOM! B+ *
125. 12/5 Julia B
126. 12/7 Encanto B-
127. 12/12 Being the Ricardos B+
128. 12/13 West Side Story A-
129. 12/16 Spider-Man: No Way Home B+
130. 12/17 Drive My Car B             
131. 12/19 Nightmare Alley B+
132. 12/21 The Matrix Resurrections C+
133. 12/26 Licorice Pizza B+
134. 12/27 The Tradedy of Macbeth B+
135. 12/31 Don't Look Up C+ *

 

* Viewed streaming at home during COVID-19
** Advanced screening
*** SAG screener
**** SIFF screener

[posted 7:44 a.m.]