 A costume that shouldn't work, but some how does Directors: David Lowery Writers: David Lowery Cinematographer: Andrew Droz Palermo Producer: Toby Halbrooks, James M. Johnston, and Adam Donaghey by Jon Cvack I checked out David Lowery’s short film “Pioneer” before watching this film, where after making a micro budget feature, Lowery made the short, becoming an Official Selection in Sundance and winning the Grand Jury prize at SXSW. Like any great short, what’s most impressive is how simple of an idea it is, requiring only two characters - an older white man who’s putting a younger black child to sleep. It’s an eerie and beautiful film, as the old man tells a strange and fantastical story about how he met the child’s mom, going so far back as the American Civil War. The film would allow Lowery to go on to make his second feature Ain’t Them Bodies Saints (2013). After spending two years on the Pete’s Dragon remake (2016), his wife and him got into an argument about moving back to Texas, which combined with an article he read about a catastrophic earthquake and a desire for a more intimate story, eventually led him to imagine a film taking place in a single house, where after a husband dies in an accident, his ghost is forced to remain in the house for all eternity, initially watching his wife until she then moves away and another family comes in; later with the house being destroyed as the big city expands. Allegedly the film cost $100,000. For anyone that’s been in a relationship for awhile, this film hits hard; with Lowery capturing all of the tiny bits and quarks that comprise any couple who’re deeply in love. We see the cuddles and inside jokes, the disagreements and the passions, though mostly the simple satisfaction of living with someone you love, in which their company alone is enough to keep you content. I found myself considering the details of my own life and my fiancé, putting myself in the man’s position, being forced to watch as the person you love suffers, all while knowing that soon the suffering will ease and she might explore new partners, either intimately or lustfully, all while trying to move on, knowing that - as with anything - only time is what will heal; all while accepting that time is all the ghost has. Unfortunately, this first half was so strong - pulling harder at my heart stringers than anything I’ve seen in awhile - that when the woman finally moves out and a new family moves in, the emotions I had for the while following initial couple never returned. Will Oldham from the short film “Pioneer” makes a return, going on a drunken rant that most of us have had on our college days in which, due to the grand design of the universe, you eventually realize that one day, millions of years from now, the Earth will end and all of anything humans have ever created won’t matter. It’s a fun monologue, though I was still left wanting to see what happened to the girl. The world continues to move on, with the house getting knocked down and a skyscraper taking its place before the sun finally explodes and everything dies and the ghost is forced to go back in time to a moment before humans, still occupying the same plot of land, seeing a band of old western travelers slaughtered by Natives, until he returns to when him and the girl live in the house, watching their relationship's rise and fall yet again and its devastating conclusion, soon bringing back another ghost. Earlier in the film, the woman inserts a note into a crack in the door frame. The ghost is unable to grab it being invisible and all. The woman places it in again in the second universe and finally he gets to see it, then disappearing and headed to heaven, or so I assume. Nietzsche talks about the eternal state of recurrence, in which if the universe is infinite in age, then all possibilities stand to happen again. I’m not sure how long it’d take for our Sun and galaxy to get redesigned, and while I don’t think getting into a psychedelic montage would help much, it does leave you wondering. I went into my gal’s room after this was done and gave her an extra kiss, hug, and love you. None of us know when we’re going to go; a probability that becomes an increasingly likely chance as we age. It leaves you wondering what’s most important. I’d agree with Lowery - at the end of the day, it’s about occupying your time with things and people you love. Just wish he focused more on that than post-philosophy 101 late night weed talk. BELOW: Every humanity's major will meet someone like this in college 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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 The most excited I've been for an actor on a long while Director: Yorgos Lanthimos Writer: Yorgos Lanthimos and Efthymis Filippou Cinematographer: Thimios Bakatakis Producer: Ed Guiney and Yorgos Lanthimos by Jon Cvack The Greek myth Iphigenia in Aulis takes place while the United Greek armies are attacking Troy in order to get Helen back. Agamemnon is en route to attack with his crew, but with no wind at their back, they’re stuck in the middle of the ocean. The Gods tell Agamemnon that he could resolve the problem if he sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia. Agamemnon instructs his wife Clytemnestra to send their daughter to the battle front. She soon arrives with both her brother and her fiance Achilles. Soon the wife and Achilles discover the plot, attempt to avoid Iphigenia’s capture until Agamemnon’s army take them under capture to avoid skirting the plan. Nevertheless, Iphigenia agrees to the act, figuring the sacrifice a great honor to save the world. Agamemnon carries out the act, killing his daughter. In another story, Agamemnon kills a sacred deer. I’m not exactly sure how this translate to Yorgos Lanthimos's The Killing of a Sacred Deer, other than including a powerful and successful man who ends up killing one of his children to save the rest of his family. In the film, Agamemnon’s character is Dr. Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) who’s a heart surgeon. Recently, during an operation gone wrong when Murphy was drunk, he killed the father of a teenage boy Martin (Barry Keoghan; who might be one of the most exciting young actors I’ve seen in awhile). Murphy then befriends Martin lavishing him with gifts, such as an expensive watch and visiting the boy’s widow mother ( Alicia Silverstone; in the first thing I think I’ve seen from her since Clueless (1995)) who hopes to seduce the doctor. Back at home, Murphy lives a seemingly perfect life. Married to the gorgeous and smart Anna ( Nicole Kidman) along with their two children Kim ( Raffey Cassidy) and Bob (Sunny Suljic). Murphy invites Martin over for dinner where Kim takes a strong liking to Martin and the two begin dating. Soon Murphy’s son says he can’t use his legs, paralyzed from the waist down. Murphy takes him to the hospital, where after a series of tests, they fail to discover or cure the problem. Martin fesses up to being responsible, saying that on account of Murphy killing his father, Murphy's entire family will experience the same disease. Soon Murphy’s daughter succumbs to the symptoms and Bob’s evolves, curbing his appetite and slowly he begins starving to death. Murphy soon kidnaps Martin, taking him back to their house and tying him up to the chair in his basement, torturing him into releasing the curse. Martin refuses and so Murphy keeps him there. Things with Anna and Murphy begin to disintegrate, as Anna exchanges sexual favors with Murphy’s colleague in order to learn whether Murphy was drunk while operating on Martin’s father. She soon decides that it’s best they slaughter one of the children, as they could always have another one. In the end, Murphy ties all three members of his family, grabs a shotgun, and spins around in a human roulette game, firing when he stops and killing his son. It’s easy to see the loose parallels behind the classic story and this one; though I don’t know exactly how the two compare. I’ve yet to see any of director Yorgus Lanthimos’ other work (I saw and wrote this before seeing The Favorite (2018)), though I have a feeling that he’s the type of filmmaker where you know you’re watching his work. Each character in The Killing of a Sacred Deer delivers their lines completely deadpan, failing to show a single bit of emotion or performance and creating a deeply unnerving vibe throughout the story. Barry Keoghan plays a fantastic villain, feeling as though he’s the only native to Lantimo’s grim and dry world; as though Murphy and his family are in purgatory, rather than real life. How this all translates is where the challenge lies. While wealthy and successful, Murphy and Anna don’t seem to have any specific joy in life. Even while making love, Anna lies motionless on a bed, pretending to be on anaesthetic as Murphy has sex with her. In such a world, Murphy’s alienation causes him to drink; risking his perfect upper class existence and family in order to cope with a complete lack of meaning. In the end, he’s willing to kill his family because it’s the easiest solution, and the only thing which could return the sense of normalcy to his life, however unfulfilling that normalcy is. The Killing of a Sacred Deer is a cynical and disturbing film, evolving into the fading trend of home invasion films that extend across the late 00s and early 10s with stories like The Strangers (2008), The Purge (2013), and most similarly, Funny Games (2007) ; though in regards to the latter, some way, some how this feels far darker and hopeless. BELOW: I've seen one movie from the Yorgos at the time of this writing, but I bet I'd know any of his other films by performance alone Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Very excited to see more from Aaron-Taylor Johnson Director: Tom Ford Writer: Tom Ford; based on Austin and Susan by Austin Right Cinematographer: Seamus McGarvey Producer: Tom Ford and Robert Salerno by Jon Cvack I had loved A Single Man with Colin Firth’s devastating performance as a college professor who lost his lover in a car accident, now planning to commit suicide. To discover that Tom Ford was a fashion icon was all the more impressive, as aside from the talent is a distinct visual voice. I had missed Nocturnal Animals during the awards season last year, putting off watching it as from the few bits and pieces I saw, it focused at least partially on the Los Angeles art scene, which I find often unbearable to watch in how serious it’s often portrayed. While I knew the film cut back to a novel, I didn’t anticipate that it’d literally be half of the film. The story involves middle aged LA art gallery owner Susan Morrow (Amy Adams) who has just opened her latest show, which includes morbidly obese women dressed up as Uncle Sam-inspired cheerleaders dancing in the full nude. Susan has grown distant of hiding from her current husband, businessman Hutton Morrow (Armie Hammer ) who’s doing a hiding his dalliances with younger women. After the show, Hutton receives a manuscript called “Nocturnal Animals” from her ex-husband who was once an aspiring novelist. She begins to read the book, cutting to Edward Sheffield (Jake Gyllenhaal) as a 30-something man who’s moving to West Texas with his wife and daughter, when in the middle of nowhere, they’re harassed by a trio of drivers, forced off the road, where the leader Ray Marcus (Aaron Taylor-Johnson; as the film’s greatest character) eventually kidnaps both the wife and daughter. Edward is taken by the other two in a different car, dropped off in the middle of nowhere where he wakes and finds the police, led by Detective Bobby Andes (Michael Shannon); soon discovering his wife and daughter raped and murdered. The film then cuts in between the two narratives, as Susan reflects on her past relationship with Edward. The two had just begun graduate school. Susan had ambitions of escaping her mother’s conservative and upper class expectations of a mate, falling in love and getting engaged to Edward before finally breaking it off as it was clear his ambitions to live the impecunious life of a struggling writer would fail to provide Susan what she needed; especially after she met the wealthy and well connected Hutton Morrow. Returning to the novel, Detective Andes eventually tracks down the gang responsible, arresting Ray Marcus on insufficient evidence which soons forces him to release the guy. We then learn that Detective Andes has terminal cancer, convincing Edward to go rogue and take the law into their own hands, as with his own experience, Andes has no sympathy for murder/rapists; enraged by how often the cases are dismissed. They grab Ray Marcus and one of his cronies from the bar and take them back to Andes’ house where they shoot one of the friends, and Marcus falls victim to A coughing paroxysm, allowing Ray Marcus to escape. Edward eventually tracks him down, though before killing Ray, gets hit in the head with a crowbar, quickly dying from a brain hemorrhage. Susan was told by Edward that they’d meet after finishing the book. She gets dressed up and heads to the restaurant, waiting for hours for Edward who never shows. IN Jonathan Franzen’s essay collection Father Away, the author mentions the struggle he had with incorporating biography into his narratives; eventually leaning into the idea, knowing it was the only way to capture the voice required. In one recent interview I read about an author’s experience in the prestigious Iowa MFA program, he discussed how his instructor at the Iowa Workshop was able to highlight the portions where were biographical versus those which were fiction; the point being that a great author can melt these worlds with ease. In Nocturnal Animals, there’s a scene between Edward and Susan as she reads one of his chapters, criticizing that it’s far too much about him, though it wasn’t all that interesting anyway. In the novel portion of the film, we immediately understand what we’re watching - it’s the life he hoped to have with Susan with murders that allowed him to express the heartache he had in losing Susan. When Edward doesn’t show up in the end, the cynic in me wanted to think he committed suicide, as simply failing to show up seemed a mediocre mode of vindication. A slight problem is that while the movie is solid and the ideas of memory, biography, and ambition are fascinating, the “Nocturnal Animals” story just doesn’t seem like it could play as an entire 300 page or so novel; leaving me to wonder if it too was yet another failure, or if it could have worked better as a short. Additionally, on account of three separate timelines, the love between Edward and Susan never gets well established. We’re able to fill in the loose details and Gyllenhaal’s performance is commanding enough to allow us to feel his pain, but in terms of why they’re together and what they see her,in each ot it all seemed a bit superficial; compounded by introducing an uptight Susan and taking the time to show her more vulnerable side upon returning home. It’s an excellent movie, making me excited for where Tom Ford goes next. The performances are so good throughout that it helps to mask the film’s minor weaknesses. It’s a film where it’s more fun to watch for the people than any grand examination of art, time, or meaning. In the two worlds of art and literature, where it’s difficult to find success, it’s even more difficult to find a partner willing to put up with poverty and extending the idealism of youth. I was left wanting to see what Edward had to say about writing a book that was evidently pretty good and if it made him any happier, or feel anymore relieved after losing Susan. The tragedy of both characters was in believing that their respective pursuits were going to offer full satisfaction; Susan with a life in a lucrative art gallery and with a rich husband and Edward living poor and writing. I’m not sure if the film ever identifies an inability compromise as the primary villain, but it’s strikingly clear and almost pitifully tragic. BELOW: One of the most thrilling scenes from the year Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  I don't know much about police tactics, but something tells me you don't engage with bank robbers in the middle of bumper to bumper traffic Director: Christian Gudegast Writer: Christian Gudegast Cinematographer: Terry Stacey Producer: Gerard Butler, Mark Canton, and Tucker Tooley by Jon Cvack I can’t remember the last time I saw a bad movie, as in this age of hyper-ratings - where everything from the platform itself to IMDb to Rotten Tomatoes to individual critics offer enough filters to avoid wasting any viewing time on bad films - it’s just so easy to avoid them. Netflix once offered $1 million to improve its rating system, and with the exception of maybe 5% of the time, it’s often correct in predicting down to half a star. I don’t understand those who try and argue this in any way makes the experience less pure, as while it might be unfortunate that we can no longer judge a book by its cover, this has also been something we’ve been told to avoid since youth. However, in the age of MoviePass, where for ten bucks a month I could somehow see as many movies I’d like to, it has rejuvenated my passion for theaters. In a time where most theaters cost between twelve to fifteen dollars a ticket, it’s rare for me to want to take a gamble and see a film rather than looking up a few ratings and seeing how the film was received. Now I’m free to see any films with the only cost essentially being my time. A single person on Facebook told me Den of Thieves was worth checking out. My IMDb minimum IMDd score is 7.0 and this had a 7.1, so I figured while it wouldn't be the greatest film, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a “good-bad” action movie in the theaters. I also can’t remember the last time I saw a film this bad, let alone in theaters, leaving me wondering whether there’s a podcast or not, how this could possibly ever get made. Den of Thieves is a two and a half hour heist film that’s trying to be as cool as Heat (1995), in which it’s easier to highlight the things that worked well than those that didn’t; those items being the opening scene which got me excited for some cheap action thrills (which would never come), and a closing scene which I’m not really sure was good so much as relieving my frustration in expecting an action movie that in fact had very little action, finally relieving the feeling. The problem is that so little of this movie makes sense, leading to that type of movie going experience where you’re hoping to remember all of the most absurd moments, but they’re so awful and uninspired and not even all that ridiculous so much as boring that you just end up forgetting them. The movie involves a group of SoCal-Bro bank robbers who try and seize an armored truck outside of a donut shop. One of the cops getting killed. The next day Detective Nick O’Brien (Gerard Butler) arrives on the scene with his band of Sheriffs, ranging from a clean cut officer to someone who looks like he’d be part of the gang of bank robbers, assumedly undercover, but who never actually is undercover. The robbers are led by ex-felon Ray Merrimen (Pablo Schreiber), joined by both Levi Enson (50 Cent), Bosco (Evan Jones) who killed the officer, and a driver they recently recruited Donnie (O'Shea Jackson Jr.) who is seen driving for about two minutes of the film, including his introduction where he commands a generic mustang around some warehouses, narrowly missing a truck that’s backing into a loading dock. So plays out an exceptionally boring cat and mouse game where it honestly seems as though the filmmakers deliberately avoided watching a single action movie made post-Cobra (1986). I won’t get into the details leading up to the film’s most absurd moments, so much as to say that Donnie becomes a recruit after being picked up by O’Brien and his fellow sheriffs who are in a hotel room surrounded with cocaine, prostitutes, and alcohol, making you wonder whether they’re actually good cops or not, though it’s never explained, except that O’Brien then comes home to his wife who finds a lascivious text message O’Brien sent to one of the prostitutes and decides to move out with the kids. This is the scene that plays most closely to Heat and Pacino’s inability to leave his work at home and preserve a relationship, except for failing to provide any of the context or clarity that could possibly make it work. Later, the film takes a comedic relief pause, providing another weak throwback to Bad Boyz II (2003) when 50 Cent finally gets more than a single line of dialogue, as his daughter’s prom date arrives and he intimidates the man by bringing him into the garage where all his friends, including his fellow bank robbers, are standing with their bro glasses on and chests out and it’s meant to be funny, but has literally no purpose beyond getting 50 Cent a whole scene to himself. It tries its hardest to accomplish the camaraderie from the Fast and the Furious series, failing to achieve even an ounce of what’s created within thirty minutes of the first in the series. So O’Brien deals with balancing his job and ailing homelife while the robber’s keep talking about how they’re going to pull off a big job at the Los Angeles Federal Reserve, where through their system of exchanging old paper money for new money, then destroying that old money, they hope to steal tens of millions of dollars of the old money. The prep goes on for about an hour and forty five minutes, never taking the time to explain the plan with any bit of detail, other than characters telling us they have a really good driver. The heist begins with Merriman appearing to rob a seemingly random community bank, which then attracts the attention of O’Brien and his sheriffs, along with the LAPD and FBI. Merriman demands that no negotiators call under threat of killing a hostage, which of course leads to a negotiator calling, leading Merriman to seemingly kill a hostage offscreen, though given that this trick has been done in about half a dozen other films, I’m not sure anyone actually bought this. Turns out that the community bank had a vault that went down through a sewer pipe that leads to what I think is the Reserve Building or where they could go to steal a truck. I can’t remember because the whole time I was wondering why they thought it’d be easier to fake rob a bank and attack the police rather than just going through the sewers to begin with. It’s here that the film might have achieved the biggest plot hole in popular cinematic history, in that rather than O’Brien and his crew calling the Federal Reserve and warning them that there’s an exceptionally high risk of a robbery about to take place, the Sheriffs instead drive there, never telling the FBI or LAPD any of the details. And so with that glaringly obvious solution in mind, the rest of the heist is simply unbelievable; not to mention incredibly confusing. With Merriman and 50 Cent driving the armored truck and bringing in new money, Donnie hides inside one of the old money carts, relying on a strange series of perfectly time computer hacks where, although the Federal Reserve is crawling with armed guards, never leads any of them to believe something is awry. One by one, even with millions of dollars at hand, they exit the exchange point, leaving Donnie to sneak out of the cart a la Ocean’s 11 (2001) and steal millions of dollars by tossing them down the garbage shoot into a dumpster, where suddenly there’s another truck driver we never met who has been able to get past security to grab the cash at the exact right time. Of course, O’Brien and his crew get there too late, chasing Merriman and Co. through the streets before finally hitting a pile of random LA traffic (the one accurate part in the movie), where rather than the Sheriff’s calling the FBI or LAPD and keeping low - that is, waiting for the robbbers to reach a safe area to engage - O’Brien and his crew decide to lock and load their fully automatic rifles, and in a sea of cars with dozens of people, engage Merriman who returns fire and kills countless bystanders. It’s a scene that appears to exist solely as yet another homage to Heat, except while Mann’s movie created a sense of chaos and emergency in downtown LA streets, this movie abandons logic for a subpar shoot out. In the end, Merriman dies and we never learn what happened to O’Brien’s family. But wait - there’s more, as for the more absurd loose ends get tidied up when we learn that Donnie was actually a British huckster, who played both sides, and that most of the seemingly random people he interacted with through the film (i.e., a delivery man who brings food to a pair of women at the Federal Reserve) actually orchestrated this grand plot. It’s truly one of the most unsatisfying plot twists I’ve ever experienced, making you appreciate Soderbergh’s Ocean’s series which was able to achieve twists hundreds of times more interesting throughout three films. Basically, Donnie got a job at a bar where cops and the Federal Reserve employees go, somehow able to convince them to all help without a single leak or issue. If this was never revealed I think the movie would have played the exact same, making me wonder if they tacked it on because the rest was playing so poorly. I struggle to think of one part or scene in this movie that’s worth checking out, as every single moment plays like a film school student trying to imitate his favorite action and heist movies. There’s no action except in the beginning and end; there’s about three minutes of car chases even though they flirt with the idea incessantly; none of the characters have any personality whatsoever, speaking solely in tropey one liners and tough guy exchanges. I truly can’t understand how this movie got made and can only pray the Podcast gets to it soon enough. BELOW: Relegating one of the more interesting pieces of Tonya's story into a quick two minute outro Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  They need another film Director: Aaron Sorkin Writer: Aaron Sorkin Cinematographer: Charlotte Bruus Christensen Producer: Mark Gordon, Amy Pascal, and Matt Jackson by Jon Cvack I was in LA sharing a 300 square foot studio apartment when I watched the first episode of The West Wing. Not since The Sopranos have I been so immediately hooked by a show. It pioneered the walk and talk, making the lightning-quick Mamet Speak more accessible and setting a precedent in which characters sitting and talking are rarely more engaging than having them move; somehow using sentimentality to provide hope for what our government could do. It was while working my way through the series that The Social Network (Bill Camp) was released. Combined with Fincher’s gritty style, it provided the perfect duo; creating one of the greatest films from the 2000s, and even more importantly, documenting one of the most significant technological/coshifts in history. It’s clear from Molly’s Game that Sorkin learned a lot from Fincher, even admitting that he’d call to ask for suggestions. The film embodies the same pace and energy as their collaboration, yet while Fincher was willing to show the depths of selfishness and greed, Sorkin took the opposite approach, maintaining the mile a minute talks and montages, instead opting for the goodness in all of its characters; flirting with a sentimentality that just doesn’t work with the subject matter. The movie opens up with the year’s strongest introduction by far, as Molly Bloom’s (Jessica Chastain) voice over kicks in over the images of a Mogul Skiing competition in which a nineteen-year-old Molly Bloom could qualify for the Olympics. Bloom opens with a question polled to the world’s leading athletes and coaches - what is the worst sporting event to lose? The Super Bowl? Game Seven of the World Series? Or, in this case, accidentally hitting a tree branch during the Olympic qualifications that tore off her boot and caused her to crash onto the ground? During which Bloom explains how she’s one of the smartest and most talented people you would ever meet, and how the accident led her to a life organizing illegal poker games. She decides to take a year off before applying to law school, arriving in Los Angeles where she meets up with a young and ailing real estate developer Dean (Jeremy Strong) who arranges high buy-in poker games with some of LA’s biggest businessmen and celebrities. Bloom uses her quick wit to grow the game, upping the stakes and making more money for both herself and Dean, until Dean goes on a losing streak, blaming Molly and eventually firing her. Refusing to back down from such a lucrative endeavor - especially being only in her mid-twenties - Molly decides to steal the players and start her own poker games. The general rule of law is that it’s legal to host the game so long as you’re not taking a cut of the earnings. To get around the law, Molly worked in tips, in which obviously only the largest tippers would be invited back. She ends up getting involved with a whole host of characters, from true life celebrity referred to as Project X (played by Michael Cera; allegedly based on either Tobey McGuire, Ben Affleck, or Leonardo DiCaprio); a blue-collar player and addict Harlan Eustice (Bill Camp) who gets a million dollars in over his head, falling victim to his gambling addiction; and then the Russian Mafia, who are soon indicted by the FBI, bringing down both Molly and her business. Similar to The Social Network, the narrative cuts between past and present, where after the intro, Molly is now in her mid-30s and arrested in the middle of the night. Prior to her arrest, she wrote a book called “Molly’s Game” (of which the movie is only loosely based). All of her savings have now been seized, as per conspiracy charges, the government can lien her bank accounts. We learn the nefarious method is a way to force the defendant to reach a bargain, as unless they can find a lawyer willing to work for free, they would literally be unable to afford to go to trial. Molly is forced to go around town begging lawyers to represent her, eventually coming across successful New York attorney Charles Jaffe (Idris Elba), where the two proceed to discuss the case, trading intellectual jabs as a good Sorkin duo. Molly mentions that she’s owed over $2 million, promising to give the money to Jaffe in exchange for pro bono representation. While I was a little confused over where this arrangement goes, during an awkward exchange during the initial court proceeding where Molly needs to offer her plea, Jaffe continues to shift positions with another defendant (who’s for some reason sitting between Molly and himself), he agrees. The movie was close to great, but unfortunately, Sorkin’s directing skills just couldn’t match his writing; he’s just too good at characters, and while he did a solid job in creating an energetic story, there were just far too many sentimental moments that I imagine other directors would have flagged right away. The clumsy court scene offered the first taste, later expanding to a scene where Molly runs her hands across the legal books, imagining the life she could have had, which seemed all too obvious by this point. Another was the final reconciliation with her father, who offers a lightning-quick therapy session, offering three reasons they didn’t get along that made a respected academic into an armchair psychologist, all while the scene could have ended with a simple hug rather than another verbal sparring match. What Fincher brought to Sorkin was an ability to show rather than tell in moments when telling would be too maudlin to risk. Yet my biggest issue with the story is the overall message it contains; showing that a white rich woman from a good family can break the law with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Whether or not you like Molly, she started taking a rake from the game, knowingly got involved with criminals, all while participating in illegal gambling. I can’t imagine a person of color or an individual from lesser means being granted the same immunity. Molly is celebrated for her intelligence and charm; as though because she had a skiing accident and was ridiculously smart and motivated that it’s a reason to hold her up as a paragon of virtue rather than for the criminal she is. On account of her lending over a million dollars to Harlan, at least one family was destroyed. We don’t know how many others were affected. Molly could have gone on to do anything else with her life, and instead, she’s celebrated for surviving the immoral path. Something about it doesn’t sit right for me. As the father says, her whole family had reached tremendous success, with one son going to play for the Philadelphia Eagles and the other becoming a doctor. There’s a strong hint of elitism at play which has left a bad taste in my mouth since the credits rolled. BELOW: 2017's best intro Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Yeah, more a story about a couple of white people who fall in love Director: Scott Cooper Writer: Scott Cooper Cinematographer: Masanobu Takayanagi Producer: Scott Cooper, Ken Kao, John Lesher by Jon Cvack George W. Bush had passed Native American Heritage Day while in office, placing the civil holiday on the day after Thanksgiving, with its first official recognition on November 24, 2017. It’s a noble gesture, and while widely supported by the Native American community, certain detractors have criticized the day for being one commonly associated with gluttony and excess; along with being tacked onto a day that most already had off. Like many, I first gained an understanding of the Native American genocide in Howard Zinn's The People’s History of the United States. Years later, while on vacation with my parents at the Grand Canyon, I picked up Jake Page’s In the Hands of the Great Spirit which documented the 20,000 year history of the American Indian, prefaced by the author saying he wanted to avoid the politics. Serving as a much extended version of Zinn’s chapter, it portrayed the Native Americans who once Columbus landed, were subjugated and systematically murdered by the white invaders; second to the genocide was the perpetual breaking of promises by the American government - granting land under binding agreement and then taking it away, with the amount granted and guaranteed constantly dwindling as the population and cultures faded exponentially. In one of the most historic Oscar speeches of all time, Marlon Brando had a Native American woman accept the award on his behalf, denouncing portrayals of Native Americans in movies and drawing awareness to the cause. While there were efforts made to revise the previously “Savage Indian” - often serving as the barbaric villain in most Westerns - the 90s were dominated with historical revisionism, with films like Dances with Wolves (‘92) and Pocahontas (‘95) focused on the white men who would enter these communities and save the Natives who couldn’t save themselves; similar to films such as A Time to Kill (‘96) and Mississippi Burning (‘88) that placed white men as the saviors for southern African Americans; implying they couldn’t save themselves. In the year 2017, as cinema has made massive strides in providing proper and better representation for women and most minority groups, I couldn’t believe that another film could possibly come out that would express white guilt over America’s treatment of Native Americans, while essentially leaving Native American culture and characters completely out of the narrative and discussion. Hostiles is very much an apologetic film that mistakenly reflects upon the “I” rather than the victim. In this case, we get to hear how bad white people are and how guilty they feel and how bad they are while completely ignoring any insight or focus on the true victims. Once again, the Native Americans characters serve as nothing more than ornaments, offering the same generic anecdotes and metaphors that we’ve seen in throughout the last thirty years; never caring to develop them into full characters or to allow them to guide the story. The story opens with a family in their lone country home attacked by Comanches who kill and slice the scalp from the husband while the wife Rosalie (Rosamund Pike) taking the children into the woods for safety. At Fort Berringer, we meet Captain Joseph Blocker (Christian Bale) who’s ordered by his Commanding Officer to escort an Apache Chief and his family (including Golden Globe nominees and Saulteaux to the reservation (the latter played by Adam Beach who has maybe a dozen lines in the nearly two hour movie). Blocker despises all Native Americans, having seen what some had done to his men, refusing to take the order until his pension is threatened to be revoked. He acquiesces and picks a crew of soldiers including Private "Frenchie" DeJardin (Timothée Chalamet; who compared to this year’s Call Me By Your Name (2017) is grossly underutilized); fresh West Point grad the Lieutenant Kidder (Jesse Plemons; who’s looking to be the next generation’s Philip Seymour Hoffman), and his old friend and alcoholic Master Sergeant Thomas Metz (Rory Cochrane; as one of the film’s best and most interesting characters). They head out with the Native Americans, eventually coming across Rosalie, whose children have died since hiding out. Rosalie now harbors violent bigotry against any and all Native Americans. From here we know the film is going, as both Blocker and Rosalie eventually come around to the Apache family and as the Apache characters offer stereotypical allegories and broken english anecdotes about animals and spirits which demonstrate that they’re not all that bad. From there, for the majority of the two hour and fifteen minute running time, we follow the caravan around, moving from gorgeous New Mexico vistas to campfires to arguments and conflicts and monologues, all shot in close ups, with the sitting/lying down/standing, with the camera never moving, then repeating, until eventually a pit stop at another Fort puts them in control of an even more overt bigot Sergeant Charles Willis (Ben Foster) who wishes nothing more than to slaughter all Natives; who has more lines and interaction in his brief twenty or so minutes of screen time - spouting nonstop racist vitriol - than most of the other Native American characters combined. I’m not entirely sure what the purpose of the film was. It frames itself as an apology for white supremacy, yet refuses to develop its Native American characters as anything more than the generic stereotype we’ve seen in westerns for the last thirty years. Even Adam Beach is relegated to a meaningless role, to the point where I doubted that a man of his stature could possibly have agreed to take such a minor and offensive bit part; making me wonder if he had more screen time and was simply cut to offer more of its two hour plus runtime to the white characters explaining how guilty they felt. In a time when African Americans and Women are finally getting the change they have deserved, I was surprised that this movie escaped liberal twitter. A film that offered the same self-centered monologues to those groups should have received the wrath of social media warriors. It just goes to show how much further the plight of Native Americans need to go; where even the far left seems to forget about them unless coupled with environmental issues. Worse, this is the second film this year to make the same mistake; following Taylor Sheridan's Wind River (2017). Fifty to a hundred million Native Americans were killed because of white man’s arrival and it’s a truth that continues to be swept under the rug and forgotten by even the most ardent liberals. With opefully this film demonstrates the problem and soon things get corrected. It is long past due. BELOW: Nearly fifty years later, and Hollywood has still done little to correct the problem Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Nine fingered Frodo Director: Peter Jackson Writer: Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, and Peter Jackson; The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien Cinematographer: Andrew Lesnie Producer: Barrie M. Osborne, Peter Jackson, and Fran Walsh by Jon Cvack After finishing the books and the series for a second complete time (along with watching Game of Thrones crash and burn), I’m more confident in saying that Lord of the Rings is one of the greatest stories ever created. As mentioned in my thoughts on The Two Towers (2002) and while watching the Fellowship of the Ring's BTS features, they mentioned how J.R.R. Tolkien never intended to create an allegorical story about WWII; going so far as to say how much he resented the device. And yet it’s impossible not to see the parallels with World War II: about an alliance of nations from across the country, uniting to battle an existential threat. In college, much of what we learned was ideological analysis; that is, studying the ways in which film expressed a particular zeitgeist. The most fascinating to assess are often horror films, ranging from Dracula and the growing pre-war xenophobia, or Saw and its gore porn reflection of a post-9/11 world. It’s not to say that these filmmakers deliberately created film to capture the underlying fears of a country so much as that they showed the types of stories that audiences wanted to see. I’m sure there were other fantasies written in the 1950s and up through the end of the 20th century which contained similar ideas, but few had spoken to the international spirit so heavily. The power of any great story is to transcend a moment in time, universalizing its characters and ideas in which the story can extend throughout history, from as wide as the world to as specific as the individual. All Axis and Allie comparisons aside, it is about the willingness of even the most seemingly insignificant forms of humanity to push themselves as far as possible; serving as much as an underdog story as the Grand Hero’s Journey action/adventure tale. Tolkien poured the vast majority of his creative life into creating Middle Earth, and I imagine, for something so vivid, that to belittle its scope by simply calling it an allegory it was no wonder why Tolkien might be offended. While it’s core is has the comparison, it expands beyond a singular moment in time and into a story that I think will achieve the timelessness of Shakespeare. The film begins differently than the books, having saved The Two Towers’ Shelob’s lair and instead opening on the history between Smeagol and Deagol as they’re fishing in a boat, when Deagol catches a fish that pulls him into the lake and drags him underwater where he finds the ring. Smeagol’s envy and desire are instantaneous and he kills Deagol. The film then turns to Isengard, where the Ents have destroyed the fortress, with Merry and Pippin enjoying the spoils while Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli return. Unfortunately, this first twenty minutes or so fell victim to the same problem seen in the other films, in which some of the digital effects have failed to aged; specifically when Gandalf and Saruman battle it out (which is all the more infuriating given that this was changed from the book). While the same ratio of about 25% of the VFX in this film need a significant remastering, I was even more blown away by how much holds up and continues to compete with the computer generated craft I see in most effects-heavy films stories today. Jackson is masterful at the sweeping vistas, combining practical sets with VFX, creating movement down to the tiniest detail. Merry and Pippin are later separated once again, with Merry pledging his allegiance to Theoden while Pippin pledges his to Denethor of Minas Tirith, who proves to be an even more dishonorable man than his son Boromir. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli recruit the help of Theoden to assist Denethor knowing that Sauron’s army is about to attack Middle Earth’s last stronghold. Eldron meets Aragorn, explaining that Arwen is now dying, after refusing to leave middle earth for the Undying Lands where she could finally recover. Eldron provides him with Isildur's’ sword Andúril, allowing him to regain his rightful position as King of Gondor. Knowing that that even with Theoden’s reinforcements they are short by tens of thousands of troops, he decides to risk his life and head down the dangerous Paths of the Dead in order to recruit the Army of the Dead, which is somehow connected to the Rohan Dynasty in which thousands of ghosts knights are forced to remain undead unless greeted by the heir of Gondor (being Aragorn). It’s here that you have to admire the story’s depth, as the mixture of plot, character, history, and myth all combine into a story so rich that I think it’d take me at least a couple more times to fully grasp its intricacies; never regressing into irrelevant tangents, but rather incorporating them altogether. I’d recommend going through Wikipedia, starting at the synopsis and clicking all of the names, places, and creatures which will take you down some of the most incredible wormholes.. Looking up the Rohan history alone took me through an elaborate 500 year history, demanding a study of the map of Middle Earth in order to piece it all together. Like any epic story, it’s the images alone which burn into your mind - of Denethor’s inability to see beyond his own failure, willing to kill both himself and his remaining son as a result; of Éowyn riding into battle with her father, who dies in battle; of Sam and Frodo journeying through Mordor, with the ring growing increasingly heavy, if not impossible to carry; and of course Gollum biting off Frodo’s finger as he refuses to throw it away in the fires of Mount Doom, proving how integral Sam was to the entire journey. As fantastical as they all are, Tolkien and Jackson’s greatest ability is garnering our empathy and compassion, in which we look past Frodo’s corruption, inches away from allowing the destruction of Middle Earth, along with making us feel for Gollum’s jealousy, willing to sacrifice his own life for the relatively worthless object that he covets. I even feel for the vile Denethor, wondering how I’d react if having lost a son and all signs pointed to a complete destruction of the people I was supposed to protect. I’ll always harbor bitterness for Jackson leaving out The Scorching of the Shire, as it played even better the second I read the chapter. It offered such an unnerving moment, maintaining the slightest degree of cynicism, as though Tolkien was telling us to forever beware of letting our compassion get the best of us by letting evil go free or unchecked. I suppose it works without it, focusing on the larger issue of returning home after such significant change. In some ways it hits even harder, as for anyone who has moved away from home could attest. Eventually it just doesn’t feel the same, making you wonder where you could ever end up that would actually feel like home again. In many ways it’s the saddest part of the story, as for all Frodo sacrificed he could never return home again. It’s here that I think the connection to WWII is most apparent, as I consider the hundreds of thousands of soldiers who saw and did things that would never allow them to find peace; which the world at the time could never understand. I’m not confident that within my lifetime the world could avoid another war. While I’m fortunate to have avoided my own involvement up to this point, I do fear for future children if the time ever comes. In that case, Lord of the Rings provides some comfort; as a tale that will remain forever relevant; serving as both a harbinger and a model for what to do should it ever arrive. BELOW: Not as good as Helm's Deep, but pretty good Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  PTA adds cinematographer to his writer/director/producer credits and knocks it out of the park Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Writer: Paul Thomas Anderson Cinematographer: Paul Thomas Anderson Producer: JoAnne Sellar Paul Thomas Anderson, Megan Ellison, and Daniel Lupi by Jon Cvack I’ve delayed writing on three separate Paul Thomas Anderson films now, twice with Inherent Vice (2014; though in fairness I genuinely didn’t think I could talk about it with any competent understanding) and There Will Be Blood, which got delayed by weeks, with the details too stale to recall without another viewing. Or I think I was just too intimidated to try. Paul Thomas Anderson is the most interesting working filmmaker alive right now. He was 25 years old when he directed Hard Eight (1996) and only 27 when he directed Boogie Nights (1997), creating one of the greatest films of the 90s. His initial movies simply made filmmaking look fun, combining the highest level of craftsmanship with an accessible, though profound story; the formula for what creates perfect cinema. What Paul Thomas Anderson achieved for cinema is what David Foster Wallace achieved for literature. They merged high art with engaging and exciting stories, and even that feels like a completely inadequate description. Many wonder what David Foster Wallace would have done if he didn’t pass away so soon, having only written two and a half novels. From many of the stories I’ve read it sounded as though he didn’t want to keep doing the same thing and either was too scared of what else he’d have to do. In some ways, Paul Thomas Anderson’s later films show where great artists go. The Master (2012) and Inherent Vice aren’t the best Paul Thomas Anderson films. I remember never being more excited for a movie than The Master, leaving disappointed, thinking I missed something, revisiting, later realizing it was simply a different direction for a filmmaker that had spent most of his career making “cool” movies, evolving with There Will Be Blood (2007; another perfect film), and maturing beyond that. Next to There Will Be Blood, The Master is his one of his most beautiful films, containing images iconic enough to remain in my head forever after - of the ship and beaches and the subjects in the mall photography; all of which felt larger than most anything I’d ever seen, as though the filmmakers traveled back in time. I was particularly excited for Inherent Vice, though having read Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) and The Crying of Lot 49 (1966), I also knew that the film was going to abide by the same seemingly incoherent structure. Yet the idea of Paul Thomas Anderson working with the author - and legendary recluse - Thomas Pynchon, no matter his difficult books, was fascinating to consider. Combined with more moderate complexity of Carver and Hammett’s hard-boiled fiction, I knew it’d be a tough one to follow and while I got further along with the second viewing than the first, I still had another thirty to forty minutes to go and just couldn’t follow the story by then. I have a feeling that when I figure it all out it’s going to be incredible. Whatever the opinions, it’s clear that The Master and Inherent Vice were harbingers of a new voice and insight, pointing toward a maturity that only age could bridge. In many ways Phantom Thread is the opposite of Anderson’s early work, abandoning the larger multi-narratives that pushed cinematic craft to the furthest levels in favor of a more deliberate and intimate camera, ensuring that every image was a perfect work of art. There are many great tales about absolute obsession - Frankenstein (book 1823; movie 1931), Moby Dick (book 1851; movie 1956), The Shining (1980), October Sky (1999), and I’m sure I’m leaving out a bunch of obvious others. When I think of obsessive authors I think of the stories about Kafka, J.D. Salinger, Charles Bukowski, or Donna Tartt. I think anyone who pursues a serious creative endeavor would understand the obsession that comes with it. Others remain in that obsession forever; never to find success. When I consider what it must be like for an artist to have an open canvas to create whatever film you want (within reason, I’m sure), I can only compare it to how the subjects of Ken Burn’s "Baseball" (1994) describe the fan's passion for watching a seemingly ordinary person do such extraordinary work. Given that PTA seems like an overall cool and laid back guy, creating accessibility in which you connect to the storyteller as sharing a worldview or humor (often both). David Foster Wallace had the same aura, and both their work often feels as though it's speaking directly and intimately with the viewer/reader. One thing you often hear with successful artists is that the professional anxiety you expect to go away with success only takes a different form, creating an obsession to maintain or keep improving upon your best work. I think Magnolia (1999) is the best possible version of that type of movie he could make; arguably the best multi-narrative drama ever created. There Will Be Blood is now considered one of the greatest American Films ever made, and the New York Times just voted in the current best film in world cinema of the 21st century. I consider the pressure to try and create something better. In two interviews, Anderson mentioned that the Phantom Thread story came to him while sick in bed, as his wife Maya Rudolph cared for him with great love and concern. Watching the film, it’s clear that this is a fairly personal project, with A.O. Scott pointing out that the film seems very much about his own experience as an artist. The story involves successful fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) who lives with his sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) in a London mansion. Reynolds is a charming though obsessive man, demanding full control over his creations and employees. He meets a waitress at a diner in the English countryside named Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps) who he brings back home to his manor. I should mention that I had a bit of a situation when watching these first five minutes. I noticed the white sections of the frames and the brighter highlights flashing rapidly, evidently with the projector misaligned (or maybe just an issue with a strong highlight on raw film?). I went outside to tell one of the employees to which a young man informs me that - in case I didn't know - I was actually watching a projected version film. I said I understood that but it’s so apparent that I joked and said I felt like I was going to have a seizure. He then says he can take me to someone who can help, which I welcome as he’s not being at all helpful, but actually meant he could call a doctor who could help me with having a potential seizure. I then went back to the theater as Alma and Reynolds head inside the manor. The images were dark enough to mask the problem, or maybe they fixed the projection. Either way, I was snapped out of the movie for a few minutes, and in the way any great film is designed, I felt like I missed a huge part of the plot. Once fixed, I discovered one of the prettiest films I’ve ever seen in my life. Reynolds gives Alma a tour of the home, slowly making his way up to the design studio, where he fits her for a dress. Alma is enamored, until his sister Cyril shows up, seemingly out of nowhere, to take the measurements and check on Reynolds who then snaps into an obsessive routine, barking out measurements to Cyril, criticizing Alma’s body and posture. Watching Daniel Day-Lewis as he offers the tiniest signs of aggression and control, all through a squint of an eye or fake laugh, adds such a thrill of tension. Knowing nothing about the movie, I had no clear where it was headed; whether Reynolds would end up murdering Alma or Cyril or anybody, or if they’d rise up and tour the world, tracking their relationship as fame and fortune entered the picture. The movie gets you lost in its narratives, images, music, and performances, causing me to lose complete track of time. Reynolds and Alma’s relationship evolves as PT Anderson explores the minute conflicts and feuds that dominate any relationship, all with the added bonus of having brilliant writing and performers to create strikingly real fights that simultaneously feel like a fairy tale. At its most fundamental level, Phantom Thread is about companionship; exploring the flaws between two people who love and need each other very much, even for selfish reasons. It’s also a film that serves the essential function of cinema - making you feel something good, and ideally something you’ve never felt before. It’s a story that demands repeated viewings, as only by dissecting the minute details could I ever confidently express how this film made me feel. It’s comprised of such beautiful, simple moments, all taking place within a wide spectrum of creative layers, in which every single element shines, from the costumes and makeup to the photography and score. Everything is functioning at the highest level of cinema, and I have a feeling it could be regarded as one of this century’s all-time greats; for turning away from the day’s hottest topics and into a story that allows one to escape into one of the most beautiful and vivid worlds ever created. BELOW: An artist's egomaniacal volatility Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  A beautiful movie that's close to great Director: Sofia Coppola Writer: Sofia Coppola; based on A Painted Devil by Thomas P. Cullinan; remade from Don Siegel's 1971 The Beguiled Cinematographer: Philippe Le Sourd Producer: Youree Henley and Sofia Coppola by Jon Cvack This was the first film that made me realize the Left was facing a serious obstacle from liberal twitter. Sofia Coppola was derided for portraying the Civil War without including any black characters; excluding a black slave character from the original story on account of Sofia believing the character was underdeveloped and gratuitous. Thus even with seven strong female characters* within a feminist narrative the film was deemed inappropriate and flew far under the radar. It was from checking out the bonus features that I learned The Beguiled is actually a remake of the 1971 film of the same name, starring Clint Eastwood; the difference being that Coppola shifted the perspective to that of the women. The story involves a young girl Amy (Oona Laurence) who’s wandering through the woods, looking for mushrooms and coming across Corporal John McBurney (Colin Farrell) who’s been shot in the leg and on the precipice of death. Amy returns back to a beautiful plantation estate, where we meet Martha Farnsworth (Nicole Kidman) who runs it as a girl’s school. All of the men have gone due to the war, and it’s here I want to pause to wonder how this can be considered whitewashing when it’s simply true to the era. The story is about a bunch of middle/upper middle class women that had their sense of morality tested by a man. The fact that they are white has nothing to do with anything other than being historically accurate to Civil War era class structure (however tragic). Critics shouldn’t disparage this film which integrates feminist ideas. They should demand future filmmakers create stories with a more diverse point of view that can properly tell those stories. The school’s one teacher is Edwina Morrow (Kirsten Dunst) who teachers five younger girls, including the teen verging on adulthood, Alicia (Elle Fanning). Corporal John McBurney is an incredibly attractive man; not just a character who happens to be played by an attractive man. What makes the film so strong is Coppola’s willingness to show the women’s weakness; that just like men, they too can be seduced or attracted to another in a way that could completely break down their own sense of self-control or respectability. We’re never completely sure what McBurney’s exact intention is, whether he hopes to hide out at the house forever and take control, reinstating some type of patriarchal system, or whether he too is lonely and simply in need of companionship. For the first half of the story we see the girls compete for his affection, then progressing as McBurney expresses his affection for Edwina, pronouncing his love and urging she come to his room one night. When she arrives she discovers him in bed with Alicia, leading her to push him down the stairs, further shattering his damaged leg, subsequently requiring amputation. It’s here that the film achieves the greatest nuance, as nearly all of the characters spiral out of control - McBurney couldn’t overcome his cowardice or desire, Edwina couldn’t control her jealousy, and Martha couldn’t control her paranoia. Ultimately, we can never be sure that there was no other option with McBurney. For as much I’d like to believe Martha, I got the slightest hint that she in some ways wanted to punish him for choosing Edwina and destroyed her chance of escape. When McBurney wakes up in terrible pain and freaks out over having lost a leg, it kind of makes sense that he would get wasted and that being liquored up could make him also paranoid about being held prisoner at the house, therefore grabbing a gun to protect himself. Then again, he clearly wanted to stay. Then again, he could have left with Edwina earlier, if not for going to bed with Alicia. As much as I’m sure some would like to paint Alicia as the victim (which by current law she is) the relationship is less weird given the period, giving me the impression there was very much a mutual attraction, as suggested in earlier scenes. When he finally decides to leave with Edwina it all seems fair, but then Martha’s own paranoia gets the best of her, convincing the youngest girl, Amy, who opened up the film to go and find the poisonous mushrooms to kill McBurney. Even with that bursting suspense, the dinner scene, while pretty good, never reached the level I was expecting, as though the whole film was built for that moment, which ended all too quickly. I would have liked to see the overall structure flipped, in which the last third’s incredible tension and character development occurred earlier, even if spreading on throughout the film. It just felt like so much time was wasted, leaving far too little for the closing moments. *NOTE: During Sundance I saw an interview where one of the female filmmakers criticized this phrase, as though it suggested all female characters need to be “strong” rather than possessing a broad spectrum of personality. I use “strong” to denote the depth and complexity of a character; that is, a strong character stands in contrast to a "weak" character who would be one with zero personality or presence, capable of being removed from the story without issue e. What’s known as the “lampshade.” BELOW: Solid dinner scene (though not much else is available) Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Only Spielberg could make blocking an office an absolute thrill Director: Steven Spielberg Writer: Steven Spielberg Cinematographer: Janusz Kamiński Producer: Steven Spielberg, Kristie Macosko Krieger, and Amy Pascal by Jon Cvack The documentary The Most Dangerous Man in America: Danielle Esberg and the Pentagon Papers had gained an Oscar Nomination back in 2009, making a big splash, offering prescient insight into a similar scandal that would again erupt a year later with Chelsea Manning’s intelligence dump to Wikileaks. Like Ellsberg’s leak, Manning's demonstrated how numerous drone strikes wengaging with the enemy took down innocent Iraqi civilians with some of the military operators laughing callously. This was in addition to over 750,00 documentaries about the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, known as the Iraq and Afghanistan War Logs, demonstrating that the United States failed to report hundreds of cases of rape, torture, and abuse, along with a huge underestimation on the amount of civilian casualties. I recall it being a big deal when it happened, yet with Obama in office and his winding down of the war, and with his popularity still high, little was made of the revelations, even though they - from what I remembered - corroborated what we'd been long hearing about the war from the previous six years or so. It makes me wonder what the overall general reaction was to the Ellsberg leak at the time. The country had just gone through a terrible last few years, including a violent battle for civil rights along with the assassination of JFK, Robert Kennedy, MLK, Malcolm X, and Fred Hampton. I wonder if it was similar to our current period, with each week functioning like a reality show/soap opera, in which I find myself anxious for what’s about to happen next, certain that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. It drowns otherwise huge scandals - everything from the Stormy Daniels payoff to Scott Pruitt’s overhauling of the EPA, or that most major government agency positions remain empty and what that means for National Security. For those unfamiliar with the story, Martine veteran Daniel Ellsberg was working at the private Rand Corporation security firm where researches wrote mountains of reports on the state of the Vietnam War, relying on hard data as ordered by Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. It demonstrated that - in grossly simplistic terms - each president since John F. Kennedy to LBJ and then Nixon had known that the war couldn't be won, all while continuing to escalate troop strength, drafting nearly 650,000 young men, and claiming 58,220 lives. Each year I age this becomes all the more terrifying and infuriating. To think the average age was 19 years old truly paints my heart to consider, claiming lives which had only their foot in adulthood, forced to grow up with death all around them. I wish such a view didn’t remain a left/right issue, but as my uncle and Vietnam Marine veteran said when asked about Ken Burns’ movie and the horrors it presented, it's all liberal revisionism. I understand the sentiment. His unit was hit particularly hard, with two books written by John J. Culbertson about his platoon - "A Sniper in Arizona" and "Operation Tuscaloosa"; both offering terrifying accounts. To have to accept it was all for nothing seems like a difficult pill to swallow for those who gave so much. Ellsberg leaked the intelligence documents to the New York Times who was instructed by the Nixon administration to cease from publishing any further stories, allegedly it infringed on their first amendment rights. The Washington Post then received the same intelligence documents, creating another legal battle against the United States government. I had just finished the documentary Spielberg (2017) a few days prior, which highlighted how resistant critics were to regarding him as an artist due to the first decade of his career dominated by wildly successful and popular films. It was with The Color Purple (1985) that he showed off his “artistic” craft, though remained accused of sentimentalizing the source material. I find the whole debate absurd, as Jaws (1975) alone contains more insight and higher craft than most Best Picture nominees. The purpose of cinema is to transport you, and whether you're left feeling excited, bummed it's over, or an urge to talk about the ideas explored (ideally all three) films that provide any individual trait have accomplished what the art form demands. I wasn’t necessarily excited to see The Post, as I felt The Pentagon Papers had been discussed ad nauseum since the documentary's release, even being adapted into a narrative back in 2003 with James Spader (I don’t believe I’ve seen this, though it sounds familiar). I was picturing a story that would focus on the man and his trial, rehashing what has been told countless times before. I should have assumed the title indicated otherwise. The story focuses primarily on two individuals - Washington Post owner Katharine Graham (Meryl Streep) as one of the few women newspaper owners in the world, who fell into the position after her husband died. Her editor in chief is the renegade and former government employee Ben Bradlee (Tom Hanks) who wants to get the paper away from covering Nixon’s daughter’s wedding and other social gossip, and into revealing the truth behind the Vietnam war. Katharine Graham is days away from taking her company public, requiring one final meeting with the bank and board of directors in order to secure the deal. She’s introduced rehearsing her speech to her lawyer and friend Fritz Beebe (Tracy Letts) who gives her a few tips. Later at the meeting we see that Katherine is the one woman amongst at least a dozen and a half white men who wish to talk business; ideas that she hadn’t yet learned or considered before her husband’s death. When it’s her turn to speak, she freezes up and Fritz immediately cuts in. It’s here that the Spielberg touch shines, as we see an otherwise charming man who simply wants to help his friend. We then move onto the newsroom where I think I had some of the most fun at the movies in a long while. Spielberg and Kaminski shine as they move the camera around, shot in Panavision 70mm which transports us back in time. The film reminded me of the The Master(2012), as though Spielberg had much admired what PTA achieved and decided to turn the same style to a more specific and energetic environment. It’s here that I would point to Spielberg’s uncanny ability to block scenes as he follows characters up and down the newsroom, entering and exiting doors, adding an additional punch to the snappy dialogue which has characters talking over one another. Every frame is deliberate and maximizing information, framing characters perfectly so that even the smallest line uttered pulls your eye to someone you might have been lost in the extensive frame. In one shot, a package is delivered to a portly and timid reporter who looks inside, discovering something big. The camera follows him from his desk and into Ben’s office who’s having a meeting and waves him off, causing him to go to the Deputy Editor in Chief, who looks at the package and then leads the reporter into Ben’s office, where there are now five characters all perfectly balanced in frame, with the reporter explaining what happened while Ben and the others - including David Cross who fades away into his greatest role as reporter Howard Simons - all talking over one another, while Ben creates a plan of attack. It’s difficult to pull off deliberate steadicam shots that feel completely necessary. Spielberg has other long takes, but it was though he was saving the technique for when live time was required, and chaos demanded our eyes drift between the characters as though we were the intern in the room, listening. In another scene at Ben’s house, and in a much faster one take, we follow the characters as they walk in and out of the doors, talking to the lawyers in one room, sorting out the papers in another, all while Ben tries to manage the entire situation. It all achieved perhaps one of the greatest tests of great cinema: having to go the bathroom and holding it for a quieter moment, but the film is so great that you don't want to get up until you just can’t take it anymore. As crass as it might sound, consider how it incredible it is to respond to a movie like this; in which you’re willing to remain uncomfortable to see just another few images, as they’re simply that engaging. BELOW: Ellsberg on leaking in an age of Trump 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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