 One of the prettier films of the year Director: Paweł Pawlikowski Writer: Paweł Pawlikowski, Janusz Głowacki, and Piotr Borkowski Cinematographer: Łukasz Żal Producer: Tanya Seghatchian and Ewa Puszczyńska by Jon Cvack Cold War is the art house version of A Star is Born (2018), taking place in post-WWII Poland where a musician and conductor Wiktor Warski (Tomasz Kot) searches for talent in the rural countryside where hundreds gather to audition for a Soviet funded choral ensemble. He comes across singer Zuzanna “Zula” Lichoń (Joanna Kulig) and the two quickly fall in love. The pair gain a bit of success, though behind the Iron Curtain, they’re forced to continue their propagandistic mission. Wiktor craves the freedom of the west and when Zula gets caught up with some satellite oligarchy, Wiktor heads across the border alone. Years later, Zula joins him and the two perform at a local jazz club, later meeting the upper echelons of West Berlin society, and soon Zula takes interest in a successful music producer. Later the pair separate, leading Zula back to Poland, and for Wiktor to pursue her once again. He’s caught, and having escaped, is thrown into a labor camp for a five year sentence, though possibly for life if you’re open to the ending being a possible fantasy. The pair end up at an abandoned church near where they first met, take some pills, and in a beautiful closing shot, die one of the most peaceful suicides to ever graze the screen. Not having seen Ida (2013), I had no idea what to expect with Pawel Pawlikowski’s style. I read the American Cinematographer article a few days after reading this, discovering that Pawlikowski engaged in a bunch of long one takes. I do remember the one in the bar when Zula gets lit up, but beyond that I wouldn’t have assumed it to be the particular style; accomplishing the rare feat in creating a narrative so engaging that I completely lost track of all things technical. Pawel says the film was inspired by his parents’ own tumultuous relationship, including moving from country to country. The metaphor is easy enough to extend from there. We’re in a period of grand division in which we want walls to divide us. According to the latest FiveThirtyEight podcast (as of this writing on Feb 4, 2019) a recent poll showed democrats rejecting compromise is on the rise. On Political Gabfest (Jan 30, 2019) the trio had a guest on who did a New Yorker piece of Mitch McConnell, who has taken limited government to the extreme in that most big legislation is passed by liberals, therefore he decided not pass anything and instead act as a pipeline for conservative justices who could then dismantle the current - and future - big liberal laws bit by bit. My first reaction was that it’s nefarious and disgusting, and yet then I consider that he’s doing what he fully believes; and therefore his limited government philosophy makes sense to him. Cold War shows that profound passion for another; where no matter how awful or selfish they are, your love is able to look beyond all that. More and more I consider what the world would look like if everyone - liberal and conservative - tried to assume the best intentions of the other, or to better yet try and understand why they are the way they are and what they care about. From there I imagine the bridge between. It’s intensely sentimental, and yet could solve so many of the problems we have right now. It’s the conclusion suicide that challenges the ideas. A few people have mentioned that it seems only crisis and tragedy can bring the country together. Another podcast (I forgot which) had mentioned another 9/11 event is what seems required - not at all hoping for it, so much as mentioning that nowadays it seems that only something of that scale could ever bridge the divide.I’ve thought about it for a while and struggle to think of anything else. Other than some grand space race of sorts, I can’t imagine anything else resolving the issue. Pawlikowski seems to have the same view. BELOW: Polish Jazz Oner 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 color palettes of the year Director: Barry Jenkins Writer: Barry Jenkins; based on If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin Cinematographer: James Laxton Producer: Adele Romanski, Sara Murphy, Barry Jenkins, Dede Gardner, and Jeremy Kleiner by Jon Cvack It was 2016’s I Am Not Your Negro that brought James Baldwin to my attention, leading me to go down a few YouTube K-holes and discover a fascinating set of sound bites and interviews with the man. To find an author that’s able to communicate their grander vision and philosophy have lately been some of my favorite discoveries; Albert Camus, Richard Ford, and David Foster Wallace are some of the first that come to mind. James Baldwin is now another. Barry Jenkins embodies the spirit of why certain stories should be told from a black perspective. It wasn’t just a perfect pairing of a James Baldwin novel and director, but a way in which Jenkins photographed and directed the characters. Each person feels like a complete and full human being, in a world that I think we rarely see. Like any great filmmaker, Jenkins has been able to show me a side of life and cinema that I’ve yet to see before. Combined with Baldwin’s book is an adaptation I’m confident is every bit as engaging as the book. If Beale Street Could Talk opens with a long jib shot, featuring a couple, Clementine "Tish" Rivers (KiKi Layne) and Alonzo “Fonny” Hunt (Stephan James), walking along a bridge in autumn New York; the fall leaves popping off the screen and matching their yellow and blue clothing. The scene is heavily sentimental, as though you're watching a musical and waiting for the first song and dance number. The pair hold hands and then kiss and we soon discover that this was the moment which would lead to conception. Tish and Alonzo will later be pregnant, and not too long after, Fonny will be rounded up in a spurious rape charge by a cop he once pissed off. The film is non-linear, leaving you to piece together where the story is in the timeline, making Jenkin’s transition out of the mawkish first thirty minutes all the more impressive. To be honest, I found myself almost getting bored - and I believe that was the point, as the story wasn’t all that unique. Instead of the squabbles we typically see about victims of injustice, Tish and Fonny came from relatively loving environments; a racist system keeping them from the middle class, though both homes are close to the front of the lines. It seemed like the point was to show the connection between all of humankind; that in-laws fail to get along, that bad things happen to good people, and that love of family is often the most important thing. Things warm up when the two families meet to learn of the pregnancy, as Ronny’s Christian mother, Mrs. Hunt (Aunjanue Ellis), fails to hold back her disdain for the Rivers; in which a scene appearing to continue the intro’s lightheartedness quickly descends into assault, as Tish’s dad Frank (Michael Beach) smacks Mrs. Hunt across the mouth as she continues to castigate the Rivers, while her daughters operate as the chorus. It’s the type of intense scene I’ve seen in other books from the period; in which instead of some grand set piece, it’s about grand emotion amongst significant differences. What Steinbeck explored in From East to Eden or Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet; two young people in love and the foil of their families. Tish’s mom, Sharon (Regina King), provides the most powerful intro as she accepts the reality of the situation while preserving the family’s honor; showing early on just how far she’s willing to go. Equally formidable is Tish’s father Joseph (Colman Domingo), who again plays with the viewer’s expectations. Expecting a Troy Maxson, we discover that the father, while concerned, is proud of his daughter for making up her own mind, and willing to do whatever it takes to help the baby. Tish works during the day at a perfume counter, providing a brilliant and heartbreaking scene where Tish breaks down how each type of customer chooses to smell the perfume, in which most older white men force her to spray herself, grab her hand, and smell her wrist for just a bit too long, and she knows there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s a power dynamic I’ve rarely seen; in which exerting power is symbolized down to the very point of the marketplace. Fonny works as a wood sculptor in a grimy basement, creating beautiful works of art. While the two search for an apartment, and face endless discrimination, they finally secure a place from a young Jewish man who simply wants to rent to people who truly love one another; providing the film’s most melodramatic scene that I suspect works better in the book. Later, Tish and Fonny get groceries and Tish is harassed by a middle aged white man, leading Fonny to toss him out of the store and attract the attention of Police Officer Bell (Ed Skrein; who played Daario Naharis on Game of Thrones [you have to look this up if you don’t remember/don’t know who I’m talking about as it’s quite an amazing transformation]). Bell ignores the man and instead accosts Fonny, going so far as to nearly arrest him, saved at the last minute by the bodega owner. While never proven, the episode leads to the arrest of Fonny, as Officer Bell convinced a local Puerto Rican woman Victoria Rogers (Emily Rios) to accuse Fonny of a violent rape charge and get him arrested. Victoria has gone missing and after paying a lawyer who hires a private detective - depleting the Rivers’ of their entire life savings - Tish’s mom Sharon heads to Puerto Rico to try and convince Victoria to return and tell the truth; discovering Victoria has had a complete mental breakdown since the attack and will never return to the states. With no options left, Fonny is forced to take a plea deal while Victoria has the child at home, with the help mother acting as midwife, as without specifying, it’s clear that there’s just no money left for a hospital. Years later, Tish and their child continue to visit. They still love each other, and while there’s a hint of hope come the conclusion, the complete inequity remains; as much as they might one day crawl out of the injustice, the fact they had to be there at all is the true tragedy. I’m not sure where I read or heard it, but someone mentioned that James Baldwin’s greatest skill was combining politics within an accessible story. As mentioned before, for the Italian neorealist film Bitter Rice (1949), filmmaker Giuseppe De Santis deliberately chose to combine a melodramatic story with a socialist philosophy in order to provide an accessible story that could enlighten the audience. James Baldwin and Barry Jenkins achieve the same, providing a vivid and finely detailed story that most viewers could relate to while placing it within a strongly political context. I think most viewers would find little separating their own families from the Rivers (or possibly the Hunts), and it’s that relation and empathy which empowers the story’s meaning. If love is universal and we can all agree on its beauty, then we all must do all we can to eradicate hate, and focus on the individual persons rather than overall people. One day hopefully we can all agree that in this story, Mrs. Hunt and Officer Belle are the only two deplorable characters in the entire story. BELOW: Thoughts on race in America from Mr. James Baldwin Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Throwback to Children of Men Director: Alfonso Cuarón Writer: Alfonso Cuarón Cinematographer: Alfonso Cuarón Producer: Gabriela Rodríguez, Alfonso Cuarón, and Nicolás Celis by Jon Cvack I had watched Children of Men (2006) the day before going to see this film; having thought I remembered far more. I had always liked the film, but for some reason I never felt the need to revisit. And I’m fairly certain I hadn’t seen before directing Road to the Well; providing that amazing experience that returning to great films always does, in which the language and use of cinema is on full display, unable to be fully appreciated before learning the craft. What I failed to remember is that aside from the legendary one-takes (it’s been so long I actually forgot about Theo’s final push into the building), is that many scenes rely on the same minimal coverage; immersing you within the experience, photographed beautifully by Emmanuel Lubezki. Roma opens on a close up of a water puddle as the credits roll and we see Alfonso Cuarón produced, wrote, directed, and served as director of photography on the production, after a scheduling error prevented Emmanuel Lubezki from joining the show. Then again, the way the photography crew’s credits are shown is strikingly similar to how Paul Thomas Anderson presented them in Phantom Thread (2018), which he also elected to shoot. From there, sure enough, Cuarón employs the same subtle long takes found in Children of Men, following a young Latino maid, Cleodegaria "Cleo" Gutiérrez (Yalitza Aparicio) as she cleans the house of an upper class couple - the house mother, Sofia (Marina de Tavira) and her doctor husband Antonio (Fernando Grediaga). Together they have four children Pepe (Marco Graf), Sofi (Daniela Demesa), Toño (Diego Cortina Autrey), and Paco (Carlos Peralta) and a dog that enjoys shitting in the driveway. Told mostly from the perspective of Cleo, we see that she lives with the other maids’ in a separate flat behind the home. They both enjoy their jobs. Cleo especially loves the children. And as two young women with money in their pockets, they enjoy going out, where one night, Cleo has sex with a young man named Fermín (Jorge Antonio Guerrero) who’s obsessed and fully committed to his martial arts; displaying his power with a shower rod in one of the most intense post coital scenes. Back home, Antonio takes off with his bags packed in the middle of the night, allegedly for a conference, leaving Sofia in tears. While not explicitly stated, it’s clear he’s not coming back, and therefore leaving Sofia to care for the children alone. Shortly after, Cleo and Fermín head to the movies in one of the most beautiful shots of the film. As the comedy-action film plays in the background on screen, Cleo says she’s late and, at first, Fermín seems to be welcoming of the fact, before excusing himself to use the bathroom even though there are only seconds left of the movie. The credits later roll, Cleo grabs Fermín’s jacket and heads out, realizing Fermín is gone. Cleo later tells Sofia that she’s pregnant, scared to death that she’d force her to have to leave. Instead Sofia and later some of the children console her with hugs, expressing their love. While this doesn’t prevent Sofia from occasionally snapping at Cleo when her marital stress runs high, it takes awhile to realize that there’s no malicious intent or boiling eruption, but rather that Cleo is very much a part of Sofia’s family; in which love is reciprocated on both sides. Cleo soon tracks Fermín down to return the jacket and explain that she’s having the baby. She takes a bus to a distant rural community, where countless steel and wood cabins sit in mud. One of Cuarón's finest talents is finding the beauty in uncommon situations; in this case showing a punk band rocking out in the front of the huts and Cleo breaks up their practice to ask where she can find Fermín. She’s led to a dusty field where fifty or so other martial artists practice with bamboo sticks, led by a local television stuntman per the likes of Evel Knievel. The practice ends and Cleo confronts Fermín, who erupts, threatening to beat her should she ever confront him again. She goes home and the family assists Cleo with her pregnancy. The grandmother, Teresa (Verónica García), takes her to a department store to buy a crib while a mass protest is taking place in the streets. Moments after they choose the crib, and in the film’s most memorable shot, noise picks up outside, quickly shifting into a violent eruption as the protestors turn against the police; attacking them with weapons and making their way into the store. A desperate man, running from the clash enters, followed by three armed who enter, one of them Fermín, chasing the man into a corner and shooting him down, while Cleo does her best to hide. Moments after they leave, Cleo’s water breaks and Teresa rushes her out, passing a woman collapsed over her dead husband in the streets; a shot taken as a straight throwback to Children of Men (2006). A man offers to drive, but they get stuck in full stop traffic as the people try and flee the protests. Soon she ends up at the hospital and in an absolutely brutal single take (in fact, shot only once) we watch Cleo in a medium profile while actual hospital staff carry out the birth procedure, soon delivering a stillborn baby which they’re unable to resuscitate. The nurse gives her the baby to hold before taking it back, placing it on a table next to Cleo (still in the same single take) and they wrap it up in a blanket. To help Cleo cope with both her loss and the official demise of her marriage, Sofia takes Cleo and the children onto a trip to the country where she plans to break the news. Over dinner, she finally breaks the news and the nuanced children respond in their various ways. On the return home, they decide to stop at a beach where a couple of the children beg to go into the ocean which the mother grants while she grabs something in the car. Cleo keeps an eye on them, but when checking another one of the children, she turns to see that they’re gone. In another impressive single take, the camera dollies parallel with Cleo as she approaches the ocean, up to the wake where she calls out and we see how violent the waves are. She enters the water and camera follows, remaining what seems only a foot or so above the water and yet not catching a single drop of water, further along as Cleo gets up to her neck in the water and we start fearing the worst; until she sees one of the children and rushes over, helping the boy along before finding the girl. She saves them both, returns to the beach, where the mother and other children are in distraught with fear; they hug each other and we see the poster of the film; where Cleo then mentions that she’s glad she lost the baby as she loves the family so much and didn’t want it; feeling guilty at the admission. She’s hailed a hero and they all head back home where she starts cleaning up after them once again, and again missing the dog shit on the driveway. An exhausted response to classic era filmmakers such as Truffaut, Fellini, Bergman, Ray, and others is how much cinema has changed; where if only we could get back to telling the same intimate and touching stories cinema might be revived. Cuarón had long wished to make this film in an attempt to recreate his memories of youth; Cuarón has gone so far as to say that 90% of the film is factual. And thus the first films I was left comparing it to are amongst the finest of foreign cinema - The 400 Blows (1959), Pather Panchali (1955), and of course Fellini’s film by the same name Roma (1972). In one scene in which the family celebrates Christmas with an extended family, with countless children running around, and copious amounts of alcohol consumed by the dozens of adults, I was left remembering Fanny and Alexander (1982) and the way in which it presented such a beautiful world that felt entirely authentic. All so often such comparisons of this type seem far too generous. Cuarón had accomplished the miraculous in maintaining their spirit while adding his own style. And yet my one complaint is with the central character, who while giving a fantastic performance, seemed needlessly limited with the material. There was something icky about Cleo’s character; in which Cuarón painted her as someone who rather than creating her own family seemed entirely dedicated to another’s. In the end, no matter the heroics of saving children or surviving such a devastating event, she’ll always have to go back to picking up after others; in service to their every need - picking up after them, compensating for their laziness, cleaning up the dog shit and having it scrub it from the brick driveway. For some reason, Cleo has no passion or concern beyond this family; she has no interest in books, art, or music; she likes the movies the way the general public likes the movies. I couldn’t help wondering if 90% of this film was based on Cuarón's life, did he perhaps miss the complexity of this person, or was her entire life and all of her interests truly dedicated to this family? If so, why couldn’t some of that 10% creative liberty have been dedicated to providing a bit more of a personality; needs and desires which extended beyond being a lower class citizen in service to an upper class family? Being born in 1961 and with the film taking place in 1970, I’m wondering if Cuarón was a bit too married to the idea of showing the world as he perceived it back then; in which failing to notice an entire person’s dreams and desires is excused by youthful innocence. There is no problem with telling a story through a child’s eyes, but this film revolves around Cleo, and I was left wondering how much more there was to learn. BELOW: Fitting in today's world Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The costumes and set design alone... Director: Yorgos Lanthimos Writer: Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara Cinematographer: Robbie Ryan Producer: Ceci Dempsey, Ed Guiney, Lee Magiday, and Yorgos Lanthimos by Jon Cvack When I saw the preview, I expected another 18th century dramatic tale about the English Royal family with one or two of these released per year (and sure enough, just days after seeing this Mary Queen of Scots (2018) was released). Most are good, but more and more they rely on the predictable biopic format, portraying a character that must overcome seemingly impossible odds, whether for love or power. Even broader, I just don’t like most films that portray the aristocracy during this period, no matter the nation reflected. The more I learn about history and the more the world is exposed, the more you realize how privileged the characters in these stories often are; whether because of some dishonorable wrong from a peer, or some type of love triangle. I didn’t love The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017), as being unfamiliar with the Greek story, I felt mostly lost; let alone that other films have explored similar ideas in more engaging ways - whether Funny Games (2007), Straw Dogs (1971; 2011), or The Strangers (2008). The best part of the film was Barry Keoghan, who after seeing him in American Animals (2018), is becoming one of the most exciting young talents to follow. The Favorite kicks off with the same style, as two female characters deliver incredibly dry dialogue; creating an initially jarring effect, as I struggled to adjust to the style and cadence; with the whole audience wondering whether it was okay to laugh and leaving me wanting to go back so I can pick up on all I missed during the first ten minutes or so. The two characters are Anna, Queen of Great Britain who reigned from 1707 to 1714 when she died, and her closest advisor and amour Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough (Rachel Weisz). From there we cut to a cousin of Sarah’s, Abigail Hill (Emma Stone), in a wagon, headed to the palace in order to take a job. Catching eyes with a man in front of her who smiles and then proceeds to masturbate in front of the five riders. He later pushes Abigail out of the carriage where she falls face first into mud, having to visit Sarah without cleaning up. She gets a position in the scullery. First tasked to clean the floors in which she dunks her hand in a bucket of acid bleach, burning her skin while the other girls smile and laugh. Nationally, there’s an ongoing war between the French and English that’s winding down; in which the conservatives are willing to take it further to acquire more land - though at the cost of taxing land owners - and a progressive group that wants to end the war, avoid the taxation, and save the lives, while missing out on the additional territory. The progressives are led by Nicholas Hoult as Robert Harley, 1st Earl of Oxford and Earl Mortimer; who might be the first character to beg the question as to how absurd it is to adorn oneself in makeup and wigs. Through shrewd office politic maneuvering, Abigail earns the trust of Sarah; who gets Abigail out from sleeping on the floor in a room full of women, some grossly ill, and into her own bedroom. Soon Abigail is visited by a younger man, Joe Alwyn as Samuel Masham, 1st Baron Masham, lusting for her like an animal, which she further uses to her advantage. One night, after Sarah offers Abigail the chance to use her library, Abigail hunts for a book of poetry and finds Sarah and Anna in her room having sex. Anibail realizes the leverage she has over Sarah; bringing up the concern during some skeet shooting the next day. It’s at this moment, as the background politics settle along with the style, and we finally grasp the world we’re in, that I realized how smart the story was; namely - a political love triangle between two incredibly sharp characters, in which the filmmaker was willing to jettison the genre norms and create a story unlike anything I’ve ever seen; providing that rare paradigm shifting moment in cinema. Should this win best picture (it didn’t, losing to Green Book (2018)), or at least be a contender (which I’m surprised people are even saying about such a bizarre movie), it will forever change the way this world is portrayed; in which taking their relatively insignificant problems all that seriously is as ridiculous as the content itself. Abigail soon works her way to the Queen, and before long, provides the same cunnilingus prowess that Sarah offered. Jealousy arises and so begins the cloak and dagger battle as both women attempt to outsmart the other. Sarah by accusing Abigail of theft and relegating her to the kitchen, where Anna then promotes her to be a chamber maiden. However, Sarah still is able to resume her position by playing to Anna’s heart, rather than her lust. Abigail ups the ante and poisons a cup of tea, which Sarah drinks, immediately feeling the need to clear herself in all directions. Riding her horse home, she faints, still connected to the steed, and dragged for over a night. Eventually she’s taken in by a brothel who sews up a nasty scar on her face and hopes to put her to work as a prostitute. The disappearance troubles Anna, who’s worry and concern is appearing to trump any amount of pleasure Abigail could provide. It’s when one of the conservative politicians visiting the brothel discovers Sarah that she returns back; providing one of the more interesting dynamics as Anna is disgusted by Sarah’s scars and bruises, which Abigail then used to her advantage; exploiting Sarah’s disfiguration by planting a seed of distrust in Anna; convincing her that Abigail isn’t be trusted, and, in fact, attempting to gain political advantage. One upping Abigail, Sarah threatens to leak all of Anna’s lascivious love letters to the press should Sarah be removed. However, this proves too much of a threat, as the genuine connection between Anna and Abigail prevents Abigail from ever actually releasing the letters; instead burning them, in which Sarah then nudges Anna a bit further, using Abigail’s reluctance against her and having her exiled for good. It’s here that the film takes an interesting turn. Years later, Sarah is now the socialite star of a debaucherous party, where she kisses other men while getting blotto on wine. By now Anna has had a stroke which paralyzed half her face. Sarah still provides Anna pleasure, though with the physical attraction waining, the reluctance is far stronger. It’s when one of the politicians mentions that Sarah’s interested in sending a letter that Anna says it’s fine if she wishes to try. Sarah of course writes the letter, which Abigail then steals and burns, preventing their reconciliation. The ending comes a bit abruptly, yet it’s after thinking about the film for weeks after that it seems the best possible option. Abigail’s transition from innocence to corruption is so finely drawn, with each scene adding just a bit more dirt than the previous, that it’s no wonder that she’d eventually turn completely; making you instead wonder if she had the intention from the very beginning, or simply observed the office politics around her, knowing that her only in was to marry a man she didn’t love, to pleasure a woman she wasn’t attracted to, and hurt a cousin she had never known, all in the effort to gain an affluent life. Or, if maybe all of this was simply a result of living in squalor; a byproduct of her parent’s mistake. Who wouldn’t do whatever they could to avoid being beaten and forced to sleep on a cold basement floor? It’d take another viewing to properly connect the dynamic to the background political conflict; though I’m doubtful as to whether they relate so much as explore the general absurdity in attempting to resolve the conflicts. The two political parties can’t reconcile their differences or properly appease the Queen, while Anna’s incompetence and insecurity prevents her from seeing the ways in which the two women are exploiting her own desires. Sarah’s transformation was the film’s most impressive feat, as Rachel Weisz created a character which began as boring and despicable and into a fascinating and, at times, heartbreaking portrait of a woman who might have been unable to express her love. Even better, I’m not sure the latter is even possible, as I often wondered whether Abigail was also putting on an act. Only her burning of the letters seemed to hint at any actual feelings. It’s one of the most beautiful movies of the year, shot with some of the widest fisheyes I recall seeing in a film other than some skate video. It shouldn’t work, and yet somehow it captures the world; in all its beauty and absurdity, never making it feel artificial or forced. Some films usher in a new way of portraying an era, embodying its essence in ways we’ve never seen. What Saving Private Ryan (1998) did for WWII battle footage, The Favorite might have done for cinema taking place in the ~18th century. BELOW: A brilliant scene, skirting that fine line between satire and reality Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Dynamic aside, it's got two stellar performances Director: Peter Farrelly Writer: Nick Vallelonga, Brian Hayes Currie, and Peter Farrelly Cinematographer: Sean Porter Producer: Jim Burke, Brian Hayes Currie, Peter Farrelly, Nick Vallelonga, and Charles B. Wessler by Jon Cvack NOTE: This was written before the Best Picture backlash, immediately after seeing the film The formula was simple - a well mannered upper class and well educated black pianist is driven around by a foul lower class white man. From the preview alone I think most people would anticipate the entire arc of the story; the pair will be offended by the other and then reconcile into a deep and lasting friendship. The black man will see past the white man’s crass and racist behavior and the white man will see past skin color. A friend of mine on Facebook said it best in that it’s a not so subtle shout out to the last two presidents. And yet, that kind of seems the point. The movie I first recalled after watching this was Corrina, Corrina (1994) starring Ray Liotta as a recently widowed man whose wife died from cancer; hiring Whoopi Goldberg to help take care of his mute tween daughter Corrina while also helping out with the house. Liotta is an atheist, soft spoken, and fairly bitter man who writes radio jingles, while Goldberg is a rambunctious Catholic who had always dreamed of writing the record notes on the backs of albums. Soon Corrinna is introduced to her black culture while her and Liotta start to fall in love; seeing past each other’s differences. I don’t recall how many times I’ve watched this movie growing up. If pressed, I’d say maybe a dozen. I’m not sure why I always liked putting or keeping it on; providing that weird reflection, where though I was too young to understand craft or understand the racial dynamic, I was attracted to the film as though there were things to discover and experience. Green Book presents a similar story; though instead of love it’s focuses on friendship. It follows a bouncer Frank “Tony Lip” Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen) who works at the Copacabana nightclub; showing off his strength after a couple of patrons try to fight and refuse to be kicked out. However, when the club’s forced to shut down for renovations, Frank is now out of work for the next three months, possibly up through Christmas. His fellow night club crew flirts the line with organized crime, though while the offer rolls in to run a few of their errands for a nice paycheck, he opts out for some honest work; taking an interview with a successful pianist “Doc” Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali). The pair interview one another, and we learn that Doc is planning a Southern tour where he’ll need an ostensible bodyguard to protect Doc against any potential problems; that is, violent racists. While Frank’s willing to drive Doc around, he refuses to be a “butler” and iron shirts or polish shoes. Doc refuses to offer the gig, only later calling him when it’s clear that few others have what it takes for the position. The pair hit the road with two other band members and Frank is handed what was once called a “Green Book”; a traveling guide “for the Negro tourist” who’re doomed to arrive in towns still practicing segregation. They ease down into the South, beginning in New York City, down to Baltimore, across through the Midwest and then make their way down to Alabama; each destination getting progressively more racist as the trip goes on. What begins as the white hosts cooking Doc fried chicken and collard greens turns to refusing to let him use the in-house bathroom. The extravagant and expensive hotels which accept him up in the Northeast fade into begrimed flea dens. The friendly acceptance of white people devolves into the bitter and violent hate the deep South feels for black people, leaving you to increasingly wonder what exactly Doc made his way down there for. The most important aspect for any character foil is proper personality. Doc and Frank oppose each other, but Mortenson’s Frank far outshines Ali’s Doc; as while the film returns to a classic formula, it also falls victim to structural benevolent bigotry. Doc is at times an insufferable prig, and while we later learn that most of that might have been based on fear, it was the more intimate moments that displayed the issue. Contrast this with Frank who steals literally every scene, as we’re left wondering how his complete lack of concern for what others think, while also being very good at his bodyguard role, make each scene a thrill to watch. When Doc can’t get into the bathroom and is told to use the outhouse, we can’t wait to hear what Frank is going to say. When Doc gets ruffled up, we’re excited to see how Frank is willing to go to help him. The only moment Doc gets the spotlight seems to be during the final moment at the all-black bar and Doc takes a try at some jazz improv. It’s an example of where diversity in authorship is a necessity. Imagine if the rolls were flipped, and instead the tale was a 70s/80s-inspired throwback of a foul-mouthed lower class black man who assists the successful white man? It’d receive the same criticism as Driving Miss Daisy (1989), The Green Mile (1999), or The Blind Side (2009); showing the black man to be ignorant and uncultured, saved by the white man. I understand this is a true story, but given how obvious the politics are, it seems like rather than let people of color tell their stories, we instead show them as benevolent individuals, while providing their white counterparts with all of the depth and flavor. If I was a betting man, I think we’ll look back to films like this and see them as a reflection of our currently unjust, though improving race relations. I started to forget most of this by the time the film got moving and the chemistry further evolved. I accepted Ali’s rendition and remained excited for Frank. Driving deeper into the south created an unfamiliar tension for such a feel-good moral film. To think less than seventy years ago, just a few years older than my parents, blacks would have to abide by sundown laws, have nowhere to stay, or in the film’s most intense scene, be refused service at the very club Doc is playing at. In a brief moment, we hear the circular illogic that plagues racist thought; believing that the black man who refuses to perform after being denied service demonstrates how unreliable black men are in general. Soon we learn that, like Nat King Cole before him - who was one of the first black men to perform in the reputable clubs down south, accosted and nearly driven out of the city - Doc is attempting to bridge the two worlds, in the hopes that music could help dissolve the perceived differences. In the end, he was willing to sacrifice his own life comforts and safety to accomplish this mission. The two then head back, making it home just in time for Christmas. Frank knows Doc has no one to share the night with, invites him up, but Doc refuses. And in classic rom-com movies, just as Frank grows depressed that his new friend chose to be alone, Doc appears, bottle of wine in hand and welcomed into the apartment. As of writing this, the National Board of Review has named the film Best of the Year and it later received five Golden Globe nominations, including Best Picture. There’s talk that it’s at least front runner for an Oscar, and it seems like the perfect nominee; progressive but not radical the way BlacKKKlansman (2018) is. And perhaps that’s the type of movie some need in Trump’s America. While BlacKKKlansman is the progressive story, Green Book is the conservative one. There’s something about the final scene where Frank opens the door to Doc and how lonely he looks before accepting his new friend in for a family Christmas. It makes you think of how the story continues and what else they shared as the years went on. Any story that leaves you imagining beyond has to be pretty good. BELOW: The scene that blew up liberal Twitter who seemed to miss that their ire is the point Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Anarchy and Philosophy Director: Mia Hansen-Løve Writer: Mia Hansen-Løve Cinematographer: Denis Lenoir Producer: Charles Gillibert by Jon Cvack Things to Come is the third film I’ve seen from Mia Hansen-Løve (following Goodbye First Love (2011) and The Father of My Children (2009)) , and unfortunately the last one available on Netflix. The story involves a philosophy professor Nathalie Chazeaux (Isabelle Huppert) who’s on the verge of releasing an updated edition to her book of essays. Nathalie is a woman who looked like she was gorgeous about ten or fifteen years ago; now pushing into her late 50s/early 60s and grasping that her best years - both physically and intellectually - may be behind her. Nathalie’s bipolar mother Yvette Lavastre (Édith Scob) has a similar degree of former sexiness, despite being at least twenty years Nathalie’s senior. Lately she’s been falling to psychotic breakdowns; calling Nathalie to come by her house, and if Natalie doesn’t answer, calling the fire department immediately after. She’s soon forced to enter the hospital, where the episodes take a toll on the nursing staff. Nathalie also has an attractive ex-student Fabien (Roman Kolinka) who since graduating has joined an anarchist community, in which he and others his age, including a couple and their kid, plan to form a radical faction with the intent of ushering in a new revolution. Nathalie mentions how she admired his writing, wondering if he’d be interested in contributing to her new anthology while encouraging him to finish up his Phd. Nathalie’s husband Heinz (André Marcon) is also a philosophy professor, specializing in anarchy, and having influenced much Fabien’s thinking, currently cheating on Nathalie with a younger woman. One day, their pregnant daughter confronts Heinz about the affair, demanding he tell her mom. He does, and without theatrics or grand exchanges, but rather through the conscious controlled rage which a moral philosophy professor would hope to profess, Nathalie breaks it off. A is A, what’s done is done, and that’s all there is to it. Forced to care for her ailing mother, and now living alone in a half empty apartment, Nathalie decides to visit Fabien’s compound, deep in the beautiful countryside. The fantasy is so clear and yet it operates within a perfect logic - Fabien is young and idealistic, hoping to usher in a utopian society, and living up to Marx’s declarations to change the world, while Nathalie is content studying the continental concepts of beauty, love, and art. It separates them more than their ages, but still there’s a fantasy that it could work. While this plot alone could have been a film, Mia knows masterfully avoids any chance of melodrama. She removes the magnifying glass that we’d so often see in these types of films. Of a woman scared to suffer the same fate as her mother does; hoping for one last romance, all while watching everything in her life crumble away. Isabelle Huppert does a magnificent job of portraying both contentment, excitement, and fear. There is philosophy discussed, but the film seems much more interested in how a philosophy professor - with all their knowledge and wisdom - would respond to the fact that life is darkening bit by bit. At other times, abruptly. In the closing image we watch Nathalie hold her grandson, singing him to sleep. There are cozy Christmas decorations and her son-in-law and daughter and their friend are all there, and while we’re unsure how they feel, Nathalie is content. For now. It’s a good film and I’m not sure how much better it could have been, and yet it left me feeling a bit uneasy. As the years race by and yearly traditions seem to repeat themselves with staggering speed, a film like this makes me see how close we all are to the end and that most of life isn’t all that exciting or thrilling. Even the events that should be. BELOW: A fitting, non-spoiled ending Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Some of the best romantic on screen chemistry of the century Director: Bradley Cooper Writer: Eric Roth, Bradley Cooper, and Will Fetters; based on A Star Is Born (1954 screenplay) by Moss Hart Cinematographer: Matthew Libatique Producer: Bill Gerber, Jon Peters, Bradley Cooper, and Todd Phillips by Jon Cvack I wasn’t expecting much from what was going to be the third remake of the film. I had watched what I thought was the original 1954 version with James Mason and Judy Garland, later learning it was the first remake of the actual original made in 1938 and that this is actually the third remake after the 1978 version with Barbara Streisand Kris Kristofferson. Seeing it was Bradley Cooper’s directorial debut, recruiting Lady Gaga for the title role, I expected a decent film; the kind that’s fun to watch but which you never return to. Weeks into its release, I started seeing people post about the film; including a few cinephiles saying Bradley Cooper might be the next Clint Eastwood or Mel Gibson; as powerful behind the camera in crafting popular mainstream films as he is in front. It was clear that this wasn’t some cheap musical going for a greatest original song Oscar, but going for the top prize and providing a film that’ll remain competitive for Best Picture. Somehow what could have been so easily maudlin was one of the most emotionally wrenching Hollywood studio films I’ve seen since Titanic (1997). The film opens up with country/rock n roll singer Jackson Maine (Bradley Cooper) who needs half a dozen shots of gin and a couple of pain killers just to get him ready to perform. The camera follows him on stage and the opening song “Black Eyes” comes out strong; skating that fine line between badass and musical show tune; the kind of song where when you listen to the soundtrack its power is gone, going to show just how strong Cooper’s vision was. Jackson leaves the show, pushes his way through the crowd and hops into his transpo SUV; a bottle of gin waiting for him which he quickly clears off. Those familiar with the story notice the foreshadowing omens, as the city’s bright lights at one point show a bunch of nooses in silhouette, hanging behind him. He sees a bar and asks the driver to stop, forcing his way in when a young man recognizes the megastar and warning him against entering a gay bar where a drag show takes place. One of the girls Ally (Lady Gaga) is an aspiring singer who proclaims her mediocre looks (on the Hollywood scale, I guess) have prevented her from getting to the next level. She performs a French tune at the show, pouring her heart into it, not knowing that Jackson Maine is in attendance. Jackson is taken aback, requesting to go backstage to meet the girl and immediately falls in love, inviting her to go out and get a drink where the two end up at a cop bar. Jackson’s accosted by one of the off duty officers and Ally steps in, punching him in the face and the two head to the local market so Jackson can buy some of frozen peas and help her hand. So begins one of only a couple awkward and very staged moments (for a musical) in which Ally breaks out into a song she made up on the spot, then stands up and belches out the chorus in a way I guess the filmmakers had to do to make the plot work, but felt a bit serving to that purpose. Oh well, it’s a musical and it’s easy enough to look past. Jackson drops her off at home where her dad and his luxury driving crew assemble before their day of picking up celebrities and betting on horse races. Cooper asks for her to come to the show tonight, but she has work. Jackson’s driver nevertheless shows up and vows to follow her, which should be creepy, but again serves the purpose of getting Ally to quit her job and head out to the show where Jackson invites her on stage to sing the song Ally just sang to him the night before in the parking lot. Ally’s guest appearance goes viral, and she continues to make further appearances at Jackson’s shows, attracting the attention of music producer and manager Rez Gavron (Rafi Gavron) who provides a flawless Hollywood slimeball. Elated, Ally tells Jackson Maine the news, who blotto once again, brushes off the news before falling off the couch; later demanding that Ally preserve her spirit and avoid selling out. This proves a challenge as Rez demands she take dance lessons and undergo a radical makeover. When she refuses to have her back up dancers on stage, Rez scolds her; threatening that unless she listens to everything he says, success just wouldn’t work and he’d find someone else. Meanwhile, Jackson’s hearing is starting to get worse; leaving you to wonder if initially, or at least partially, he recruited Ally in order to save his ailing show. Soon he’s forced to cancel his tour, and after being invited to perform at the Grammys, is forced to give up his vocals and play a lone lead guitar. He gets bombed out of his mind before the performance, hardly able to stand and returns to his seat, where Ally waits to see if she can win Best New Artist of the Year. Her name’s called, and in the most memorable scene from the 1954 version, she accepts with Jackson following behind; hardly able to walk up the stairs, essentially crawling over to her and then pisses his pants for all the world (via YouTube) to see. Ally’s father flips (Andrew Dice Clay), and in a phenomenal character shift, we see the dad move from the RomCom blue collar comedy relief, to an enraged man, wanting nothing more than to beat Jackson down. Instead, he tosses Jackson into the shower where Ally somehow finds it in her heart to forgive him, washing him off as Jackson shakes from his need for another drink. He checks into an AA program, admitting his alcoholism and turning his life around. He admits to his sponsor that he once tried committing suicide with a belt when he was young; hanging himself from a fan blade which broke up and cut him on the head. They laugh it off and Ally later visits him, where in yet another wrenching scene, displaying Cooper’s utter prowess, he apologizes for what he did to her. Later, after being released, he gives the same to his brother Bobby (Sam Elliott), though in the perfect way men often talk around the apology. Elliot’s beet red eyes refuse to leave a dry eye in the theater. Later, Rez visits Jackson, who offers yet another apology and thank you for taking care of his girl while he was in rehab. Rez ignores the gesture, instead scolding Jackson for nearly ruining her career (and the vast profits he hopes to rake in). Jackson is smothered; realizing that his weakness could destroy the dreams of the one person he loves. He heads out to his truck, finds some pills, and heads into the garage and hangs himself with a belt; never making it to Ally’s big performance. I can’t recall the last time I’ve shed so many tears in a film; no matter how much I resisted. It was though someone spiked the film with onions, leaving me completely helpless and overwhelmed with emotion. The first film that comes to mind is Titanic, though even that series of Niagara Falls was reserved for the ending. I shed my first tear when Ally was brought on stage to sing her song, and they kept flowing from there on out. Even after the film ended and I was driving home, I kept getting choked up; embarrassed, though impressed that it could stick with me for so long. It’s a testament to Bradley Cooper’s phenomenal direction in which he somehow avoided nearly all of the maudlin pitfalls that could have made things cringey. There was an honesty in each and every scene; arguably Cooper’s finest role as he disappeared into Jackson Maine and I was left hoping to check out his other music; or that Lady Gaga’s debut role would be such an incredible knock out. It accomplished the miraculous in, like Titanic, making me fully believe how much these two characters loved one another unconditionally; where Ally couldn’t abandon Jackson no matter how much he hurt himself, and that Jackson was willing to make such a sacrifice. The film captures that yearning to be heard and the obsession that great artists have; where to live with another is about sharing love someone has both for you and their work. In the end, I can’t help thinking that ultimately Jackson might have made the right move; that in a grand gesture of love, however selfish it might seem to be for the pain he causes others, it was ultimately selfless; in order to avoid destroying the love Ally had for music. What tears most at the heart string is that Jackson thought his role in her life was worth so much less. Then again, as he lost his own abilities, maybe it was the best decision for all the outcomes. He wouldn’t have to live with the pain of being unable to play, and to take away Ally’s passion for music. BELOW: A song that is awesome to watch and less awesome to hear Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Not sure how this didn't work Director: Peter Berg Writer: Lea Carpenter; story by Graham Roland and Lea Carpenter Cinematographer: Jacques Jouffret Producer: Peter Berg, Mark Wahlberg, and Stephen Levinson by Jon Cvack Peter Berg has been on a roll since Lone Survivor (2013), following it up with a modern disaster porn epic Deep Horizon (2016), and then later that year following the Boston bombing with the quiet release of Patriots Day (2016), which while not as great of a film, was nonetheless a close third. Berg is our generation’s action director. He’s Michael Bay meeting Tony Scott, and like those filmmakers he occasionally makes a dud. Berg and Wahlberg joining forces yet again was enough of a reason for me to check out the film. It involves an elite paramilitary special forces team who deals with some of the world’s worst problems. The film opens up with a great bait and switch. We watch as a married couple arrive to a quaint house in the middle of nowhere where they argue about whether or not they’re at the right place; improvising in that annoying way some movies do and going on endlessly before entering into a badass action scene as we learn the couple is actually part of a police task force, infiltrating the home to get intelligence and joined by both Wahlberg as the team’s leader named James Silva, joined by Ronda Rousey as Sam Snow (aka “Child 3”). The operation is meant to secure the highly toxic caesium but the perps gain the upper hand, killing a few from Silva’s team, ending in a bomb that blows up the house in the middle of the suburbs. One young man escapes, warning Silva against killing him in cold blood. Bishop calls into his boss James Bishop (John Malkovich), who approves the kill, and Silva shoots him in the head; which I assume was meant to be edgy and intense - which it was - but also felt like a weird way to introduce a character that we’re supposed to care about. The mission continues 16 months later in Indonesia when a former cop, Li Moor (Iko Uwais), asks for asylum and an escort out of the country; offering a heavily encrypted hard drive with the location of the remaining caesium. Bishop gets his young hacking team on it while one of his best lieutenants (if not literally a lieutenant, then at least figuratively), Alice Kurr, aka Child 2 (Lauren Cohan), who receives a video call on some weird app that prevents her from using expletives while calling home to her daughter on some strange, bulky satellite phone that looks like a prop from the 1990s rather than a current piece of technology; which she then throws down after saying motherfucker or something and the thing shatters, even though it looks as though it should be bulletproof. Li Moore is the film’s best character, playing a political dissident who meditates with his fingers (I believe it’s called Sa Ta Ma Na Meditation) which essentially acts like a fuse, building excitement for when he finally breaks down; which is during some moment in the hospital, where for the whole scene I felt like he was simply a psychopathic terrorist that wanted to kill innocent civilians, but in fact were government assassins posing as staff. It’s only at about thirty to forty minutes than we get to what the title implies the movie’s about, which is that they have to transport Li Moore 22 miles out from the embassy in order to get him across the border. The synopsis said the film was about this exact conflict, which sounded beautiful in its simplicity; like Die Hard (1988) or (that recent indie skyscraper action movie that came out which I now can’t find because The Rock’s Skyscraper (2018) was just released). Instead there’s just a long, drawn out first(ish) act, as though they couldn’t find a way to get there faster. I loved all of Wahlberg’s Berg characters; with Marcus Luttrell taking the top position. Like any great action star, Wahlberg has that All American feel. He’s the John McCain of action movies; a guy whose charm infects everyone all while possessing the perfect amount of intimidation and decency. His intensity seems genuine, as though we’re watching a particular Ideal Man that so many aspire toward; having the good job, great truck, pretty wife, and amazing kid. As mentioned, before we know much about Bishop we see him kill a child. He’s then introduced as a raging fast-talking sociopath; who yells most of his conversations and all of his orders. In one scene, as a couple fresh college grad hackers attempt to break encryption, Bishop comes roaring in about 9/11 and how they’re inability to crack the code could kill thousands; failing to provide any motivation other than the fear of what will happen to them should they fail. At times the character feels like Sorkin characters on cocaine; as he talks so fast, at times I had no idea what he was saying, and then he’d insert some historical or literary anecdote to show how smart the guy actually is. I saw a bully. The kind of person you sometimes work with while getting the job done, also makes the job as miserable as possible. When the film actually heads out onto the street for Mile 22, it had to have been halfway through. Corrupt police and biker gang members attack them in the middle of the Bali streets, inside a coffee shop, and ending in an uneventful final shootout in some barren apartment complex. Ronda Rousey dies along the way, and again in a needlessly brutal way; where shot up and dying, Bishop leaves her behind, pulling a less intense Miles Dyson, and taking out two of the biker gang members. In the end, they get Li across the border and onto a plane. At only a little over ninety minutes, the film felt as though it had played for two hours. Still, it kepting going, spiraling into a twist in which Li kills Alice when the two fly out together. Turns out Alice was a triple agent, working for the Russians and somehow involved with the opening scene. Even after reading the Wikipedia I still can’t really piece it together, leading me to wonder if this movie could even be over, or set up for a sequel. I discovered it’s the first in a trilogy. Peter Berg has created some of the best action movie sequences of this generation. Lone Survivor, Patriot’s Day, and Deep Horizon all created engaged and memorable characters about each other, and therefore made us care about them. Mile 22 failed to create a single great character or personal conflict. Even Ben Kingsley’s role was underwhelming (though his Converse shoes with the suit were a brilliant touch). All of his other films provide depth to the character. I feel like I know them, or they’re people I’d want to hang with. I’m not sure why this was abandoned, and maybe the other movies will get more into that element. Simply because it’s Berg and Wahlberg, I will watch the rest with the best hopes in mind. *I’m aware he’s a democrat, or at least has supported many of then, which makes his crossover all the more impressive. BELOW: You don't realize how awesome this scene is until you're in a movie theater with hundreds of others Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  A once in a generation talent Director: Marina Zenovich Cinematographer: Nick Higgins, Jenna Rosher, Thorsten Thielow, and Wolfgang Held Producer: Alex Gibney, Shirel Kozak, and Nancy Abraham by Jon Cvack To think that someone we grew up watching, who was so funny, charming, and kind hearted, ended up killing himself is difficult to accept. I had never known about his depression, or all that much about his addictions beyond the bits and pieces he’d mention in stand up (though I always found these oddly unfunny; especially compared to how hilarious nearly every appearance on a late night show was). A strange and conflicting image forms when I think too much about it; that a person who I would associate with happiness was actually struggling with severe depression, using his humor as a crutch. Beyond my one friend at work, I had never heard of this movie. I so often associate Hollywood biographies with those cheesy A&E television docs that rarely dug deeper than the scandals. This film is told entirely through interviews and - what I assume - archival footage; most of which probably hasn’t been seen before. What I appreciate about the story is how little time it spends on Williams' most well known aspects; that is, his most popular films. They’re looked at fleetingly, in order to launch the story into a new anecdotes of a man who we knew so little about. It opens up in The Actors Studio, as James Lipton welcomes Williams onto the show, asking what is going on inside William’s mind. Is he thinking faster than the rest of us? It’s the first question I asked myself after seeing him on the late shows. It wasn’t just the ability to speak and connect thoughts with humor and metaphor at rapid speed, but to embody entire characters and speak through those voices; where it seemed that Williams had an endless cast of rich personalities living within him. His story is a bit typical in that Williams originally studied political science ane started spending all his time in acting classes trying to meet girls. Then joined an improv group who put on a western adaptation of Othello at the prestigious Edinburgh Festival, which got Robin Williams on the radar. Later, still struggling to break in, Williams performed his alien character on Hollywood street corners, which finally got him in a role in "Happy Days" (1974-84); which then spun off into "Mork & Mindy" (1979-82), where Williams had the ability to fully unleash his talent; providing him both money, an introduction to the cocaine craze, and the endless amounts of women women. By this time Williams had gotten married to his first wife and raising their first child in Napa Valley. They soon hired a nanny who Williams would later run off with and have a second child with, before divorcing again and having a third child; just like his father did which left William’s with two half siblings. Now sober, he would go on to debut in Good Morning Vietnam (1987), Dead Poets Society (1989), Hook (1991), The Fisher King (1991), and Aladdin (2019), with the film never diving deep into the obvious; as though assuming that any fan watching the documentary knew enough about the films to avoid any extended tangents. Recently, I had watched Insomnia (2002); going through some strange love/hate roller coaster in which I loved it when it first came out, failed to enjoy it for the last eight or so years, and then fell in love with it again a couple weeks ago. It’s a tight and creepy film in which Pacino and his pending investigation into evidence tampering takes all of your attention where you forget that Williams is even in it. For a personality somehow so large, when Williams appears he somehow fades into the role; losing all his stardom and charisma and showing a deeply damaged soul. It’s arguably the last of his great films, in while he’d go on to play in another two dozen others, few of the roles would even come close to what he accomplished over the previous two decades. I recall when his television show "The Crazy Ones" (2013) was announced. By then I think the last film I recall seeing with him was Man of the Year (2006), which I mistakenly watched with my mom and sister while home from college and was so embarrassed that I actually turned it off and went back to the video store to exchange it. It didn’t feel unique, or contain the energy I loved. Robin Williams could always make even the most abhorrent stories accessible and light. "The Crazy Ones" looked like a television show from a man who had lost his magic; as so many comedians eventually seem to do. At one moment, his old co-start from Mork & Mindy, Pam Dawber, who made a guest appearance, described how off Robin had felt toward her while in production; as though something was wrong and he could no longer connect with his former self. Williams was soon diagnosed with early stage Parkinson’s and committed suicide shortly after. While the documentary doesn’t speculate, it’s clear enough that he feared losing the one talent that kept him afloat. As with many great artists, Williams' mind used craft to avoid thinking about the darkest of thoughts. Seeing his mind work, I’m left in as much awe as reading David Foster Wallace, listening to Nirvana, or looking at Van Gogh’s painting. It’s as though they were great because their minds demanded it in order to function; a strange correlation between creative genius and mental struggle. We’ll never know if Williams slowed down during the last decade or so because of the early onset of Parkinson’s, or whether it was a losing battle with even darker thoughts. I struggle to think of another performer like him, either living or dead; who could improvise some of the funniest material I’ve ever heard while snapping into some of his generation’s finest dramatic performances; who all the while felt genuine, accessible, and good hearted; a person who selflessly gave us laughter who might look deep into your eyes with immense appreciation as you thank him. To think someone so positive lost a battle with his mind is a sobering thought that chills me to this day; as though reflecting a universal truth of life. That the pursuit is hard and tragic and only fun some of the time. Fortunately, some of that time we can forever spend with him and what he created. BELOW: How he is on every late night show Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Spike Lee Writer: Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz, Kevin Willmott, and Spike Lee; based on Black Klansman by Ron Stallworth Cinematographer: Producer: Jason Blum, Spike Lee, Raymond Mansfield, Sean McKittrick, Jordan Peele, and Shaun Redick by Jon Cvack It’s only after a career spanning over thirty years that Spike Lee seems to be getting the attention he deserves. As I was adding him to my director’s list I discovered nearly a dozen films, all well reviewed, that I hadn’t seen or even heard about. Clockers (1995), Malcolm X (1992), He Got Game (1999), and Summer of Sam (1999) are all films as good and epic as anything produced by his peers. To think that the one of the few prolific African American filmmakers with equal talent as Tarantino, PTA, Wes Anderson, Spielberg, or the Coens is rarely mentioned when people mentioned their favorite filmmakers goes to show the implicit bias. If there’s one thing that Trump is doing which I appreciate is that he’s pulling off the costume that racism hides behind. One protest sign summed it well in that while not all Trump voters are racist, many seem okay with the racist things Trump says. It’s giving rise to more people casually saying things that would be out of line just a few years ago. Just like Trump gets away with his offensive remarks by calling it a joke, the people do the same. They don’t actually mean that Stormy Daniels is a “dirty whore”; it’s just a joke. They didn’t actually mean to harm or scare the Latinos and Asian-Americans walking down the street by telling them to go back to their country; they were just drunk and playing. Worse, is where the straight up racism or sexism comes out, especially here in Los Angeles, and you realize how much worse it should be elsewhere. I admired Obama and aspired to be as smart and engaged as he was. He was the greatest role model a student could ask for in college. Now flip that, in which the other side’s leader gets to laugh off his misogyny and racism as all just misunderstood and his supporters all follow right in line; no matter how many of the victims speak out. It’s bizarre and will have consequences for decades to come. Trump isn’t engaged enough to want to take over the world, but as I often say, imagine an evil genius who had the charm, realizing how far he could take the country in a particular direction and how half the country is willing to either go along with it. With climate change around the corner, it’s a terrifying thought. We already have serious problems, and growing up, I just never thought it’d be this country I’d have to worry about. Next to Death of Stalin, this is the next post-Trump film to be made; exploring the history of race and racism in this country. It opens in the Civil War with a long, expansive shot of hundreds of wounded soldiers lying in the dirt while a woman cries, searching for her man, ending on the Confederate Flag which is still hanging. It’s one of the most powerful opening shots I’ve seen in awhile; especially when knowing what to expect from the story. Up until recently, and still do this day, we want to revere a nation that once held people in bondage to the point where half the country rebelled against the United States of America to defend the idea. For those of the “Pride Not Hate” defense, I’ve yet to hear a decent argument as to why this isn't analogous to putting up statues of Hitler and his generals over in Germany and celebrating Nazi pride. The film opens up with rookie police officer and real life person Ron Stallworth (John David Washington) serving as Colorado Springs first black person on the force. Chief Bridges (Robert John Burke) warns him that his experience will be similar to that of Jackie Robinson. He’ll likely deal with a barrage of racist epithets from the other officers. Ron agrees and from such a strong intro, a lot of the momentum wore off at this point, as Lee remained in many scenes far longer than needed as we followed Ron from the filing room to private detective, which could have been punched up by one of Spike Lee’s signature montages. I understand that it was to demonstrate the Jackie Robinson-ness of the situation, but given where the story goes, I think it could have gotten there faster while proving the same points. Eventually Ronald becomes an undercover detective, making his way to a black power rally, where he meets local college president of the black student union Patricia Dumas (Laura Harrier) who’s hosting true to life civil right activist Kwame Ture (Corey Hawkins; and providing the film’s finest performance; up there with Viola Davis brevity in Doubt (2008) which won her an Oscar) in which he speaks of the plight of black people and the systemic racism they face; wrapping up the speech by declaring that it’s better to shoot a racist cop than the enemy in Vietnam; as he doesn’t know anything about the people in Vietnam, but he does know the oppressor he faces in this country. The rhetoric is alarming, and, at times, convincing. What is worse than a person whose job is to uphold the law who will then refuse to apply that law equally to all Americans? Ronald presents his findings to the Chief alongside his partner Detective Fred Zinnerman (Adam Driver), who agrees that while the rhetoric was intense, it was nothing more than some heated language. Ronald instead directs his attention to the rise of some local KKK organizations that have been gathering around town. He gets in touch with one of the local leaders, Felix Kendrickson (Jasper Pääkkönen), using his best white man’s voice and convincing the klansmen to invite him to the rally. Knowing he can’t show up, he convinces Fred to act in his place. The joke is one of the most effective demonstrations of how racism can seep into even the most seemingly innocuous situations. Whites believe that black people talk a certain way, which they do, not all that differently than how black people can impersonate the way a white person talks; the issue is when you believe one tone is superior to the others; demonstrated in a hilarious scene where a conversation with David Duke leads to the man saying how much he resents when black people say you’re-a rather than just you’re; hilarious in that it’s not wrong, it’s just insane that someone would use something so inane as a contributing element to their violent bigotry. Fred soon meets up with Felix, who in a thrilling scene, demands Fred get into his car in order to be driven to the a bar in middle of nowhere where he meets the organization’s leader Walter Breachway (Ryan Eggold) and the third leg of their trio, Ivanhoe (Paul Walter Hauser). Adam Driver provides a few great laughs, but given how few other actors I recognized (namely Pääkkönen and Eggold) I was wondering if doing the same for the character could have made it more effective. Adam Driver has such a distinct face and presence. Add the fact that he was in Star Wars and, at times, it was difficult for me to buy his ability to blend in at all times.* Nevertheless, the character is fascinating as he integrates further and further into the organization, getting closer to David Duke while gaining the trust of Breachway who soon resigns from his leadership position; nominating Fred for the top position. All the while, Felix grows more suspicious of Fred, peaking in one of the film’s other great scenes in which Felix hooks up Fred up to a lie detector test in order to find out the truth about his potential racism. Pääkkönen’s creates one of the great villains of the 2010s; able to shift on a dime between a terrifying psychopath and a hilarious paranoid. Soon the group leads Fred to meet David Duke (Topher Grace) who’s arriving in town to both meet the new Klan leader and to baptize the new chapter. Simultaneously, Felix’s wife is dropping off C4 explosives procured by some of the group’s active armed service members, which she plans on using to kill the black student union president. And this is all going on while Ronald is talking to David Duke to further investigate his arrival while Fred infiltrates further into the organization. It all ends in a thrilling scene, as after Ronald arrives and chases down the wife, local police tackle him to the ground and beat him; forcing him to watch as the bomb blows. Some of the klan members die and the wife is arrested, but nevertheless, the police Chief receives orders to shut down the investigation and destroy all of the evidence. It’s so shocking and irrational, that although fact, it made the ending feel cheap; as though it was stranger - and far worse - than fiction. As of finishing these thoughts up, it’s been a week since I watched the film and thought about the ending; in which Lee cuts to footage from Charlottesville and the feud between White Nationalists and Neo Nazis versus those who were protesting against it. Not knowing of the images, only a few days prior I had started Frontline’s “Documenting Hate” (2018) series about Charlottesville; showing images I had yet to see; of how nasty and heated it was before the car accident and how little the police sought to intervene. Lee used the terrible images we had all seen. Of the people crying and the car ramming through the people and the fighting in the streets; ending on a photo of the one victim who died, before ending on an upside downflag that turned to black and white. There was such vitriolic anger behind the images. I struggled between whether I thought they were too fueled by emotion rather than a specific statement Writing this on Monday, August 26, 2018 Trump raised the flag back to full mast; disregarding the vast majority of the country in honoring the country’s most famous and acclaimed veteran, John McCain, Suddenly, after over a year of criticizing NFL players for disrespecting our military and veterans by taking a knee, they were quiet when Trump criticized on one of modern America’s greatest heroes. Either their hypocrites, or it’s not at all about the military, and is very much about race. By the very nature of refusing to understand what the players are taking a knee for, they are behaving in a racist manner. Such reasoning by extension requires that they do not understand; which by extension means they’re ignorant. What we now know is that it definitely wasn’t about the military. Like most, I was shocked when Trump mentioned after Charlottesville that there were “very fine people on both sides”. Watching the images, yes - there have been far more tragic and gruesome deaths in our nation’s past, but to think that this exists today, after the country just had its first black president, makes you comprehend how far there is to go. And for the black community and other minorities, I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have my fellow citizens hate for no reason beyond color or creed; enough to kill in cold blood. That is terrifying. The concluding images are not so much of a bow as a warning. Serious things are happening and unless people demand justice, nothing is going to change. What was once a fringe group, now feels empowered to come out of the shadows, and once it gets corrected, it’s our duty to ensure that we never forget who they are or what they bring out. It’s where I’m most cynical, as coupled with mass shootings and further divisions, I wonder how it could ever end. *Should note that this was written when I really only knew Adam Driver from Star Wars. I imagine revisiting would change this perspective. BELOW: One of the best scenes of the flick 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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