 Could have used a better title, too Director: Sam Mendes Writer: Sam Mendes and Krysty Wilson-Cairns Cinematographer: Roger Deakins Producer: Sam Mendes, Pippa Harris, Jayne-Ann Tenggren, Callum McDougal, and Brian Oliver by Jon Cvack Gravity (2013) was the first movie that felt as though cinema had progressed into new territory, allowing cutting edge technology to combine with a tentpole plot. It was a movie that felt like a ride. The kind of experience that only a movie theater could provide. When I heard people disparaging the film, the first thing I asked was how they watched it. One friend said she hated it before admitting she saw it on an air =plane. Not to be confused with the transcendental feeling that great cinematic art can provide, films like Gravity and 1917 are those which fully maximize the movie-going experience. It is rocket fuel for a room that is filled with millions of dollars of audio-visual equipment. It’s how certain sequences from Interstellar (2014) or Ford vs. Ferrari (2019) or even Armageddon (1998) accomplished. People seem to forget how much better new movie theaters are even from just a few years ago with projection and sound alone. It’s why low attendance is such a shocking idea. We are at the apex of cinema going technology and even before covid, audiences were falling fast. 1917 is an odd film in that I haven’t even heard of the movie prior to its release, let alone that it’d be competitive in awards season or the technical mastery it contained. However, soon it leaked onto the internet that the movie was a series of long single takes. Not reading or wanting to know anything about the story, I had long figured the movie was your classic epic war film; taking place in the trenches of the First World War. Soon, I heard it consisted of essentially two seemingly long single takes; serving as both an exercise and another possible rare maximized cinematic experience. The story is as simple a war story as it gets. It takes place on the Western Front where the Germans have allegedly retreated after a series of blistering attacks. Separated from the other battalion across No Man’s Land and with the telephone lines cut, the English 1st battalion suspects a German ambush and order two young soldiers, Lance Corporal Will Schofield (George MacKay) and Lance Corporal Tom Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman), to take orders across No Man’s Land and cancel the attack. The opening frame is as simple as it gets; showing Blake in close up, sitting against a tree. He then stands, joined by Schofield. The camera pulls out, revealing a dozen soldiers as Blake and Schofield walk by before then entering into the trench and we soon realize that we’re about to pass over a hundred soldiers in a single take. We follow from behind until a piece of subtle action - people cutting them off, stopping to chat, etc. - allow the camera to reposition itself so we’re never stuck following the backs of their heads. For the most part, each long sequence is an attempt to change style and purpose. The first shot comes out strong, setting us for the sheer scope of the film. It made me excited for what’s to come; figuring if it was this good and fascinating from the opening minutes things only stood to evolve from there. The next sequence moves into the headquarters as General Erinmore (Colin Firth) gives them their orders and the camera moves around the tiny space, lingering on the other characters. It’s the weakest part of the film as it was both weird having such a powerhouse talent like Firth play someone that wouldn’t appear in the rest of the movie. There were also people talking all around me at the movie theater during this particular scene which kind of ruined the next ten minutes. Blake and Schofield make their way across No Man’s Land, cutting through the barbed wire where Schofield catches his hand, down through some trenches where they find a corpse where Schofield accidentally drops his cut hand into the rotting chest. I did find this an odd moment that was never revisited, as I would have bet money that Schofield was going to experience some infectious discomfort as the story went on, but instead it never comes up. They reach the German side of the line, finding the barracks completely abandoned and they head inside, finding rats crawling all over the space which soon trigger a trip wire, setting off a mine that causes the space to collapse and Schofield to be buried below a layer of rubble; his eyes blinded with dust. Blake leads him out, and they’re forced to jump over a mineshaft and I quickly realized that this film was not some grand war drama per the likes of Full Metal Jacket (1987) or Saving Private Ryan (1998), but rather an action-adventure movie-video game hybrid. As I mentioned in my thoughts on Robert Zemeckis’s A Christmas Carol (2009), the issue is that video games now look as good as many tentpole movies, which combined with their interactivity, makes the film fail by comparison. 1917 poses the mirror of the same problem in providing a video game narrative with the greatest graphics possible which are actual images. We follow the characters around as though characters who never die in an MMO video game, wandering from adventure to adventure. That’s what I mean by experiment. It was as though Deakins and Mendes wanted to prove that cinema could still provide a better real-time experience. Nevertheless, the issue with a video game structure is the inherent limitations that live-time photography provides. The story suffers as it’s forced to accommodate unrealistic action pieces over and over again. It was a common criticism of Gravity. It was fun to watch, but people got so carried away with the spectacle that they forgot how ridiculous the story was. When you drop the technical prowess, 1917 is an equally absurd story in which a simple MacGuffin propels the character forward into surviving a booby trapped explosion burying him in rubble; fighting a Nazi fighter pilot to the death; battling a Nazi sniper firing in a massive abandoned and bombed out town; and running across the battlefield as his fellow soldiers storm the German trenches. All in half a day. It is a character moving from one problem to another, each getting increasingly more difficult and emotionally intense. Just like a video game. A live-time action-drama war film necessitates a thrilling story. It cannot be gritty or real the way the greatest war films are. That also doesn’t matter. If you accept that each moment is serving the craft more than the character or plot, it’s easy to accept the cinematic achievement. It begs the question as to what the story could have been instead of what it is. Long and elaborate takes wouldn’t accommodate a story with slower pace. The one direction that might have worked better is what I expected going in - a battle between the Allies and the Germans in which we’re following the character in real time. They would line up along the trenches, the whistle blows, and we would follow a two hour battle with the character. This isn’t to say there aren’t moments that in and of themselves were some of the finest bits and pieces of cinema I’ve seen all year. When the dog fight plays in the sky, I knew the inevitable fate and yet never could have imagined where it went or how they achieved it. Blake is stabbed and just when I thought Saving Private Ryan retained the most gruesome death scene in a war film, the live-time provides what most other films lack. Blake is stabbed, Schofield refuses to believe the situation, and then grasping the reality, we watch as Blake passes away, shifting from excruciating pain and into chills and calmness. It’s a moment forever burned into my mind. The experience then shifts a bit from there, as you can’t help wondering how much wilder each scene will get, setting expectations so high that while there are great moments, with the exception of the iconic run through No Man’s Land, nothing comes close to matching the death of Blake. Then again, after a week went by and I talked to more people, I found myself wanting to go back and experience it all again. The oddest part of the film is how quickly you forget you’re watching a single take; providing this weird zen-like interaction in which I lost all sense of watching a film and therefore had no idea what magnificence I missed. That alone goes to show how amazing the movie is. It’s not the greatest war film ever made, but it might be one of the most impressive technical achievements I’ve ever seen in theaters. NOTE: I ended up returning to the cinema for a second screening and was unfortunately disappointed. No longer surprised by what was to come, something felt far more underwhelming; serving as an example where the video game format fails by locking us into a journey that initially felt unprecedented and lost its magic on the second round. It’s still a magnificent achievement, but I’m not sure when I’d return. BELOW: Best scene of the movie Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
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 Not sure what animating the entire film accomplished Director: Robert Zemeckis Writer: Robert Zemeckis; based off A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens Cinematographer: Robert Presley Producer: Steve Starkey, Robert Zemeckis, and Jack Rapke by Jon Cvack I’ve been my way through the various Christmas Carol adaptations. As of this writing, I have Patrick Stewart’s 1999 television version left and sure enough FX released a new adaptation just last week. It’s my very favorite repeated adaptation - up there with the ancient classics, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, and others; an incredibly rare achievement in creating a story that stands the test of time; people drawn back time and again, always finding a fresh connection to the material and demonstrating how timeless art can become. A good Scrooge fits any age, a person who can just as easily play a charmer as well as an asshole. Ideally, we see tiny slivers of a good person between the bad. It’s why Reginald Owen from the 1932 version, Alastair Sim from 1951, and Bill Murray from Scrooged (1988) are all so good. And it’s why George C. Scott in 1984’s version fails to work, let alone when Scott breaks into song and dance; he’s just too intense and serious a person. This marks the beginning of Robert Zemeckis’ peculiar shift away from an absolutely dominating reign in cinema in which he created classic after classic film. The split year of 2000 marks an immediate wedge between his two ears - Cast Away (2000) earned another position in our popular cinema pantheon and What Lies Beneath (2000) marks a failure to reimagine Hitchcock. He wouldn’t make another movie until 2004 with another classic The Polar Express. From there on out he spent the next half decade making only animated films, culminating in A Christmas Carol. As mentioned in other thoughts, the 2000s is becoming an endearing turning point in spectacle cinema. Just as the 50s sci-fi introduced cheesy monsters, aliens, and other creatures and the 80s would master them, the 2000s is when tentpole films leaned into underdeveloped special effects; most of which are aging horribly. See my thoughts on Lord of the Rings (2001) where while most of the film still works, there are a few special effects which are shockingly awful. Filmmakers should remaster these films, not just release higher definition copies. Sometime in the last few years, as I played a few video games here and there, I realized that we are not - yet - in danger of CGI characters taking over in narrative films, but that video games and CGI narrative have so successfully merged that it demands filmmakers use style to differentiate themselves. It’s why Pixar is successful and Paddington (2014) works. But I’m left wondering if it could ever allow for what Ghost in the Shell or Akira accomplished; allowing actual people to exist within an animated world. A Christmas Carol doesn’t feel like a movie so much as watching the B-Roll of a video game. At points, it even feels as though it’s setting you up to play a game. It follows the traditional story in the classical era with Ebenezer Scrooge played by Jim Carrey (along with performing the three ghosts of past, present, and future). Ebenezer is designed as a frightening and intimidating man; tall and hovering over people, failing to have even an ounce of kindness anywhere in his body. Although played by Carrey, the filmmakers opted to remove all humor. Perhaps at the time, when Carrey was at the top of comedy, there’d be an irony in how serious the performance came across, but I was left wondering how much better it could have been if Scrooge made subtle jokes and remarks under his breath that at least provided him a sense of wit. Instead, it was dry and cold. The story follows the normal trajectory. We meet Bob Cratchit (Gary Oldman, who also plays Scrooge’s old partner Jacob Marley), Scrooge’s nephew (Colin Firth), and his former fiancee Belle (Robin Wright Penn; who also strangely plays Scrooge’s younger sister as well). Each scene is absolutely beautiful and stunning with some interesting visual effects to mix things up, but for the most part, the whole time I was wondering why this wasn’t live action. Before the future segment arrives, most of the scenes involve normal looking people in normal locations. I was left imagining Jim Carrey’s makeup and the kinds of visual and practical effects that Zemeckis has perfectly blended in the past. So many frames were gorgeous, but fell far short of what an actual set with real people could have provided. It’s the type of film you wish would get remade Psycho-style in order to prove that CGI isn’t meant to recreate life but the imagination (wild visual effects aside). BELOW: I'd love someone to explain to me why going through all this was somehow a better idea than live action Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The technology just wasn't there to pull off playing drums with a scarf Director: Zhang Yimou Writer: Li Feng, Peter Wu, Wang Bin, and Zhang Yimou Cinematographer: Zhao Xiaoding Producer: William Kong and Zhang Yimou by Jon Cvack This is the first action film I’ve seen since getting into Yimou Zhang as the art house Chinese filmmaker who made Raise the Red Lantern (1991), Coming Home (2014), Not One Less (1999) and about a half dozen other acclaimed movies. He’s also made Hero (2002 with Jet Li), The Great Wall (2016) with Matt Damon, and a movie I had never even heard of with Christian Bale called The Flowers of War (2011). It might be the greatest example of the “one for you, one for me” filmmaking philosophy. I had always thought House of Flying Daggers exploded in America, but in fact it was Hero which was made two years prior and made over $175 million from its $31 million budget. House of Flying Daggers followed it up, offering that unique 00s vibe of special effects that looked pretty good at the time, now in dire need of remastering. Remembering nothing about Hero and therefore only having his beautiful dramas in my mind, I figured that it’d at least be a gorgeous movie to look at. And it is. But damn do the effects bring it down. The film opens by explaining that as the oppressive Tang Dynasty fades, various factions have risen up in revolt, including the House of Flying Daggers. Later, we meet a blind dancer Mei (Zhang Ziyi) who’s been captured by police who suspect she’s connected to the organization. The set looks fake, the colors feel empty, and I got that immediate sense of alarm; made all the worse when somehow the situation leads to the blind girl being surrounded by drums and the judge or policeman says she has to recreate the sounds of dried beans hitting the instruments where she’ll then use her scarves to somehow recreate the sounds. The beans look fake, the scarves look fake, the slow motion looks tacky, and I knew I was watching a film from an era not quite able to pull off the effect; the way it’s hard to watch Futureworld (1976) and how much it leans into the 70s. This is made using the nascent technology from the age which would progress and look exponentially better in less than 20 years. The story moves on from there with reversals and deaths, but ultimately it’s all about the fights - featuring everything from a sequence in a bamboo field that was pretty cool, in which using the whistling sound the plants would make when soaring through the air, along with the pliability of the stalks, Yimou made a mostly believable sequence as a few of the characters are chased down. The final scene is a bit more difficult to swallow, involving this hyper stylized knife throwing throughout the rest of the film that simply doesn’t look good; by now closer to a video game than reality. Knives are tossed back and forth and slow motion shots dominate the sequence. The final stand off in the snow has its moments, but is mostly forgettable. Writing this a little over a week later, there were few other scenes that stand out. The thing is, very few films from this era have aged well. Even Lord of the Rings (2001 - 2003) needs a major remastering of about 25% of its material. It’s an interesting era in allowing us to anticipate where it was all going to go, but the film’s themselves are now becoming museum pieces. Perhaps one day they’ll take on the vintage feel of a Universal classic horror or 50s monster movie. Then again, these are also some of the first films sharing a comparable experience with video games, where it seems like these sequences could have found a better home. I might try out Hero one day in the future. If not, I’m completely satisfied with his dramas. If anything it makes me wonder why he can’t find a better balance between the two, as I’m entirely confident Yimou would create a modern Ran (1985), if given the proper opportunity. As is, it seems best to stick with his smaller stories that contain enough heart to battle and win against any epic. BELOW: A scene that works with the available tech Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  A film that feels like a drug trip Director: Gaspar Noé Writer: Gaspar Noé and Lucile Hadzihalilovic Cinematographer: Benoît Debie Producer: Brahim Chioua, Vincent Maraval, Olivier Delbosc, Marc Missonnier, and Shin Yamaguchi by Jon Cvack There are a handful of disturbing movies that I’m fairly certain I’ll never watch again. Ken Park (2002), The Brown Bunny (2003), Gummo (1997), and Antichrist (2009) are some of the first that come to mind. They’re all made by good, or even great directors, but all cross that particular threshold of providing a cathartic experience and toward functioning as a nightmare. At the same time, I’m not against returning to Requiem for a Dream (2000), Kids (1995), Salò (1975), and I often revisit the Saw series during October. We all have thresholds (most are shocked when they hear I un-ironically enjoy the Saw series), but then many people I know have Requiem for a Dream as one of their favorite movies; a film I don’t find disturbing enough to forever ignore, but can’t imagine when I’d be in a mood to electively put it on. Enter the Void exists somewhere in the middle. I had never seen any of Gaspar Noe’s work up to this point, nor did I know anything about Enter the Void. I knew it had something to do with psychedelics and by the time the opening credits of the cast and crew literally flash by, preventing even the fastest reader from seeing any name before tossing us into the story. The opening scene is of the coolest and most original I’ve seen in awhile, taking the POV of the lead character, a drug dealer named Oscar (Nathaniel Brown) who lives in a tiny high rise Tokyo apartment with half a kitchen and a gorgeous view over the downtown skyline. He’s joined on the balcony by who we later discover is his sister Linda (Paz de la Huerta) who says something about being like a plane flying across the sky, looking down at the city; an idea that Linda finds frightening. She then heads off to work at a strip club and Oscar lights up some DMT and we get our first trip out scene. Still in a single take - broken up only by the screen blinking like an eyeball - he’s soon visited by his friend Alex (Cyril Roy) and the two decide to head over to The Void dance club in order for Oscar to make a delivery to his younger friend Victor (Olly Alexander). On the way over, Alex asks if Oscar has read The Tibetan Book of the Dead, explaining its view that once someone dies they simply float above the Earth, watching life take place for all eternity. An idea that Oscar finds terrifying. With the single take still going, Oscar finds Victor crying, sits down, and the police come barging through, chasing him into a disgusting bathroom where Oscar attempts to flush the pills, soon shot by the police through the stomach and he dies in the stall. The single take ends and Oscar floats out of the body per the very method The Book of the Dead and ascends throughout the skies of Tokyo, drifting in and out of character’s lives and their histories. What prevents the film from going into Antichrist territory is the narrative, which at its core is a fairly simple story about a kid who lost his parents at a young age, was later separated from his sister in foster care, and turned to both abusing and dealing drugs; determined to increasingly alter his mind and soon dying as a result; following everything up from his initial conception (as in sperm and seed) and up to his last dying breath. On the other hand, for nearly three hours the movie takes a voyeuristic eye of god position which becomes stale quickly. Allegedly Gaspar Noe was inspired by tripping out while watching the first person film noir The Lady in the Lake (1947). The idea is simple enough, film is about having storytellers offer us objective images to look at; framed, composed, designed, and blocked to be as engaging as possible. First person POV is limiting, forcing us to only see what a character sees and preventing what is arguably the purpose of cinema - to have beautiful images arranged in such a way that allows the viewer to connect patterns. First person doesn’t allow for cutting; the viewer is instead forced to look at whatever they’re looking at and due to its perspective, it just cannot compete with a more omniscient perspective. It’s the reason why so few films have adopted it for the full running time. This is of course combined with the plethora of disturbing images Gaspar forces upon us - of countless amounts of women and men having sex in full nude, often at dirty strip clubs and typically empty of any form of emotion beyond the raw experience; going so far as to show a penis entering from the inside of the vagain and ejaculating. Of horrible drug abuse that leaves people hurt, dying, or dead in a city that, while vibrant, does not at all care about its casualties. Or of the countless times Gaspar cuts to a graphic and horrifying car accident that leaves Oscar and Linda’s parents dead with their skulls bashed in and blood everywhere. Or of some suggestively incestuous relationship between Oscar and Victor which is taken up to the point of showing them sleeping with one another. Or of a desolate Victor giving oral to a pair of businessmen in an elevator, likely to make his next score. For two and a half hours after the intro, we are forced into this exhausting POV, made to watch vapid and terrible acts in a confining peeping Tom perspective. I had divided the film into three parts and by the last night, I struggled to even put the film on; not at all interested in having my mood inevitably pulled down. Like Antichrist and its peers, there wasn’t all that much beyond the amazing intro that made me excited or made me excited to return to the story. There are ideas about fate and circumstance, and there’s an interesting exploration of a rippling effect that can take place through an event years past, and while they’re interesting, I’m not sure when I’d return, if ever. However, I’d also recommend it for any fellow cinephiles who want a unique and unforgettable experience. The story seems to be that some are determined from the very moment of conception to live a life of tragedy. At its best I suppose the film makes you appreciate your circumstances by actually placing you inside of what it’d be like for someone to experience a tragic life. It’s the complete lack of hope that drags it all down. The movie itself functions as a trip - you are distracted by the bright colors and showy photography, until you then return to the real world, realizing how horrifying it all was. BELOW: Five minutes of what I think is about a thirty minute opening scene Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Only Tarr could make opening the blinds so beautiful Director: Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky Writer: Georges Simenon (novel), Béla Tarr, László Krasznahorkai Cinematographer: Fred Kelemen Producer: Humbert Balsan, Christoph Hahnheiser, and Juliusz Kossakowski by Jon Cvack I had discovered Béla Tarr from a philosophy professor who inspired me to take up the major, starting with Damnation (1987) and having that perfect experience of wanting to invite all your film friends over to watch it; containing a style as unique as Lynch or Haneke where you’re hungry for the rest of the filmography. For those unfamiliar, always in black and white, Tarr utilizes long single takes; not revealing grand set pieces and walks and talks, but with subtle changes in composition, shifting from close ups to wides to two shots and back; other times holding the camera down as action unfolds before it, fully utilizing the monochromatic light and shadows. The Man From London opens in close up on the submerged hull of a ship, slowly rising up, revealing the depth number, moving all the way up to starboard where a couple of men discuss something in the captain's room before the other throws a briefcase out into the water, continuing up to a railway viewing tower where Maloin (Miroslav Krobot) watches it all take place. Still rolling on the first take, he watches as the men exit the ship, turning left out toward the docks where one of the men from the captain’s office boards a train which we then follow out. It’s a take that’s modest and yet meticulously crafted. Not every take is as engaging and Tarr understands it. The Turin Horse (2012) is almost torturous to watch in portraying the grueling life of abject 18th century poverty. The Man from London the Hitchcockian/classic noir crime story of the common man becoming entangled in a dangerous situation that spirals his life out of control. Maloin steals the cash, hoping it could relieve his meager existence; where his daughter works at a butcher, dressed in a skimpy outfit that shows off her underside while his wife Camélia (Tilda Swinton) prepares their sparse dinner and cleans their empty apartment day after day. From there, the film follows a labyrinthe path, between Maloin, the man Morrison (János Derzsi) who stole the money, and a shady police officer Morrison (István Lénárt) who investigates the crime; abiding by Dashiel Hammett’s complexity. What I love about Tarr’s work is that I have yet to even come close to fully comprehending what they’re about. It’s all about the experience with images and characters. When finishing, I remember fragments - drying the money on an air vent, the kid playing soccer in the narrow alley, the old man eating bread and soup at the restaurant. Reading the synopsis, I realize how much I didn’t even comprehend as I was so transported by his world. It provides that strange meditative viewing experience; where what you’re watching is so profound that you at times lose concentration in order to follow a thought. It’s exactly what you hoped for from the master. BELOW: The opening single Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Couldn't find much better so here's a bland picture against a wall Director: Mia Hansen-Løve Writer: Mia Hansen-Løve Cinematographer: Pascal Auffray Producer: Oliver Damian, Philippe Martin, and David Thion by Jon Cvack I keep wanting to start a page about Netflix spoiling movies by providing synopses that often extend more than halfway through the film, in this case - spoiler - telling me that the main character commits suicide, which I don’t think I would’ve anticipated for at least the first quarter of the movie. This is the second movie I’ve watched from the French filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve (a woman filmmaker in case any others wouldn’t guess with). The reason I even mention it is because the first film I saw, Goodbyife, First Love (2011), felt a bit creepy to tell. As mentioned in my thoughts on If Beale Street Could Talk (2018), it just goes to show the importance of having stories told from particular perspectives; allowing us to dive into a long unfamiliar worldview. It also makes the Father of My Children all the more interesting. The plot follows a successful film producer Grégoire Canvel (Louis-Do de Lencquesaing; a man) whose lavish life begins to crumble as he discovers his production company is near bankrupt. We meet his wife Sylvia Canvel (Chiara Caselli) and two girls, Clémence (Alice de Lencquesaing; who’d be in Goodbyife, First Love) and her sister Billie. They have a loving and affectionate relationship, taking weekend trips up to their second home in the country. With two movies in production, including a 19th century period piece, and another Korean film a few weeks out from production, Grégoire learns from his lawyer that the company is in serious financial trouble. With few films bringing in the returns required to pay off over four million Euros in debt, and with his present catalogue already mortgaged, the best he could do is sell the company for only a quarter of what he owes. Mia Hansen-Løve does an exquisite job of building the world of a film producer, and capturing the spirit of independent production. It’s a small operation, employing less than ten people, and yet always filled with people coming in for meetings; including a young writer/director who Grégoire invited in to collaborate on a project and gets caught in the whirlwind of his collapse. Soon the ailing finances smother Grégoire, and knowing there’s no way out, he kills himself by shooting himself in the head on a random sidewalk in the middle of the street. The family is later notified and so begins the second half of the story, as Sylvia attempts to rescue the business while consoling her daughters. It’s here that the film takes a bit of a dip, as while I never hoped it’d enter into melodrama, there’s a peculiar distance the family has from what just happened. We never see them or even get a suggestion of their grief, whether the wife or the daughters. Sylvia tries to make deals that buy time or at least preserve the company’s existence, and the older daughter Clémence starts going out with the young filmmaker, who without a signed contract, can’t make his film. We never hear all that much from Belle. Later Clémence discovers that her father had lived a double life, having another son with a different woman. In the end, the company is sold, and the finances appear cleared out, and I was left wondering what to feel for Sylvia and her daughters. What I assume had to be denial, came across as indifference; leaving me to wonder if they were all just putting on an act in the earliest scenes as they demonstrated their love. And yet that seems too cynical. It’s as though the story didn’t know what to do with the characters once their father was gone. BELOW: Couldn't find much beyond the trailer, so here ya go Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Unfortunately, there's like two hi-def images on Google Director: Alfonso Cuarón Writer: Alfonso Cuarón, Timothy J. Sexton, David Arata, Mark Fergus, and Hawk Ostby; based on The Children of Men by P. D. James Cinematographer: Emmanuel Lubezki Producer: Hilary Shor, Iain Smith, Tony Smith, Marc Abraham, and Eric Newman by Jon Cvack As mentioned in my thoughts on Roma (2018), I hadn’t revisited Children of Men since making my movie Road to the Well (2016) and directing other projects; providing that magnificent experience of grasping how technically phenomenal the story is. Not just from the cinematography, but the art direction, costumes, story, and performances. I think I had seen the movie once or twice before this round. I remembered the masked people in cages, the long take in the car, the Strawberry Cough, and the birthing sequence. For some reason I feel as though I missed it’s connection. I keep thinking this movie was made in 2010, but quadruple checking, I’m surprised to see it was 2006; while Bush was president with record low approval numbers; knee deep in the Middle East, a year out from the Katrina disaster, and rolling out increasingly pervasive intelligence techniques. I was getting more into politics at the time, swinging far and away from my conservative family. In terms of history, the facts are that George Bush approved the torture of prisoners of war and engaged in a counterproductive campaign that killed over 5,500 members of the military and over 150,000 Iraqi civilians; all while creating the PATRIOT Act which has impeded on our fourth Amendment rights. Children of Men takes place in 2027, when the world has gone infertile due to a pandemic of antibiotic-resistant plagues. The U.K. has become a police state, instituting strict checkpoints to repel and expel any and all immigrants. The film begins in a coffee shop, with a bunch of the patrons watching the latest bad news regarding terrorist attacks. Theo Faron (Clive Owen) waits for his coffee and exits, getting about a block down before the coffee shop explodes. Someone had planted a bomb that could have killed him, though still he continues to go to work, lasting but a moment before requesting to go home where he’s then kidnapped by a group of left wing terrorists named “Fishes”, led by Julian Taylor (Julianne Moore); providing one of the first great - and incredibly simple - set pieces; a small windowed room with newspaper taped up on the glass and a yellow bulb burning bright within. Describing this, it’s only Emmanuel Lubezki who could make such a setting feel so fresh. We learn that Theo used to be a member of a left wing radical faction; electing to become a regular old government bureaucrat instead; opting to ignore all that’s going on around him. It’s where the role is fascinating, as my memory of the film up to revisiting was a much less advanced world. It’s through Cuarón's phenomenal direction, allowing the camera to take the subjective view of Theo that allows it work. There are the disturbing images of people in cages and violent streets, but it all seems to operate within the background. Theo isn’t interested because he can’t be interested. Julia offers Theo money in exchange for getting a woman she knows some transit papers. Theo rejects the offer, though makes you feel a passionate concern and desire for the other person, though they only talk for minutes. He goes on to visit his old friend and former cartoonist Jason Palmer (Michael Caine) who now sells pot, grown in a cozy house in the middle of the woods, providing the one bit of escape Theo can find in the crumbling world. He decides to hit up his government minister cousin who lives an extravagant life in a massive (albeit sterile and claustrophobic) apartment or condo of sorts; eating beautiful food while looking upon an industrial wasteland with a floating pig (straight from Pink Floyd’s “Animals” album cover; not to mention some Banksy art years before his widespread acclaim). The cousin agrees to the transport papers, though they require Theo as an escort; which he uses to leverage even more money. The Fishes agree and discover the woman, Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey) is pregnant. Grasping the significance, Theo joins Julian, the armed radical Luke (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and a midwife Miriam (Pam Ferris) as they attempt to have her meet up with the Human Project; an organization determined to solve the infertile pandemic. So begins one of the two of some of the greatest single takes in the history of cinema; as to do this day I have no idea how they accomplished this technically (and I never wanted to look in fear of spoiling the magic). Riding down the rural road, surrounded by forest, Theo sits in the left shotgun while Julian’s behind him. She removes a ping pong ball and the two play a game of blowing and catching it in their mouths. Soon the ball drops and the two begin making out and the camera pans back to the front of the car where dozens of motorcycles with riders holding weapons cruise by and fire toward their position. Still going, Luke stops and reverses. Julian catches a bullet to the head and dies and Theo fights off some of the motorcyclists, where again in the same take, he opens his door to slam them off their bikes before Luke finally stops the car and the camera - still rolling - gets out from the car with them to decide what to do. Luke decides to take them to their terrorist outpost in rural London where through another brilliant use of the camera, Cuarón allows us to join Theo as he sneaks around the house; soon hearing that they plan to kill both Theo and Kee once she has the baby in order to use him as leverage in the pending revolution. Theo decides to act quick, waking up Kee in the middle of the night who escapes, providing another thrilling moment, which is straight out of a first person shooter game; as we remain with Kee and Theo while they bounce from car to car looking for keys, all while hearing some terrorist guards having a discussion throughout the complex. In a wide, Theo and Kee ride in a car down a hill while the others chase them down the hill, hoping to catch up before they can start up the vehicle and gain some speed. Theo drives on to Jason’s to help buy some time, though it’s not long until the terrorists catch up. Jason gives them their car and points them to a way out. Later distracting the terrorists with his charming self, then getting shot dead and Theo suddenly realizes how close he is to all he’s been ignoring. They’re led to an abandoned school where Kee’s water breaks; later meeting a Romanian woman Marichka who helps them with the bird; who, by this point, we assume has the worst intentions. With the revolution launching an offensive against the British she leads them to a dingy apartment where we watch the full action of the baby coming out, which seems a bit too much until you think of how good it looks. Later they meet a man named Syd (Peter Mullan) who learns of the bounty on their head, who attempts to turn them over to the Fishes until Theo clobbers him in the head with an old car battery. Nevertheless, the fishes catch up to them, stealing the baby as British soldiers close in on their position and so begins one of the most impressive - if not the most impressive - single take ever captured on video, which I somehow completely forgot about while getting sucked into the story. The Fishes led by Luke kidnap Kee and her baby at gunpoint as gunfire pours in from all directions. He works his way through the labyrinthian urban streets as Fishes lead the soldiers onward, ending up in a rundown apartment complex and heads onto a public bus to take cover where someone gets shot. Blood covers the camera and Theo exits, discovering a British tank dialed in on the Fishes position; blowing up the entrance and Theo heads inside, up the stairs, searching for Kee and then finding her next to Luke. The greatest long takes function as some of the greatest passages in literature or even the greatest scenes from film; in which they transcend language by pushing the craft to its very brink; where most can agree of their beauty. A scene like this is something where I assume even the below average movie watch would find it incredible, even without ever realizing its marvelous technical feat Theo survives the ordeal, escaping with Kee and the baby through the sewer system, though getting shot along the way. They make it to The Human Project. The baby survives but Theo doesn’t; sacrificing his life for another as a result; the way those closest to him did as well. It expresses such a poetic message - that in a time when humans can no longer procreate, to sacrifice one’s life to amend the problem is the greatest gift someone could provide. My friend watched this film about a year ago, just as Trump’s immigration debate started up once again. Most have now forgotten how disastrous the Bush administration was. They look past Katrina, 9/11, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Abu Ghraib and its torture policy, the PATRIOT Act, and the failure to get Bin Laden or end Islamic Radicalism. We now remember Bush as a decent man who upheld the office and the whole criticism seems so weak. I’m sure most of us wish we could pass on candies to former political opponents in order to gain the respect of all. So we see elitism, and like Theo’s cousin, those who live in guarded communities and in the high rise tower are completely detached, watching the world burn below. Trump’s radical immigration policy best connects to this story. Many ask what they themselves would have done if they were in Germany during Hitler’s rise. The sad truth is few of us are doing anything now. People say they are burnt out and tired of the endless scandals (this entry was written two years ago); hoping for 2020 to arrive so things can return to normal, and refusing to accept that Trump has demonstrated how frail our country is. What scares me isn’t Trump, but what Trump is showing other evil geniuses; that our institutions can be corrupted and the checks and balances can easily fall into line. The question is what happens when climate changes make a more dire impact and millions of refugees flee from the inhabitable desert, or if another global financial crisis hits - if the wrong person is in charge what becomes of other people’s rights and how much will we care? It’s wonderful to imagine we’ll change like Theo, but then I think of how many other people he knew who never changed at all; who kept watching the world crumble. I’m not sure when a setting like Children of Men will occur (if ever, of course), but minus the infertility, of all dystopian tales, this seems like the most prescient. BELOW: Cinema at its finest Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Josh Safdie Writer: Josh Safdie and Eleonore Hendricks; Josh Safdie, Andy Spade, and Anthony Sperduti Cinematographer: Brett Jutkiewicz Producer: Brett Jutkiewicz, Sam Lisenco, Zach Treitz, and Josh Safdie by Jon Cvack NOTE: I wrote this about 18 months ago before seeing either Good Time (2017), or of course, Uncut Gems (2019). I had received Good Time (2018) from Netflix, reading about it on a few lists and watching a couple of interviews with the filmmakers. I started it up and so began the type of movie where within ten seconds I knew I was watching something incredible; so much so that I turned the film off, wanting to watch it with my girlfriend, finding it on Amazon Prime and returning the disc; never syncing up with my girlfriend as we were still trying to get through the last five Sopranos episodes. I’m approaching an age where my generation of filmmakers are starting to come to fruition. Ari Aster’s Hereditary (2018) served as a fantastic debut from the 30-year-old filmmaker, 32-year-old Damien Chazelle is at the top of Hollywood with Whiplash and LaLa Land, and I’m now discovering that the 32-year-old Safdie’s have just released their fifth feature. They have a fascinating though mysterious story in that after graduating from Boston University, they were approached by Partner & Spade to create a commercial. They were provided a $200,000 budget, in which they produced the commercial for 10% of that and took the rest to make The Pleasure of Being Robbed, opting to shoot on film and making you understand how they spent a $180,000 on a 65-minute mumblecore film. It would premiere at SXSW and win the Grand Jury Prize, and so their careers were launched. The Pleasure of Being Robbed is about a kleptomaniac Eléonore (Eleonore Hendricks) who wanders the streets of New York, stealing people's purses and bags. In the opening scene, she approaches a random woman on the street, acting like they know each other, hugs her and say they should hang out, before walking off, bag in hand. I get the feeling that this was actually a random woman they approached rather than an actor, which is genius. She then steals a man from Fifth Avenue’s bag as his doorman helps him unload the car, taking it back to her apartment along with a bag full of kittens. Later she steals some grapes from a fruit stand and somewhere between all this, she plays in a ping pong parlor. We then get into the meat of the story when she steals a pair of Volvo car keys and bumps into an old friend Josh (Josh Safdie) who helps her track down the car and drive her home. They spend the night together and she leaves the next day, heading to a park where she conspicuously snoops through a mother’s apartment who screams for help. Eléonore gets arrested and the cops stop at a zoo where she begs them to let her visit for ten minutes, which for some reason one of the cop grants, gets booked and then released and that’s it. The Pleasure of Being Robbed came out at the peak of mumblecore, offering a story that’s more of a slice of life, in which a shaky camera and mumbling characters are combined into a meandering narrative; often excused when compared to the New Wave or Rossellini's post-war work, as though just because it’s rough, shaky, and handheld with no plot, there’s a need to celebrate it. While Eléonore was an interesting character, I knew no more going into the film than coming out. I’m not sure what I was supposed to learn other than that there are some weird people out there with complex personalities. It’s not a bad movie, it just blends in with all other mumblecore filmmakers - early Duplass brothers, Joe Swanberg, and Andrew Bujalski. Few of their films are bad, but many of them blend together; in which it’s more about individual images and moments than the grand narrative or style. Perhaps that’s the point. If pressed, given their down to Earth personalities and humor, it almost feels like the Safdie's pulled a fast one on the film world; to make us think we were watching something heavy and profound, when it was all meant to be meaningless. Then again, when I'm pulling the credits, I notice Benny's name is not on any of the film, so maybe he was the missing ingredient. BELOW: Weird though prescient scene of where the Safdie's would go Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Lars von Trier Writer: Lars von Trier Cinematographer: Anthony Dod Mantle Producer: Vibeke Windeløv by Jon Cvack I happened to arrive on my waning Lars Von Trier list only weeks after the reception of the director’s latest cause célèbre The House that Jack Built (2018). Again eliciting a divisive response and numerous walkouts during its premiere. This was the filmmaker’s first return to Cannes after making the infamous Nazi comment during his Melancholia premiere after discovering he was no longer of Jewish German descent, but rather just a German, causing him to express his sympathy for Hitler’s demise, trying to get off the topic, and sarcastically referring to himself as a Nazi much to the horror of his cast. Manderlay was the second in what was suppose to be Von Trier’s “American History” trilogy. It kicked off with Dogville (2003), which while starting off strong, just couldn’t maintain its momentum for the three-hour run time; descending into some brutal and needless rape scenes while exploring a storyline in which each character possesses some degree of evil. Like Manderlay, it was shot on a soundstage with a minimalist set and cheap digital cameras, which while effective for a little while, also couldn’t keep up with the running time. Ultimately, my eyes and mind got bored filling in all the blanks. The second in the series follows Grace Mulligan (Bryce Dallas Howard) and her father Mr. Mulligan (Willem Dafoe) after they had burned down Dogville after both James Caan and Nicole Kidman opted out of the production. They arrive outside the gates of a town called Manderlay, discovering a woman trying to escape, yelling about a man who’s being whipped for stealing a bottle of wine. They enter the town to discover that, although the Civil War is 70 years past, slavery continues. Grace meets the master of the house, Mam (Lauren Bacall), and is so disgusted by the situation that she decides to stay to try and provide liberty. Shortly after, Mam dies and the Uncle Tom-like character Wilhelm (Danny Glover) takes over. Mam has left behind a book regarded as “Mam’s Law” which you can check on the Wikipedia page, but essentially describes every type of black person (not using this word) Mam had to deal with. Each of these groups contains a leader who form a type of city council, which somehow Grace starts to lead; attempting to teach the former slaves about freedom and democracy. I had to watch this movie in about four scattered chunks, as a mixture of boredom and offense played so heavily that I can’t provide much in the way of details. Grace grows frustrated while the black people remain completely helpless - they’re illiterate, struggle to learn, or even carry out the most basic democratic task. I don’t doubt that any individual kept in bondage could have severe mental damage or disabilities, but I just don’t understand what the purpose of this story was; made all the worst by von Trier’s Nazi comment. The 90s were fraught with Southern White Savior films in the 90s - A Time to Kill (1996), Mississippi Burning (1988), The Ghost of Mississippi (1996), and others all explored the idea of relatively helpless black males finally saved when a team of white lawyers came around. This isn’t to discount the work that these individuals did in assisting with Civil Rights, but it seems we’re long past due for films that focus on the black heroes from the period. Manderlay embodies this icky device as a privileged white woman comes into town, so overwhelmed by guilt that she tries to teach the helpless black people about the basic tenets of government who struggle to grasp the tiniest concept until she understands how they learn and saves the community. While she goes on to experience some cheap moral dilemma when one of her “students” (for lack of a better word) breaks the very law she created, it led to an even more offensive scene as the woman whips one of the black men; at first remorseful and then developing a strange and unsettling sense of sadistic pleasure And again, we’re forced to discover another disgusting Uncle Tom character in Wilhelm who we learn has been the one preserving Mam’s Law out of fear of what freedom would bring about. There were interesting moments which explored the perils of government and the challenges of community organization, but ultimately, it felt far too condescending. Part of me thinks that my reaction was the exact point; as in the end, we see a montage of the last 50 years of race relations, realizing that we have a long way to go. Perhaps Grace’s character reflected most of us; believing we're helping but failing to offer the revolutionary change required. Nevertheless, it's a subpar allegory more effectively explored in Get Out in which white people want to think they’re helping when really they’re perpetuating the problem. It’s films like this, and when I think of other white-oriented racial movies, that I realize that ultimately, the wrong people have been telling these stories; or at least, not enough black people have had the chance to lend their perspective. It’s why a movie like 12 Years a Slave (2013) is so effective; told from a position that understands that racism is far more complex than simply a byproduct of slavery or ignorance. It pervades our country like a virus, and unfortunately, I do not believe that white people either fully comprehend the problem the way implicit bias can have overt and systemic ramifications. BELOW: A BTS doc I didn't watch but I bet is better than the movie Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Sean Baker and Shih-Ching Tsou Writer: Sean Baker and Shih-Ching Tsou Producer: Sean Baker and Shih-Ching Tsou by Jon Cvack I haven’t yet seen Tangerine (2015) as of this writing, but I consider The Florida Project (2017) as one of the best films of 2017. There was a refreshing and unique voice within that film which has been missing over the last decade or so; in which I saw a side of life - and American life, specifically - of which I’ve never seen before; somehow combining the innocence of a coming of age story with the frightening realism of our lower classes. The film piqued my interest in Sean Baker. Many believe Tangerine was his first film when in fact he actually made six films prior to The Florida Project, his first being Four Letter Words (2000) which I can’t seem to find, and then the $3,000 feature Take Out which would win at Slamdance and go on to be nominated for a John Cassavetes award at the Independent Spirit Awards. The film is shot entirely on the type of nascent digital cameras which you could find at Best Buy for under a couple thousand bucks, opening up with Chinese immigrant Ming Ding (Charles Jang) approached by some debt collecting thugs, demanding the three hundred dollars that Ming’s late in paying, giving him until the end of the day to pay it off. Ming works at a NYC Chinese restaurant as a biker deliverer. The restaurant is led by Big Sister (Wang-Thye Lee), the cook is Wei (Justin Wan), and the other deliverer is Young (Jeng-Hua Yu). Ming explains his situation to Young, who decides to give Ming all of his deliveries, and so we follow Big Sister taking orders, Wei cooking the delicious looking food (you will want Chinese after this), and Ming delivers. This goes for nearly 90 minutes as Ming meets a range of New Yorkers, from sweet to rude; the interactions nothing beyond a few seconds, and that’s about it. Looking at the Wikipedia page synopsis, it’s funny to note that two-thirds of the synopsis describes the first five minutes, and the last third describe the next 85 minutes. I want to emphasize again that I see think The Florida Project is both the best film of the year, along with making me excited for where else Baker will take us (especially after this film and knowing Tangerine’s general story), but in terms of this film - I’m simply in disbelief that it has gained the laureates it has. So little happens in this movie beyond the first and last few minutes, that all anyone could really celebrate is the banality of working a mundane and repetitive job. What I saw was a filmmaker who had very little money, hoping to shoot a feature about an area of life we rarely see. But in terms of the overall craft, even how the cheap digital camera would be used, it looks like it was shot by pre-film schoolers. Frankly - it’s just a boring movie that could just as easily have been a ten or twenty minute short with the same message, if not more powerful. I can’t fault the film too much, as deserved or not, the film shined a spotlight on Sean Baker and provided him the path toward The Florida Project. But all those filmmakers that took so much time to lead a crew, craft a story and images you can’t help feeling frustrated that a film like this gets celebrated while so many other engaging stories are vastly overlooked. BELOW: One of the few trailers that gives you the entire plot Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page |
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