 A movie where the plot is a distant second to the action to the point of being meaningless Director: Christopher McQuarrie Writer: Christopher McQuarrie Cinematographer: Rob Hardy Producer: J. J. Abrams, Tom Cruise, Christopher McQuarrie, and Jake Myers by Jon Cvack With the exception of Philip Seymour Hoffman, I have not enjoyed any of the Mission Impossible sequels. Looking back at my Netflix ratings, two of them are rated two stars, one is three stars, and the one with Philip Seymour Hoffman is four stars, but I’m pretty sure that's only because he’s in it. What I recall is hoping for all the sequels to match the first film; which has become such a timeless action classic to the point where each of the characters feels fresh and somehow I still see Ethan Hunt as his 34 year old self, no matter how close to sixty Tom Cruise gets. The other films all blend together in my mind in which, similar to Bond films from the last 20 years, I can’t differentiate one from the other. And yet similar to what Skyfall achieved, Mission Impossible: Fallout somehow broke the dry spell. I’m not sure what made this film any better than the others - though the extravagant practical stunts sure seem to offer the best support - but this is by far the best of the sequels and one of the most thrilling moviegoing experiences I’ve had since Deepwater Horizon (2016). What I discovered while watching it - or I suppose accepted - is that megabrands of this sort are essentially becoming a subgenre in and of themselves. There are 26 James Bond films. I imagine there’ll be least two or three more Mission Impossible films and I’m then confident that Tom Cruise will simply hand off the torch to a new young agent. In accepting that, the point isn’t to take the film in a new direction, but to push the boundaries of practical and visuals effects, while abiding within the confines of what the story demands; namely, a good and engaging enough plot that’s close to meaningless against the massive action sequences. I don’t remember what happened in Rogue Nation and how it carried over into this film, but part of the mastery is that for as much as I thought I was confused, it somehow was able to sprinkle in enough inference for me to piece together the story. The film opens with Ethan Hawke next to a lake, taking his wedding vows across from his now ex-wife Julia Meade (Michelle Monaghan; from Rogue Nation (2015)), all before Ethan turns to see that Rogue Nation’s Solomon Lane (Sean Harris) is officiating the wedding. Ethan awakes in a run down apartment, and the film does a great job of getting straight to what his next mission is which is to retrieve some plutonium stolen by former members from The Syndicate, now called The Apostles. While in Berlin with his usual crew of both Luther (Ving Rhames) and Benji (Simon Pegg). They’re to intercept the plutonium from The Apostles who’re selling them to terrorist John Lark. However, things go wrong, and in your classic warehouse district shootout scene, Ethan is forced to save Luther at the expense of letting The Apostles get away with the plutonium. Due to the mishap, CIA Director Erica Sloane (Angela Bassett; who doesn’t look to have aged a day since Contact (1997)), requires that another Special Activities Division Operative August Walker (Henry Cavill; who could very well be the next big action star) join Ethan and the IMF to ensure that no further mistakes are made; meaning that regardless of any teammate endangerment, Hawk, Walker, and the IMF will now sacrifice any and all personnel in order to achieve the mission at hand. So begins the first action piece which kicks off the film to a brilliant start, in which Hawk and Walker jump out of a freight plane in full HALO suits. Keep in mind, at the time of this viewing, I didn’t know which stunts were real and which fake, and as much as my sense of logic wanted to fight the distinction, I suspected that this scene was entirely real to later discover it was. One Observer headline said the movie is good because the stunts are real. I won’t enter into another diatribe about CGI (which you could read about on my thoughts on Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008) or Ready Player One (2017)), but only say that this scene supports the premise. Ultimately, I’m not sure why I thought the scene was real, other than the slight sloppiness of the camera and clunky choreography ((in a good way), along with the simple physics of free falling and optics of natural light (they had about three minutes of available crimson purple magic hour light to shoot each day). The scene is most reminiscent of Gravity (2013) in providing a thrilling tension that takes place in live time and is all the more impressive for being practical. Walker and Hunt head into a lavish dance club where they’re to kidnap John Lark, scan his face to make another infamous mask, and then double as the guy to retrieve the plutonium. Here Ethan meets the femme fatale of the movie Alanna Mitsopoulos, aka the White Widow (Vanessa Kirby), who’s operating broker in the transaction between John Lark and Solomon Lane, with her Apostle brigade comprised of a dapper and attractive all male unit. Following John Lark to the bathroom, so begins another brilliant practical scene, as it’s clear that the majority of the fight is real; that is, except for when Faust (Rebecca Ferguson; also from Rogue Nation and Ethan’s former lover) kills John Lark when it looks as though Lark is going to kill Hunt, he shoots Lark in the head, deforming his face; rendering a mask impossible. Assuming that Alanna doesn’t know what John Lark looks like, Ethan decides to simply present himself; the gamble pays off and after a kind of tame fight scene in which Ethan saves her life, she invites him back to discuss how he can acquire the plutonium. The plan is that Ethan and his team attack and retrieve Solomon Lane from his police transport; complete with the simple map showing that the truck will drive down one side of the river, cross a bridge, and then drive down the other. Immediately I got tastes of both Sicarios - Sicario (2015) or Sicario: Day of the Soldado (2018) - and their incredible transport scenes. However, the film then cuts back to Ethan’s fantasy, in which they mow down countless police officers until Ethan is forced to kill one begging for his life. For a second, I thought it was real; as though they shot an action scene that just didn’t play well and sped it up with some editing. Then the scene cuts out, we realize it’s a fantasy, and so begins one of the 21st century’s greatest urban chase sequences; where now I was certain it was all CGI of Tom Cruise speeding down Parisian streets on a motorcycle, swerving through cars, to discover that, with the exception of a few shots, Tom Cruise actually drove 100 mph through the streets and between the cars. Walker ends up escaping, ending up in a non profit medical camp in rural India where they’ve been funded to treat locals for smallpox and where Ethan’s former wife Julia works (who has been living off the grid since splitting from Ethan). Walker and Solomon have set up numerous nuclear weapons in the camp, which they hope will contaminate the nearby waters of Pakistan, India, and China and destroy a third of the world’s population. Solomon’s philosophy is such an event that would trigger a worldwide peace; in which the world might finally come together and eradicate both their nuclear weapons and potentially bring world peace. Taking cue from the Uaabomber, there’s a degree of terrifying logic in his reasoning; except when you consider how long it could possibly last, given all of 20th century’s horrific events which failed to achieve the same goal. While it could have benefited from even a short debate, somehow it played better than most villainous plots. The movie culminates in what I was positive was an all computer generated helicopter chase sequence in Kashmir mountains, but have discovered - yet again - was often Tom Cruise flying the helicopter after getting his license only a few weeks before production. Many of the close calls that seemed too extreme to be possible did in fact happen. Even thinking it was GGI, I was left in awe, as the entire sequence felt incredibly vivid and lifelike; moving from Tom Cruise climbing up the rope of a payload of medical supplies, to ceasing the helicopter, attempting to crash Walker out of the stage to get the detonator device require to defuse the nuclear bombs. Soon they collide, crashing through the mountains in an amazing Jurassic Park (1993) tree-jeep sequence, all while fighting inside. Films like Mission Impossible, James Bond, and the Marvel films require honoring a particular set of plot points and action sequences, which if properly developed and balanced, can create a brilliant film which essentially does nothing different than its predecessors. It just does them better. For the first time, I saw the series as a genre in itself with narrow confines. What the story demands is big practical action scenes, beautiful and talented actors, engaging characters, and a couple good reversals. So long as those are achieved, the plot doesn’t matter. It’s a McGuffin that allows us to bounce from one cinematic action piece to the next. With the exception of a few moments, if it wasn’t for the charismatic actors, my mind would have shut off trying to understand the web of betrayal. Instead, all of the elements add up into providing what’s been missing from recent popular action cinema. Having recently published my thoughts on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989; recently as of writing on this movie in August 2018), I mention that what makes that film spectacular is its commitment to practical stunts and effects. The thing that CGI gets wrong is that the process demands perfection. Jon Favreau said he had to tell the Jungle Book (2016) FX designers to make the world less beautiful. It’s the sloppiness of filming practical stunts that makes them work, and perhaps when CGI learns to moderate itself and implement these imperfections it could be better integrated. With Tom Cruise nearing 60, it makes you wonder how many of these films are left, as no one else seems to have the megastar muscle to demand the budget it’d require, or the star that’s willing to risk his life each time. BELOW: This is real 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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 One of the best shot melodramas of the 21st century Director: Asghar Farhadi Writer: Asghar Farhadi Cinematographer: Mahmoud Kalari Producer: Alexandre Mallet-Guy by Jon Cvack The Past has been in my queue for six years now, joining the seventy-five or so other films that have also been pushed down in favor of other choices, slowly assembling throughout the last half decade until, ever so slowly, this film rose to the top. I don’t remember much from Asghar Farhadi’s A Separation (2011) other than that it was one of the most popular foreign films from the period, going on to win Best Foreign Film at the 2012 Academy Awards; that it was more or less an Iranian Art House Melodrama; and that The Past was his next film, released two years later. The Past abides by the same melodramatic/Art House hybrid structure, in which the story could just as easily be adapted as a play, following a cast of Iranians who live somewhere in France. The middle aged Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa) returns to town to get his wife back, Marie Brisson (Bérénice Bejo; who learned French in a manner of months) who’s now in a relationship with the owner of a dry cleaning company, Samir (Tahar Rahim) who has two children, Fouad (Elyes Aguis) and daughter Léa (Jeanne Jestin). Amhad forms a quick and strong bond with the children, seemingly able to provide them with the care and attention that neither Marie nor Samir are capable of. Additionally, there’s Marie’s third child, Lucie (Pauline Burlet) from her second marriage. All three children struggle with their mother’s temperament and inability to maintain a loving relationship. At the courthouse where Marie and Ahmad plan to sign the divorce papers, Marie confesses that she’s pregnant with Samir’s son and Samir then reveals that he’s still married to his wife who’s in a coma after attempting to commit suicide by drinking bleach; emphasizing that the act was based on depression, as she didn’t yet know of the affair. Lucie later confesses to Admad that she had actually forwarded the emails between Marie and Samir to Samir’s wife the day before she committed suicide, figuring it wasn’t right. Marie learns of the betrayal and kicks Lucie out of the house, forcing Ahmad to track her down. Later, Marie questions Samir as to whether he still has feelings for his wife. We learn that rather than any emails from Lucie, Samir’s wife attempted suicide after confronting an undocumented immigrant, Naïma (Sabrina Ouazani), working at Samir’s shop, who his wife suspected was having an affair with Samir. Naïma believes Samir's wife couldn’t have read the emails because when she came in, she immediately grabbed and drank the bleach. Samir nevertheless fires Naïma, essentially forcing her to return to Iran. Ahmad leaves and Marie and Samir attempt to reconcile their relationship. Still, Samir returns to his wife once more, with a box of her perfumes, lifting one to her nose and hoping it’d trigger a reaction to bring her out of coma. From our view, we see a tear fall from her eye as he dips his face into hers. It’s easy to notice the melodramatic elements and yet its Farhadi’s ability - in collaboration with cinematographer Mahmoud Kalari - to avoid making the film feel generic to the genre. Kalari makes gorgeous images out of a natural environment; capturing all of the colors and details of the set; looking as though out of a National Geographic magazine while Farhadi prevents any of the characters from straying too far from realism. Still, the plot left me with the feeling that most melodramas do, in that I was left wondering what it all was trying to say. Better than most, Farhadi captured the raw emotion of each character, where given the extraordinary circumstances of the plot - in which a woman commits suicide by drinking bleach at her dry cleaning office, now in an indefinite coma - I couldn’t help but appreciate how every scene felt so real. Yet so little stuck with me; serving the function that most melodramas follow, in providing a scandal laden plot, full of reversals, which are exciting to watch at the time, and yet fade quickly. BELOW: Some solid melodramatic confrontation Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Oh, that feeling of older kids ask you to hang out... Director: Bo Burnham Writer: Bo Burnham Cinematographer: Andrew Wehde Producer: Scott Rudin, Eli Bush, Lila Yacoub, and Christopher Storer by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... It’s clear by this point that the film is going to provide a series of these moments, anxiously anticipating where else the story could go. Sure enough, the next week there’s a school shooting exercise, in which theater kids dress up with gunshots to their head, while a police officer walks around in tactical gear and an unloaded assault rifle, mimicking a mass shooting. In the classroom, as the lights turn off and the students get under their desk, Kayla works up the courage to crawl over to Aiden and strike up a conversation; having heard earlier that he enjoys dirty photos. In another skin crawling scene, Kayla lies about having dirty photos, leading Aiden to ask whether she gives blow jobs, which Kayla says she does, then heading home to research what a blow job is; going straight to Youtube where she learns all the fluid details, moving onto a banana, which while one of the easier scenes of the film, nevertheless provides another great conclusion when her dad comes home early. With days left, the eighth graders are invited to shadow some high schoolers. Kayla meets senior Olivia (Emily Robinson) who’s friendly and excited to show Kayla around and introduce her to all her friends. By this point, I had grown so bitter about teenagers that I figured it was all a ruse and yet it kept going well. Olivia gives Kayla her number, and believing she’s finally made a friend, Kayla gives her call and Burnham comes out of left field with an onion cutting scene as Olivia invites Kayla to the mall and she attempts to conceal her excitement. Her dad drops her off and again Burnham nails the dynamic, as Olivia and her fellow seniors gossip and discuss all things impossible for Kayla to follow, who offers little more than a few words and a genuine smile; simply happy that she’s hanging out with people. Of course, while not a ruse, it proves all too good to be true, as when Olivia is dropped off first, her male high school friend parks the car on the way to Kayla’s house, getting out and hopping into the back, inquiring as to how far Kayla’s gone with a boy, and whether she’d like for him to show her some things. The scene is brilliant in leaving us wondering whether Kayla will give in for the sake of fitting in and not losing her friends, or whether she speaks up and rejects him. Fortunately, she does the latter, forcefully saying no, immediately apologizing and realizing it cost her the friendship. The complexity is that for as much as we celebrate her willingness to stand up, we also empathize with disappointment, or even possible regret. Back home, Kayla makes a final video, declaring that she’s done vlogging; later removing the Spongebob toy she found in her time capsule; removing the top half and revealing a thumb drive which contains a video she shot years earlier in which her sixth grade self offers hope that she had an amazing experience in sixth grade, maybe even getting a boyfriend. Again, the memories of that time came flooding back, as I recalled the idealism of entering a new school, hoping that I might meet a girl or go to a bunch of wild parties and live the experience I had so often seen on television. Just as eighth grade ended with disappointment, high school - while containing some rich experiences - was far more limited than expected, and college followed more or less the same track. I immediately want to say that, looking back, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was, and yet when I watched Bo Burnham on Jimmy Kimmel, he mentioned that we have a tendency to romanticize that period when, in fact, it actually was, many times, a difficult and disappointing experience. Kayla asks her dad to light a fire so that she can burn the age box, apologizing for being the way she is. So begins a monologue from the dad that reminded me of Michael Stuhlbarg’s speech in Call Me By Your Name (2017), in that it was about a third longer than it needed to be, as he breaks down how proud he is of his daughter and the fact that she’s able to do so much without him. In one of the more enlightening explanations of parenting, he mentions how scared he was of being a good single parent, realizing that she was developing and maturing all without his help; and that he simply got to sit back, watch, and offer his general guidance, making Kayla’s complete disinterest in their relationship all the more heartbreaking. At graduation, Kayla works up the courage to confront Kennedy, refusing to make eye contact and struggling to find the words to properly tell her off, but getting her point across. All she tries to be is nice and there’s no reason that Kennedy has to be so mean; providing one of the most satisfying bully confrontations that I’ve seen in years. Kayla makes another video, explaining to her audience about how she’s always nervous, feeling as though she’s about to get onto a roller coaster, except the feeling never stops. In another interview, Burnham mentions how the film was his attempt to explore his own anxieties, and so while I didn’t think the scene was absolutely necessary (as for all the outcasts who aren’t struggling with the disorder, it felt a bit alienating; that is, if they don’t have anxiety, is it their fault at that point?) I also respect and admire Burnham's ability to take his personal experiences and apply it to such a unique world. The closing scene has Kayla ending up at Gabes, providing one of the most hilarious moments of the film, as again, Jake Ryan somehow is able to create a character that feels like an awkward 40-year old man trapped in the boy of an eighth grader; making me thrilled for what else this kid will go on to do. It’s a film that took me back to a period that is far too easy to idealize; in which the memories came rushing back; of searching for a place to fit and the disappointment of those struggles seems to never end. Burnham achieved the miraculous; of being able to use words, images, and sounds to capture moments of the past which we can all share. It’s a film about a time we all go through that’s unlike anything I’ve seen. BELOW: Some of the most authentic teen dialogue I've ever heard; back when years difference felt like decades Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Gucci! Director: Bo Burnham Writer: Bo Burnham Cinematographer: Andrew Wehde Producer: Scott Rudin, Eli Bush, Lila Yacoub, and Christopher Storer by Jon Cvack Next to Hereditary (2018), this is one of the most successful word of mouth films to come out this year. I had first hear about it earlier in the winter during Sundance, expecting the usual quirky indie film involving the “weird but hilarious” parents, the dry-witted best friend, and the underwhelming, light hearted plot that often drives the genre; made all the more suspicious when I saw that former YouTuber Bo Burnham wrote and directed the piece. I had gotten my start in Los Angeles working with YouTubers. I worked at Maker Studios which was one of the earliest and most successful digital media companies that would go on to sell to Disney for nearly a billion dollars (no, I didn’t get any of this). What started as a lean production company creating content for about half a dozen YouTubers blossomed into over five hundred employees, acquiring over 55,000 channels and producing content for nearly a hundred of these channels. We worked with successful channels such as Good Neighbor whose Dave McCarey, Kyle Mooney, and Beck Bennett would go onto SNL (and McCarey going on to get engaged to Emma Stone), while other channels - determined they’d achieved similar, if not higher success - went on to crash and burn. While there were a few great talents and entertainers, the vast majority were extremely difficult to work with, either because they’d never collaborated before (creating all their content on their own), or possessed egos so large that they treated most of us like garbage, no matter how little we were paid versus the six to seven figures they were taking home. I’ve long considered writing an account of the experience, as the situation was so absurd that I, at times, struggle to believe that any of it actually happened; ranging from the people I met to the things we had to make. It was a mixture of what old Mtv felt like combined with the company politics from The Social Network. Ultimately, I grew bitter with many of the talents, as it was clear that beneath their success was a strong insecurity that they protected by an inflamed sense of worth. Aside from the frustration of my professional experience was the cringeyness of seeing so many others attempt to replicate these social media stars; launching their own vlogs where they offered their thoughts on all things Life - boys, friendships, relationships, success, etc. I’ve known about half a dozen people who have started motivational vlogs, hoping to become a type of Tony Robbins, while others simply create banal videos about their day to day lives, hoping that they too could make their living in the ways their social media heroes have. What you realize is that, for as little interest as I have in popular and professional influencers, the successful ones, like any entertainer, have a particular charm and inherent talent in making the mundane entertaining; leaving most aspiring vloggers to confront the fact that they’re just not engaging enough. Eighth Grade opens with Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) vlogging about how to be a more confident person; offering all of the empty platitudes that any inexperienced and socially isolated thirteen year old would provide. The vlog then cuts and beneath the filter, we see a chubby, acne-laden teenager, completely addicted to social media. She heads to school where she’s in her final week of eighth grade. During an assembly, the principal announces multiple student body awards - Most Attractive, Most Talkative, Most Funny, and Most Quiet, which Kayla ends up winning, to then be whisked away to another classroom where her and the other winners get a first glimpse into the boxes they made in sixth grade for their future eighth grade selves. Kayla finds her marked with “To the Coolest Girl in the World” pasted in glitter letters across the top; inside of which are the sundreys of any middle schooler, except for a strange Spongebob toy that piques her interest and will come into play later. Kayla then looks up to her crush Aiden (Luke Prael), in which an awesome techno score lights up, overwhelming the scene and taking us away from the traditional “Dream Weaver” that typically plays over these types of moments. Later that day, while heading home, Kayla’s popular classmate, Kennedy (Catherine Oliviere), is picked up by her mom who invites Kayla over for a pool party for Kennedy’s birthday; embarrassing Kennedy in the process. At home, Kayla is your average teenager; completely uninterested in her single dad, Mark (Josh Hamilton), who’s hoping for any bit of conversation; forced to have to watch Kayla glued to her phone with her headphones on. Again, Burnham provides a fantastic use of sound, where in roaring fashion, we see Kayla scrolling through Instagram and Snapchat while playing upbeat pop soundtracks before her dad finally grabs her attention and they share an awkward conversation; in which the dad struggles to get a word in without Kayla cutting him off, even when he asks for just a minute before she responds simply to say he’s proud of what she’s done with her videos; failing to get a couple seconds before she screams yet again, then returns to her phone. Similar scenes have been done this countless times before, with the teens lasered into their phones or television, the parents attempting to talk and facing their kid’s volatile tempers, but somehow each individual element felt fresh, adding up into a unique and heartbreaking moment. Although we know Kayla struggles to make friends or even talk at all at school, she has no problem scolding her dad for wanting to have the slightest interaction. The next day, Kayla has her dad drop her off to the pool party. The camera follows her from walking up to the door, greeted by Kennedy’s mom who subtly expresses her disappointment that Kayla’s father isn’t coming in, down through the extravagant house, and out into the backyard where all the popular kids are hanging out and having a wonderful time. It’s the film’s most brilliant moment, as I was immediately taken back to similar experiences; fortunately not being invited by a parent so much as having only one friend amongst the popular kids, knowing all the other kids and knowing they knew me, wondering if they thought I should feel privileged to attend, and myself wondering if I should feel privileged to attend, then realizing that beyond some friendly hellos there was little else to talk about other than to laugh and offer single word responses to the inside jokes and banter they all shared. I honestly squirmed in my chair as Kayla made her way downstairs, knowing that none of the kids wanted her there, and that she knew most of the kids didn’t want her there, and still she kept going; making me both sympathize with all of the weird people I knew like Kayla back in school, and also recalling how awkward it was when they attempted to force themselves into social situations. She then dives in the pool, fortunately greeted by one of the most memorable supporting characters since Paul Dano in Prisoners (2013), the socially inept and likely autistic, Gabe (Jake Ryan), who arrives in a swim mask, challenging Kayla to a breath holding contest, and allowing Kayla’s own weirdness seem pale in comparison. Hours later, as everyone heads inside to play a Karaoke game, Kayla heads off to a different room, begging for her father to come pick her up. She’s approached by Aiden and he grabs her phone, asking why she’s not hanging out with everyone else; prompting Kayla to walk into the family room, grab the microphone, and sing her heart out during a karaoke song; in which Burnham practices incredible restraint; avoiding another all out cringey scene by letting us watch her sing. Instead, we listen to her vlogging voice over, recounting an alternative history of the events, encouraging her viewers to put themselves out there and have confidence, as they never know what could happen. Continue to part 2... BELOW: A tale of two realities Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  What could be the Favreau/Vaughn of the 20s Director: Carlos López Estrada Writer: Rafael Casal and Daveed Diggs Cinematographer: Robby Baumgartner Producer: Keith Calder, Jess Calder, Rafael Casal, and Daveed Diggs by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... On the third day, Collins wakes up and we know there’s an inevitable problem about to occur. Like Chekhov's Gun Maxim, the set up was boiling hot, and so begins an absolutely fantastic, if not near flawless, final act with enough substance to dissect for hours. After an eventful day of clearing out yet another rundown house where the owners died, now purchased by a yuppie couple with a lot of tech money, Miles and Collins head back home to get ready to celebrate Collins’s official release. Getting ready to go out, Miles’ daughter gifts her dad a light blue, skin tight t-shirt saying “Kill a Hipster, Defend Your Hood”. Although embarrassed, being the good father he is, Miles wears it out for the night. Returning back to the living, they find his son holding the gun Miles purchased; the chamber displaying the bullets within, made all the more intense when his son holds it up to his face. Collin and Miles cease the weapon, causing Ashley to flip out. When she asks whose gun it is, Miles looks toward Collin for help who keeps quiet, leaving Miles to admit that it’s his. Ashley kicks them out and Miles scolds Collin for failing to help. While Collins says he didn’t want to be known for bringing a gun into their house, we also wonder if it was his way of selfishly avoiding breaking his parole. The two head to a party and quickly discover that rather than the old school Oakland house party they’re used to, it’s a put on by some new money tech millennial in his freshly built modernist construct. Other than Collin's two friends, they’re the only three black people present; making Miles skintight outfit all the more awkward. It’s here that I realized how bad trailers can be for independent films, as in the trailer, there’s a cheap joke about how the “hipster” has the same below-the-ear tattoo of an outline of California with a star in the Bay Area. While a degree of the joke is preserved in the scene, it’s a far more thrilling moment, as we know that Miles resents how he’s being perceived and the cultural appropriation allegedly going on. He hates that the hipster hijacked his tattoo, but one could just as easily say that his tattoo is based on the appropriation from other cultures. Collins' two black friends don’t know Miles, who quickly goes to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. The one black male friend follows where he meets Miles, who appears like a hipster that’s trying to be a volatile tough guy, not knowing that Miles actually is a volatile tough guy, quickly escalating into a fight which turns into Miles beating the guy’s head against the side of the car, then pulling his gun and firing a few shots. Collin takes the gun, and the two run off, ending up in an empty parking lot and providing the film’s most powerful scene, in which Collin castigates Miles for doing what he did. In an area that’s becoming increasingly more wealthy, there’s no reason for a gun other than to attempt to preserve - and further endanger - some past culture that’s vanishing. It causes Miles to finally admit the anger of losing his identity; that in a culture that’s increasingly looking to his style of tattoos and ironic fashion, it’s not just that his community is changing, but that he believes he’ll lose the very essence of who he is as a person. The scene culminates as Miles refers to the fact that Collin will retain his identity, which Collin suggest is Miles' way of calling him a “nigger”; demanding he just come out and say it. The scene’s brilliance isn’t in the shock value so much as the humanizing of the word; in which we see the way in which it veers between dire offense and endearment and respect. Collins believes that Miles means the former while Miles defends it as the latter; all while refusing to say and creating a deeply complex scene. The two split up and we remember that Collin still has the gun and again we’re teased with what we expect to happen, which is that he’s going to get pulled over by the cops and lose his parole. Sure enough, a cruiser slows next to him, pops on its spotlight, though just as it looks like they’re about to hassle Collin, it turns on the cherries and speeds away. He returns back before 11am, deciding to finally complete his chores, and sleeping his final sleep before freedom. The next day, the routine begins again and the two end up in the suburban house where a woman and her child are rushing to leave; clearly distraught over the husband who remains inside. Unfortunately, there was a fairly large logic break at this point, as I had trouble buying the fact that in just two days, after such a significant event in the officer’s life, that his wife would decide to leave him (not just leave him for a couple days, but pack up everything and move; perhaps this was due to earlier issues, but still seemed weak). And again, it was just a bit too convenient that the pair just so happened to end up at the officers. Regardless, Collin sees the man and pulls the gun on him, then entering into a spoken word diatribe which is pretty cool, but even cooler when I know who Daveed Diggs is. Better yet, was some blurb tweet I found while looking up the film which suggested the rhyme flirts with Shakespeare, epitomized by this final moment as Collins says all that’s been boiling up within him to the officer. We never expect him to actually fire the gun, and unfortunately, I wasn’t left thinking that Collins had much of a chance escaping from the officer’s wrath, who was presented with psychosis and far too little empathy to suggest that he’d simply let the matter go. One of my primary issues with the film is actually how it portrays white people; as being disconnected, vapid, and entitled. In one scene which made little sense, a white millennial male unloads his Whole Foods groceries while on the phone, blocking the moving truck. Miles screams at the guy, then laying on the truck horn, none of which makes any difference, as the guy just keeps on loading his groceries, oblivious. At the party scene, we see all the boring white people listen to John Mayer, sit around, and talk about their latest tattoos and fashions. While the stereotypes were okay at first, I was left thinking if the flip happened; if the story was told from the POV of a white millennial who was living in an area that was displacing the lower classes and showed them with similarly shallow stereotypes. It seemed unnecessary; especially within a film that had such a fantastic view of local culture. Overall, while the film has some issues, trying a bit too hard at times to imitate Spike Lee, Tarantino, or even Shakespeare, it also provided some of the most profound looks into an ongoing and increasingly serious problem; in which lower class communities and their cultures are being displaced at a record pace as housing costs rise with no end in sight. What arrives is a homogenous land of overpriced real estate and juice drinks and health food restaurants; ostensibly tricking people into spending twice the amount on goods that should cost them half. It’s a problem that I’ve seen in LA, increasingly hear about in Chicago, and has been going on for the last twenty years in New York. As these cities continue to expand, you realize that the chances for these same lower class communities to make a living and impact their cultures is diminished. As a friend pointed out, while any person could become an aspiring actor in LA, working at a restaurant and making ends meet, the city’s become so expensive that the “struggling actor” lifestyle is reserved for those with the means or familial safety net to do it. It’s a problem with no end in sight, as a combination of NIMBYS and the rich refuse to acquiesce one iota of their neighborhoods to accommodate those in need. I was left wondering where any of these displaced lower classes go. A lucky few might be able to sell their homes for millions of dollars, but for the majority living in rental properties, they’re forced to move and find scarcer jobs in non-urban areas and rebuild the communities they’d known. It’s an idea that I struggle to think of another film exploring so well; pioneering what I think many other filmmakers will soon explore. NOTE: Sure enough while writing this, another police officer was exonerated for the shooting of an unarmed black man. BELOW: A powerful Shakespearean climax Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Jaime Bell as the film's most best character Director: Lars von Trier Writer: Lars von Trier Cinematographer: Manuel Alberto Claro Producer: Marie Cecilie Gade and Louise Vesth by Jon Cvack I started Volume 2 (The Director’s Cut) right after finishing Volume 1, excited to see how else it could possibly evolve for the next three hours of story. As mentioned, I’ve been disappointed and incredibly disturbed by Von Trier’s other recent work; which seemed much more focused on using “artistic cinema” to shock viewers with sensational images. I had a suspicion that Volume 2 would return to this format and sure enough, it provided some of the most disturbing images I’d ever seen in cinema. The story opens up on yet another anecdote, in which Joe looks over to a painting of the Mother Mary and the two discuss the old and new testaments, relegating their philosophy to the former being about the “Church of Suffering” and the latter a “Church of Happiness”. Joe expresses her struggle between guilt and satisfaction and the idea is explored throughout the rest of the film. Unable to feel any sensation in her vagina, she and Jerôme nevertheless have a child. Regardless of her condition, her sexual appetite is just as acute. Unable to satisfy her, Jerôme allows Joe to start seeing other men again and Jerôme grows deeply jealous. Soon Joe grows interested in a mfm threesome, preferring two African men who she assumes are well endowed, using a random translator to lure them back to her hotel where the two men argue about who’s going to take which hole first; soon resolving it for a moment where we get to see actual double penetration in what I assume was reserved for the director’s cut. The situation ends within seconds as the argument continues and the men leave, annoyed. Joe exploration and search for orgasm evolves to her meeting up with the film’s most interesting character, sadist K (Jamie Bell), who operates out of a mysterious warehouse in the middle of nowhere. His conditions are that there are no safety words and there’s no sex. Jamie Bell somehow provides charisma to the character; in which he politely asks Joe to remove her clothes and bend over the side of the couch where he straps her down, fingering her vagina to check how aroused she is. It takes a few visits and the dissolution of her marriage before he finally flogs her on the ass, in which Von Trier shows the skin break and K checks to see the results. What induces severe pain soon evolves to a deep sensual pleasure as Joe finally achieves orgasm. As if that wasn’t enough, K culminates their relationship by giving her the “Silent Duck” which is when he lays his fingers around his thumb and sticks his hand up her anus and von Trier shows it all. Years later, Joe is now played by Charlotte Gainsbourg who’s attempting to maintain a job, working as a secretary is some nondescript office job. However, when her boss learns of Joe’s promiscuity, and that it’s begun to expand to her co-worker’s husbands, she demands that Joe go into therapy or be terminated. In group therapy, she admits to her addiction and attempts to end it, taping off everything in her apartment which she could rub against including chairs, coffee tables, dresser knobs, and faucets. The film doesn’t provide some grand withdrawal sequence - as I’m sure Von Trier knew it’d be tough to top either Trainspotting (1996) or Requiem for a Dream (2000) - and instead provides a more enlightening moment. Back at group therapy, as she explains her progress, she drops her prepared speech in order to declare she’s going back to sex, as given the lack of personal harm it causes her compared to other drugs, she wants to be free and welcome the addiction. It was here I was left thinking of the ideas behind Belle de Jour (1967), and its portrayal of a woman who takes pleasure in masochism, bondage, and dominance; regarded as one of the most important feminist texts in the history of cinema. Until Nymphomaniac, I realized I had never seen another text like it; showing a woman proud of her identity rather than limiting her arc to a more traditional recovery. While her promiscuity destroyed lives, it was also based upon men’s inherent weakness when propositioned with such a rare offer. I was left wondering if Joe’s addiction to sex wasn’t just based in pleasure (as it didn’t always exist), but rather because it allowed her to control and dominate men; perhaps in the way Joe’s mother controlled her father without a single word (with strong hints that it was sex alone that caused him to stay in the relationship). The consequences culminate when Joe gets pregnant and so begins one of the film’s weakest and most disturbing scenes which I’ll never forget for the rest of my life. She demands her doctor abort the fetus, but is so frantic and enraged that he recommends she goes to a counselor before committing where she undergoes a demeaning questionnaire about her personal life. The issue here is that Joe could have so easily played along with the counselor and received the safety of a professional abortion, but instead erupts and elects to do the procedure herself with a series of large needles and a clothing hanger. In the Antichrist (2009) I found myself looking away during the circumcision; finding little satisfaction in the overall story. In this case, I felt a strange obligation to watch how horrendous these procedures are; as I really think you could show this scene to any pro-life individual to demonstrate how horrifying the alternative is. We watch as she sterilizes the needles which get progressively larger, then using a precision caliper in order to grab the fetus at the precise distance. She lays down on her floor, takes the first needle, and then Von Trier cuts into a close up of her vagina where she inserts each and every device, including the coat hanger where, with the use of an animated graphic, we see the way it hooks on the fetus, which she removes and pops out of her. It’s truly the most disturbing scene I’ve ever witnessed in the history of cinema. At first I was turned off, believing that Von Trier included it simply to engage with the sensationalism that so many of his other films contain. And then I began considering that Joe was smart enough to know her own irrationality during the counseling session, and that the abortion served as the ultimate punishment she wished to inflict on herself; to destroy the creature that perhaps could have changed her for the better whilst experiencing the maximum amount of pain. Seligman and Joe debate the issue. For the first time, Seligman is disgusted and so begins one of their first disagreements. Joe somehow says it’s hypocritical for Seligman to express disgust for the procedure when he supports a women’s right to choose. Initially, you might criticize the logic, but then again, I do think it’s an important experience to witness the scene in order to understand the significance of a woman’s right to her body and the consequences of taking that away; but then again he did listen to the whole story and I did watch the act and remained disgusted, both in what I saw and what Joe opted to do. The act leads Joe into a life of crime, using her sex in order to retrieve outstanding loans from crime boss “L” (Willem Dafoe). In one of the more interesting scenes, accompanied by two guards, she refuses to have them beat the man and instead discovers his proclivities; finding out he’s a pedophile and using the information to get back the payment. Soon L requests that Joe find an apprentice, indicating that her older age will prove increasingly less effective. She soon meets the fifteen-year-old “P” (Mia Goth) who she falls madly in love - or more so lust - possibly seeing herself and not just molesting the child but essentially molesting herself. The pair end up at Jerôme’s, where Joe refuses to go in, giving P her big shot. The two then fall in love with each other. When the two are outside Jerôme’s house, Joe hides in an alley with a gun P had purchased, going up to Jerôme and firing, but the gun fails to go off. Jerôme then beats her and urinates on her broken body and Seligman finds her shortly after. The trope of a safety-caught gun is easy enough for both Joe and Seligman to acknowledge; with Seligman thinking it was too common a part of movie culture for Joe to ignore, and that possibly she wanted Jerôme to beat her as the final punishment for what she considered an immoral life. While I remain on the fence about a few of the key moments from the film, it was the cynical conclusion that left me most upset. When the sun finally rises, Seligman and Joe say goodnight. Joe falls asleep and Seligman enters the room, pulls down the blanket, and strokes himself. She wakes up and he defends that action with the fact she’s been with thousands of men. She then takes the gun, and in a black screen, fires and kills Seligman. Again, I was left wondering if this was the official final punishment; either for the jail which awaits her or to kill the one friend she had made; as ultimately, given that she too had raped and hurt men, it seems like, right or wrong, she of all people should have understood and empathized with his desire for sex. It felt like far too harsh an ending and completely unredemptive. Yet perhaps that’s the point; that so far as von Trier sees it, a common side of addiction is complete self-destruction. And just as a nymphomaniac or queer sex hasn’t been properly explored, neither have the tragic conclusions of any addiction; at least in cinema. BELOW: Unexpected redemption Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Remains Shia's best role yet Director: Lars von Trier Writer: Lars von Trier Cinematographer: Manuel Alberto Claro Producer: Marie Cecilie Gade and Louise Vesth by Jon Cvack Coincidentally, while writing about The Double Life of Veronique (1991), and looking up a New York Times article which compared Krzysztof Kieslowski to Lars Von Trier; describing Trier as a spoiled brat and Kieslowski as a gloomy neurotic fatalist (which I can't argue with). The last four films I’ve seen from Von Trier include, Antichrist (2009), Melancholia (2011), Dogville (2003), and most recently Manderlay (2005), all left me feeling impressed at certain moments (often in the beginning), and then evolving into uncomfortable anxiety that made me wish they’d end sooner, with absolutely no interest in returning to them. In all the interviews I read and watch with Lars Von Trier, I only see a raging Trumpian narcissist; insecure enough to create controversial films meant to shock and piss people off and abandoning the flawless craftsmanship of his mid-work with films like Europa, Breaking the Waves, and Dancer in the Dark. There’s a certain cynicism prevalent in his later work (including this film and perhaps his most controversial yet in his latest The House that Jack Built; arriving this year). I was expecting more of the same from Nymphomaniac: hyper-violent sex, possibly so far as bondage and assault. And while I haven’t yet finished Volume 2, I figured that this should definitely be treated as two separate films; as I had forgotten of their separate release due to each volume running at about two hours with the director’s cut running six hours total. Unfortunately, I could only get the theatrical first volume and director’s cut for the second volume. The film opens on a rooftop where rain falls down, trickling down into the gutter, leaking out and onto a trash pile below. Knowing what the film’s about, you immediately piece together the metaphor; watching as the pure liquid works its way into trash we find a woman on the ground, Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg), beaten and unconscious. Rammstein kicks in with “Fuhr Mc” (Lead Me) and we see a man, Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), walk into a bodega and buy a few groceries, before finding her in the alley. He offers to call the police and she refuses, asking to go back to his place. She’s put up in the bed of his modest studio apartment. The walls are barren except for a picture of Mary holding Jesus and a piece of fly tackle hooked into the ceiling, along with a record player and a few books. Seligman is a well-read and empathetic man. He makes Joe a cup of tea who begins to tell her story, quickly revealing that she’s a nymphomaniac. The film is divided into five chapters, beginning with the story of how Joe discovered her addiction. It starts off with the most awkward scene of the film in which two young girls, no older than ten, splash water on the ground of a bathroom before rubbing themselves against it (leaving me in discomfort as I imagined how Von Trier could possibly direct this). Joe’s dad is a nameless doctor (Christian Slater) who maintains a loveless marriage (both emotionally and mentally) and seems to comprehend and empathize with Joe’s affliction. Around twelve Joe decides to lose her virginity, meeting up with the local bad boy Jerôme Morris (Shia LaBeouf) who takes her by inserting himself three times into her vagina and five times into her anus before finishing, which Seligman will reveal is a Fibonacci sequence (a mathematical formula that operates within most forms of the visual arts and music). Joe then stumbles home and so her sex addiction begins. At fifteen, Joe (played by the brilliant and courageous Stacy Martin) friends a fellow nymphomaniac friend who invites her to a game of sleeping with as many men on a train ride as possible. The winner receives a bag of chocolates. The friend explains that the easiest way is to ask "W-questions" - What time is it? Where is the bathroom? Where are they going? All meant to slowly lure the men out of the compartment and into their nest. It culminates in one of the films most grueling scenes as Joe essentially rapes a married man who’s on his way home to his ovulating wife, waiting for him to try and make a baby. Joe instead rubs his legs as he begs her to stop before fellating and relieving him of the seed he was saving for her. By this point I was nervous the film was simply another sensationalistic piece, showing the lowest and most private forms of life for the sake of pushing boundaries. At no point during the sequence does Joe show any signs of pleasure or enjoyment; nothing beyond wanting to service the man and her own compulsions. Back to present times, Seligman compares the train episode to his hobby of fly fishing (the chapter’s name “The Compleat Angler” in reference to some classic outdoors book about flying fishing by Izaak Walton) and the ways in which certain lures (like the one Seligman has hanging on his ceiling) are used to get the fish. For instance, in the case of the married man, it’s both about finding the best spot where the older and wiser fish live (like the First Class compartment) in which she can then trap them by their inability to leave. The story moves onto the next chapter, where Joe criticizes Seligman for eating pastries with a fork, which reminds Joe of her first job as a secretary; just so happening to apply for a job where Jerôme has temporarily taken over for his uncle. Remembering their rendezvous, he meets her into the elevator and stops it, making a move to which Joe denies him. By then, Joe had joined an anti-love group, causing her to sleep with everyone except Jerôme, including his co-workers, which drives him mad, until she decides she’s in love with him, writes a note, heads to work and finds that he had been fired and ran off with his other secretary. Joe continues her pattern of sleeping with men, scheduling a minimum of eight per day, requiring precise time frames which some men don’t mind and others don’t comprehend. It comes to a head when a Mr. H (Hugo Speer) arrives with his bags in hand, ready to move in without Joe’s knowledge. Shortly after which Mrs. H (Uma Thurman) arrives with her three boys, devastated and distraught, having followed him over; made all the more awful by the fact that Mr. H doesn’t know of the other men. Back to the present day, Joe’s in awe of Seligman’s respect and insights; if not a bit offended that he’s failed to make a pass. Seligman reveals that he’s asexual, existing on the opposite side of the spectrum, revealing that he’s never had any sexual desire; accompanied more by his books and music than anything else; kick-starting a discussion about Edgar Allan Poe’s and how his death reminds Joe of her father’s death from colon cancer. While her mother stayed away from the hospital, she watched her dad deteriorate which made her aroused. The film ends on the chapter “The Little Organ School” in which Seligman makes another obscure connection to Joe’s promiscuous habits and Bach’s composition by the same name which uses polyphony (meaning there’s more than one note played at a time; which sounds fancy but is basically what all music does today); in which each man she sleeps with provides a different form of pleasure. The selfless F (Nicolas Bro) fills a box with water and bathes Joe as though a child. The "second voice" G (Christian Gade Bjerrum) offers an animalistic lust. While Jerôme provides the emotional connection; each function as a different instrument. As things look like they’re beginning to settle, Joe then suddenly loses all sensation in her vagina and the film ends. The story takes on a common structure of a person relaying their life story to a complete stranger - Forrest Gump (1994) and Interview with a Vampire (1994) being two of the more popular examples. While it comes out of the gate with a bit too much shock value, it soon settles into an otherwise endearing story of a woman who’s struggling with a lifetime addiction that’s not at all different from alcohol or drugs. The reason the first chapter feels less connected to the others is by the very absence of pleasure. In the beginning, we see the young girl receive some sensation, but by age fifteen sex has developed into the very negation of pleasure; where at no point did she seem to enjoy herself so much as have a desire to have sex. The absence of explanation here made it feel a little gross. My cursory understanding of the disorder is that people are addicted to pleasure and are unable to moderate their intake. But if Joe had no pleasure, how did the addiction blossom? BELOW: Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Badass Guy in Glasses Director: Stefano Sollima Writer: Taylor Sheridan Cinematographer: Dariusz Wolski Producer: Basil Iwanyk, Edward L. McDonnell, Molly Smith, Thad Luckinbill, and Trent Luckinbill by Jon Cvack When I heard they were making a Sicario sequel, I pictured the vast collection of Redbox straight to video action movies featuring 90s superstars. Looking it up as of writing this (July 2018), we got Bruce Willis in a movie called Acts of Violence (2018); Antonio Banderas in Acts of Vengeance (2017); Sylvester Stallone in Escape Room 2: Hades (2018); Nicholas Cage in The Humanity Bureau (2017); and that’s saying nothing for the half dozen B-star movies out there. Recently I discovered a Jarhead sequel called Jarhead 2: Field of Fire (2014) to then discover it’s actually now a trilogy with 2016’s Jarhead 3: The Siege. I do not know a single individual who watches or has ever watched these films without some degree of irony; as for the few times I’ve put them on in passing, I discovered movies so bad you can’t even laugh; created for no other purpose than to make a quick dollar on the video release. I was certain the Sicario sequel was destined for Redbox purgatory; receiving attention solely for its predecessor’s success. Then I heard that while Emily Blunt, Denis Villeneuve, and Roger Deakins were out, the production retained Benicio del Toro and Josh Brolin as Alejandro Gillick and Matt Graver, respectively along with the dorky, glasses-wearing badass, Steve Forsing (Jeffrey Donovan), while Catherine Keener and Matthew Modine were freshly worked into the narrative as Cynthia Ford (Graver's boss) and Secretary of Defense James Riley. What results is a pretty good sequel, reminiscent in style to Halloween 2 (1981); retaining the overall vibe, though with much larger set pieces. The film opens with a drone’s infrared camera looking down at the Texas/Mexico border where a bunch of migrants cross. The border patrol swarm into the area, surrounding the travelers and rounding them up into vans before a Muslim man says a prayer and blows himself up, killing a few of the officers. Shortly after, a group of Islamic terrorists enter a grocery store somewhere in middle America, blowing themselves up and killing two dozen or so patrons; including a mother and her daughter. American forces respond by brutally slaying a series of alleged terrorists and the CIA arrest a Somali pirate who has information on the terrorists. He’s taken into a bunker where three jugs of water lie on the ground. Graver says it’s not for waterboarding; they’re in a black site and Brolin is permitted to do whatever he wants. In this case, he has a drone in the sky locked on the man’s house where his family, including wife and children, are residing, and another locked on his brother’s car which is driving down a long desert road. Graver wants to know information about why the pirate would allow Islamic terrorists access to the shipping lanes. Per action movie convention, the man says he doesn’t know anything. Instead of some tense build up, Graver simply counts to three and the drone fires a pair of missiles into the house; killing everyone inside. He then turns to the brother and the man explains the situation, which I can’t at all remember; other than that it leads him to meet the Secretary of Defense James Riley (Matthew Modine) where the three discuss how cartels are allowing Islamic terrorists into the country in exchange for money; led by local coyotes who earn big money. Somehow the men agree to start a civil war between the competing Cartels for reasons I don’t understand and can’t seem to find out with a cursory search; other than that maybe they destroy each other and disrupt the business of smuggling in any terrorist over whatsoever. At fifteen minutes into the film, I started having my doubts. Beyond failing to follow what exactly was happening is the hyper amount of violence. We see a woman and child exploded, a half dozen alleged terrorists slaughtered without due process, and a suspect's family brutally slaughtered by the American government. What made the first work so well was that the graphic violence all operated within the realm of reality; motivated by what made sense from the situation rather than working its way back from the most violent scenes possible. However, once I somewhat understood the plot (i.e., cartels getting Islamic terrorists in through the southern border), the film recovers and offers scenes close to, and at a few moments, every bit as thrilling as the original. The film develops two subplots: 1) following a young Latino-American teenager Miguel Hernandez (Elijah Rodriguez) who’s cousin gets him a high paying job as a coyote; that is, to help with get migrant families and the terrorists across the border and 2) the daughter of one of the cartel’s top leaders, Isabel Reyes (Isabela Moner), who’s also introduced in a needlessly violent fistfight where she beats the shit out of a fellow student and is then sent to the principal's office where she reveals her immunity and is released untouched. The plan is simple, Graves hires his old crew, along with mercenary Alejandro Gillick (Benicio del Toro) to pose as a rival cartel member, kidnap Isabel, and kickstart the civil war. They carry out the plan, taking Isabel back to a safe house where a blindfolded Isabel is then “rescued” by American forces and taken back to a bunker for safety. Watching the police arrive at the crime scene where the kidnapping took place, the team finds the police killing the two bodyguards in cold blood; suggesting that a few might be on the cartel’s payroll. Not wanting to harm Isabel, the team loads up Isabel into a Humvee caravan to return her to the father (I assume saying they rescued her from the rival cartel) and so we get to the best scene of the movie; offering a thrilling and expertly crafted companion piece to the original’s highway scene. Taking inspiration from Children of Men (2006), the bulk of the scene is shot within the car, cutting on occasion to the drone’s POV that follows the invaders. They’re escorted by local police units across the border and into rural Mexico and within a mile or so, they’re attacked by RPG’s. The drone takes them out, but then the police, bookending the caravan, stop and turn their weapons on the escort; attempting to murder the Americans. While I’m not sure what the police were hoping to accomplish by killing American CIA members who’re in armored Humvees, the shootout was one of the better offered in recent years. Isabel escapes, and again logic’s a bit faulty in somehow she is able to run away without anyone noticing, far enough so that at the end of the five minutes or so sequence, they somehow can’t see her running up a hill; leaving Gillick to volunteer to go and find her. With it now looking like the operatives slaughtered a bunch of Mexican Police, both Riley and one of the CIA commanders Cynthia Foard calls the mission off, refusing to rescue Isabel and draw the government further into the mess. I’m not sure why the Americans feared looking guilty when the Mexican police clearly opened fire on them, or why they’d be willing to forego saving Isabel, but Graves nevertheless tells Gillick to abort; to which Gillick (whose own family was slaughtered by cartels) refuses. They end up meeting up with Miguel the coyote, but with the transporters tied up with a rival cartel, the coyotes quickly figure out who they are; attempting to murder Gillick and providing one of the most ridiculous, but somehow kind of badass moments of the film; reminiscent of classical action cinema and crafted in a way that pulls it off. It provided one of the most visceral reactions I’ve ever experienced in the theater. Taylor Sheridan has been on a hot streak since Sicario (2015), releasing one hit script after another - writing Hell and Higher Water (2016), nominated for a Best Screenplay Oscar; writing and directing Wind River (2017); writing and directing the television drama “Yellowstone” and now this. All three films take a grueling look at the American West; examining a moderately conservative view of a deteriorating world. Hell and High Water showed a crumbling, even dystopian, small-town America; scrounging to return to its former glory while fighting against a system that keeps it down. Wind River portrayed a pair of white heroes within an oppressed Native American community; making the same mistake of most Southern White Savior with films such as A Time to Kill (1996), Mississippi Burning (1988) and Green Book (2019) which focused on white characters fighting for the African American community rather than showing the African American community fend for itself. Similar to both Sicario, Day of the Soldado focuses on a hyper-violent view of the world; in which strength, aggression, and an abandonment of due process makes things right; portraying borders no longer as destinations where those in refuge flee for opportunity, but rather where terrorists thrive, ready to blow up grocery stores and kill Americans; emboldening American fears. Similar to the first, Matt Graves possesses a strange sadistic pleasure in the lawless mission, and the action is thrilling enough for us to remain engaged. And yet when the film ends, I’m left wondering what it’s essentially trying to say beyond support for this philosophy; as ultimately, it’s going rogue that ultimately leads to triumph (even so far as Gillick going to rescue Isabel). On the other hand, there’s a more cynical view of the film. Perhaps Sheridan is trying to show the dangers and brutality of going to the extremes, which might work if the violence wasn’t so glorified and satisfying. Similar to his other work, there’s an acknowledgment of a legitimate and unjust problem, posing a solution that demands violent intervention. While it makes for entertaining action cinema, I’m not sure the outcome is what we’d ever actually want, or need to see in real life. BELOW: Close to as good of a scene as the original Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Maybe about a third of 2.5 hour running time is spent at this table; watching two people eat Director: Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky Writer: László Krasznahorkai and Béla Tarr Cinematographer: Fred Kelemen Producer: Gábor Téni I had never even heard of Bela Tarr up until about six or seven years ago when I watched Damnation (1987), providing that rare experience of a filmmaker providing an incomparable experience. He is, hands down, the most underrated filmmaker to ever live and I have no idea how or why so few know about the guy (though it’s obviously changing). With Damnation, I knew I was watching a near perfect film within seconds; watching as a long dolly shot tracked from the image of a ski lift, moving back through a window and further to a man staring out. Often when we think of long takes we imagine steadicams (Boogie Nights (1997), Children of Men (2006), Goodfellas (1990),) or cranes (Rope (1948), Touch of Evil (1958)), always moving and following characters. Rare is it for a long take to focus upon the composition, using a subtle movement in order to reframe an object or subject again and again and again. I attempted this exact style with the post-intro opening office shot in my film Road to the Well (2016); starting in a close up on our lead and pulling out to reveal the office where other subjects came in. While I think I was miles from Tarr (attempting to balance too much performance, exposition, and utilize an underwhelming set design), it set up a challenge I can’t get out of my head. Bela Tarr wouldn’t remain married to this format, but many of these subtle moves provide the images that have burned into my mind. Of the circus in Werckmeister Harmonies (2001) and I believe doing a Godard Weekend-type parallel dolly shot) to Damnation’s wide, locked master that shot across a fog laden town square where some subjects ever so gradually come into focus. His films provide the feeling of a dream, though never the surrealism; committed to finding the most beautiful and often haunting images possible. The last time I attempted to watch The Turin Horse was in my parent’s basement while home for Christmas a few years back. It’s two hours later in Chicago and my parents go to bed around 8 or 9pm, meaning by 6 or 7pm LA time, I’m in a dark, empty house with everyone asleep and the only good television located in a dark and cold basement. Being home always provides that strange anxiety that most people I know from LA experience when going home. There’s a kind of regression to the teenage mind mixed with an emptiness in knowing there are few friends to call, fewer that are close enough to meet, and suddenly you recall the feeling that made you leave; of absolute and nearly unbearable boredom. The Turin Horse opens by describing it takes moments after Nietzsche's infamous episode of throwing himself upon a horse as its owner whipped it; followed by a devastating depression where he went mute until his death from both dementia and series of strokes. I had written my senior philosophy thesis on Nietzsche and his idea of the ubermensch; in which he envisioned the perfect life being composed of a healthy pursuit of creativity, knowledge, and physical well being (the definition of “health” being the purpose of the paper). My first philosophy teacher is the one who piqued my interest in Nietzsche, and similar to what seems like a third or so of aspiring philosophy students, he’s the one that made me want to major in the subject. Nietzsche is a type of public figure that most people have a strong negative opinion about without knowing much of anything about his work; diminished to both the myth of the horse and his “God is dead” declaration ("The Sopranos" would explore both of these points). One of the best descriptions I’ve heard of the man is that he was as much a cultural critic as he was a philosopher; looking to the world around him and taking all he saw in order to create his own ideas about morality, purpose, art, and spirituality. The movie opens up moments after the horse episode, following the animal as it pulls a wagon, reigned by the stableman (János Derzsi) as they wade through a strong wind. An eerie string cello score plays over and we watch the man head down the seemingly endless path, until he arrives at his lone cabin in the middle of the field, catching every bit of the wind’s wrath. His daughter (Erika Bók ) puts the horse away and boils him a couple of russet potatoes, which the man sprinkles with a bit of salt, scarfing it down, eating only half and then heads to bed; all while a chilling draft cuts through the cabin. The next day the stableman wakes, takes two shots of vodka, removes the horse from the table, the daughter helps him saddle it up, and he heads to town again. He then returns and repeats the process. The story then goes on for another two days, where nothing more than the neighbor stopping by for some alcohol breaks up the action; continuing on for nearly the entire two and a half hour running time. Each movement is captured in its grueling banality and nearly unbearable pace, going on for over thirty minutes. While we know little about the characters, we see that, in terms of capturing their lives, we’re witnessing the most exciting moments. The image of moving back to my hometown rolled through my brain; of having to take an equally menial entry level job, commuting downtown, and repeating it over and over with only two weeks vacation to spare. The combination was so overwhelming that I could not bring myself to continue or even finish the film during the first viewing years ago; possibly the only time in my life where I wanted to finish a film but just couldn’t bring myself to. Letting my reaction bake for a little over a week since finishing this on my second attempt, I realize that Tarr was exploring the very world that Nietzsche feared most. Recently a filmmaker friend of mine on Facebook talked about how many Americans are raised in homes without any exposure to art; especially as art-itself has become so politically politicized. They are raised to think that success is to make money and have a house, car, good job, and family; all the ideas raised in other existential films, from Fight Club (1999) to Wild Strawberries (1957). However, Tarr abandoned the grand philosophical diatribes and conversations, instead focusing on a world absent of art and culture; where the whole mission is about having a shot of tasteless alcohol to get you through the workday, make a little money to eat potatoes with salt, go to sleep, and repeat. There are no books, instruments, or even anything to look at; nothing to talk about and nothing to hear but the oppressive wind. It’s easy to extend this routine to most lives, poor to middle class to rich; to exist for no other reason than to keep yourself alive, rather than enriching the soul through education or art or activity or experiences. It creates the paradoxical feeling that although life is the same day to day, time flies by; simply because the mind cannot separate one year to the next; no book, movie, conversation, or creative endeavor to define its chapters. If I had to make a list of films I would never want to watch alone at night, from the fucked up to the unsettling, this would be near the top. It’s terrifying in a way I’ve never experienced. BELOW: The opening scene, which we'll see again and again and again Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  A battle between preparation and Murphy's Law Director: Bart Layton Writer: Bart Layton Cinematographer: Ole Bratt Birkeland Producer: Derrin Schlesinger, Katherine Butler, Dimitri Doganis, and Mary Jane Skalski by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... The story makes national headlines and we know there’s only moments before the police catch on. Still they take the books to a collector in New York, where we can see the assessor immediately knows who they are and what they’re selling. She explains that they can’t provide an estimate for a few days. And while Warren and Spencer try to remain calm, they can’t help but essentially beg that they pay whatever the books are worth. The four are busted moments later, told in a beautiful and haunting montage; perfectly capturing the essence of inevitability with each character distraught by the certainty of waiting for the police, until they finally arrive. In the end, each character offers their closing thoughts on the situation; on whether or not Warren ever actually met up with hoodlums in Amsterdam, or if he even went there at all. They were sentenced and served extended prison times, released around 2008. Chas has become a personal trainer in Los Angeles, while Eric pursues writing in Los Angeles, having penned a version of their story; taking a sharp turn from his criminal justice path (though I’m unsure whether he was involved in this film’s development). Coincidentally, Warren has re-enrolled in college to study filmmaking, making you wonder how far he’ll get with his con artistry. Spencer remains in his small town, making a living as an artist who now focuses on paintings of birds. There’s something about the fact that three of the four have decided to pursue the arts, taking me back to my initial thoughts on the film’s title. Throughout the story we hear how each character was hoping for something more in life; that no matter the privilege they had (whether success, education, or athleticism), there was something missing. What’s most fascinating is that for all their knowledge, planning, and consumption of heist movies, they were unable to anticipate even the smallest obstacles. How come they never checked the basement? Or if they checked it, did they not notice the possibility of a locked gate? How did they expect to get an estimate for the art from a legitimate source, knowing that the heist would make the news? And for that matter, if Warren was lying about the Amsterdam hoodlums, why did he think it was a good idea to get an estimate from them; or was this just another element of Googling an answer? Why was there a fight about Spencer’s voicemail giving them away rather than that the dealers would inevitably call the police? I can’t help thinking there was a desire to get caught (perhaps subconsciously); to avoid thinking about the obvious or taking the serious questions all that seriously as it would make the situation all the more real. Like them, I too felt something was missing in life during college; convinced that a traditional life trajectory would be unfulfilling. The idealism acquired when learning about such thinkers as Marx, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Camus and others is quickly diluted in the real world; as great and meaningful as it is to pursue a creative path, doing so a risk often reserved for privileged people; those who don’t know what it’s like to face constant and seemingly endless failure and rejection, job insecurity, and devastating hours. Most are convinced that they’re the exceptions and wunderkinds; who’ll somehow hit the fast track and fly by others who’ve been working their crafts for years and years. American Animals embodies this idea. It’s about four kids who, although en route to respectable and possibly successful careers, wanted to get there faster. They didn’t know what they didn’t know; that beyond their relatively perfect lives, Murphy’s Law operates at full force, and it’s only through experience that you’re able to deal with those problems. They were little more than animals, straying just a bit further from the nest, confident that they could achieve greatness and riches without effort. To think three of them have gone onto to pursue the arts makes you wonder how they’ll handle those challenges; or if they’ll discover the sad and often unspoken American truth - that the vast majority fail in their artistic pursuits, destined to live humble and seemingly ordinary lives that they initially all resented. Then again, a great movie was created about their story which will live on forever, so maybe they did achieve something. BELOW: Youthful idealism at its worst 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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