 A movie where the plot is a distant second to the action to the point of being meaningless Director: Christopher McQuarrie Writer: Christopher McQuarrie Cinematographer: Rob Hardy Producer: J. J. Abrams, Tom Cruise, Christopher McQuarrie, and Jake Myers by Jon Cvack With the exception of Philip Seymour Hoffman, I have not enjoyed any of the Mission Impossible sequels. Looking back at my Netflix ratings, two of them are rated two stars, one is three stars, and the one with Philip Seymour Hoffman is four stars, but I’m pretty sure that's only because he’s in it. What I recall is hoping for all the sequels to match the first film; which has become such a timeless action classic to the point where each of the characters feels fresh and somehow I still see Ethan Hunt as his 34 year old self, no matter how close to sixty Tom Cruise gets. The other films all blend together in my mind in which, similar to Bond films from the last 20 years, I can’t differentiate one from the other. And yet similar to what Skyfall achieved, Mission Impossible: Fallout somehow broke the dry spell. I’m not sure what made this film any better than the others - though the extravagant practical stunts sure seem to offer the best support - but this is by far the best of the sequels and one of the most thrilling moviegoing experiences I’ve had since Deepwater Horizon (2016). What I discovered while watching it - or I suppose accepted - is that megabrands of this sort are essentially becoming a subgenre in and of themselves. There are 26 James Bond films. I imagine there’ll be least two or three more Mission Impossible films and I’m then confident that Tom Cruise will simply hand off the torch to a new young agent. In accepting that, the point isn’t to take the film in a new direction, but to push the boundaries of practical and visuals effects, while abiding within the confines of what the story demands; namely, a good and engaging enough plot that’s close to meaningless against the massive action sequences. I don’t remember what happened in Rogue Nation and how it carried over into this film, but part of the mastery is that for as much as I thought I was confused, it somehow was able to sprinkle in enough inference for me to piece together the story. The film opens with Ethan Hawke next to a lake, taking his wedding vows across from his now ex-wife Julia Meade (Michelle Monaghan; from Rogue Nation (2015)), all before Ethan turns to see that Rogue Nation’s Solomon Lane (Sean Harris) is officiating the wedding. Ethan awakes in a run down apartment, and the film does a great job of getting straight to what his next mission is which is to retrieve some plutonium stolen by former members from The Syndicate, now called The Apostles. While in Berlin with his usual crew of both Luther (Ving Rhames) and Benji (Simon Pegg). They’re to intercept the plutonium from The Apostles who’re selling them to terrorist John Lark. However, things go wrong, and in your classic warehouse district shootout scene, Ethan is forced to save Luther at the expense of letting The Apostles get away with the plutonium. Due to the mishap, CIA Director Erica Sloane (Angela Bassett; who doesn’t look to have aged a day since Contact (1997)), requires that another Special Activities Division Operative August Walker (Henry Cavill; who could very well be the next big action star) join Ethan and the IMF to ensure that no further mistakes are made; meaning that regardless of any teammate endangerment, Hawk, Walker, and the IMF will now sacrifice any and all personnel in order to achieve the mission at hand. So begins the first action piece which kicks off the film to a brilliant start, in which Hawk and Walker jump out of a freight plane in full HALO suits. Keep in mind, at the time of this viewing, I didn’t know which stunts were real and which fake, and as much as my sense of logic wanted to fight the distinction, I suspected that this scene was entirely real to later discover it was. One Observer headline said the movie is good because the stunts are real. I won’t enter into another diatribe about CGI (which you could read about on my thoughts on Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008) or Ready Player One (2017)), but only say that this scene supports the premise. Ultimately, I’m not sure why I thought the scene was real, other than the slight sloppiness of the camera and clunky choreography ((in a good way), along with the simple physics of free falling and optics of natural light (they had about three minutes of available crimson purple magic hour light to shoot each day). The scene is most reminiscent of Gravity (2013) in providing a thrilling tension that takes place in live time and is all the more impressive for being practical. Walker and Hunt head into a lavish dance club where they’re to kidnap John Lark, scan his face to make another infamous mask, and then double as the guy to retrieve the plutonium. Here Ethan meets the femme fatale of the movie Alanna Mitsopoulos, aka the White Widow (Vanessa Kirby), who’s operating broker in the transaction between John Lark and Solomon Lane, with her Apostle brigade comprised of a dapper and attractive all male unit. Following John Lark to the bathroom, so begins another brilliant practical scene, as it’s clear that the majority of the fight is real; that is, except for when Faust (Rebecca Ferguson; also from Rogue Nation and Ethan’s former lover) kills John Lark when it looks as though Lark is going to kill Hunt, he shoots Lark in the head, deforming his face; rendering a mask impossible. Assuming that Alanna doesn’t know what John Lark looks like, Ethan decides to simply present himself; the gamble pays off and after a kind of tame fight scene in which Ethan saves her life, she invites him back to discuss how he can acquire the plutonium. The plan is that Ethan and his team attack and retrieve Solomon Lane from his police transport; complete with the simple map showing that the truck will drive down one side of the river, cross a bridge, and then drive down the other. Immediately I got tastes of both Sicarios - Sicario (2015) or Sicario: Day of the Soldado (2018) - and their incredible transport scenes. However, the film then cuts back to Ethan’s fantasy, in which they mow down countless police officers until Ethan is forced to kill one begging for his life. For a second, I thought it was real; as though they shot an action scene that just didn’t play well and sped it up with some editing. Then the scene cuts out, we realize it’s a fantasy, and so begins one of the 21st century’s greatest urban chase sequences; where now I was certain it was all CGI of Tom Cruise speeding down Parisian streets on a motorcycle, swerving through cars, to discover that, with the exception of a few shots, Tom Cruise actually drove 100 mph through the streets and between the cars. Walker ends up escaping, ending up in a non profit medical camp in rural India where they’ve been funded to treat locals for smallpox and where Ethan’s former wife Julia works (who has been living off the grid since splitting from Ethan). Walker and Solomon have set up numerous nuclear weapons in the camp, which they hope will contaminate the nearby waters of Pakistan, India, and China and destroy a third of the world’s population. Solomon’s philosophy is such an event that would trigger a worldwide peace; in which the world might finally come together and eradicate both their nuclear weapons and potentially bring world peace. Taking cue from the Uaabomber, there’s a degree of terrifying logic in his reasoning; except when you consider how long it could possibly last, given all of 20th century’s horrific events which failed to achieve the same goal. While it could have benefited from even a short debate, somehow it played better than most villainous plots. The movie culminates in what I was positive was an all computer generated helicopter chase sequence in Kashmir mountains, but have discovered - yet again - was often Tom Cruise flying the helicopter after getting his license only a few weeks before production. Many of the close calls that seemed too extreme to be possible did in fact happen. Even thinking it was GGI, I was left in awe, as the entire sequence felt incredibly vivid and lifelike; moving from Tom Cruise climbing up the rope of a payload of medical supplies, to ceasing the helicopter, attempting to crash Walker out of the stage to get the detonator device require to defuse the nuclear bombs. Soon they collide, crashing through the mountains in an amazing Jurassic Park (1993) tree-jeep sequence, all while fighting inside. Films like Mission Impossible, James Bond, and the Marvel films require honoring a particular set of plot points and action sequences, which if properly developed and balanced, can create a brilliant film which essentially does nothing different than its predecessors. It just does them better. For the first time, I saw the series as a genre in itself with narrow confines. What the story demands is big practical action scenes, beautiful and talented actors, engaging characters, and a couple good reversals. So long as those are achieved, the plot doesn’t matter. It’s a McGuffin that allows us to bounce from one cinematic action piece to the next. With the exception of a few moments, if it wasn’t for the charismatic actors, my mind would have shut off trying to understand the web of betrayal. Instead, all of the elements add up into providing what’s been missing from recent popular action cinema. Having recently published my thoughts on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989; recently as of writing on this movie in August 2018), I mention that what makes that film spectacular is its commitment to practical stunts and effects. The thing that CGI gets wrong is that the process demands perfection. Jon Favreau said he had to tell the Jungle Book (2016) FX designers to make the world less beautiful. It’s the sloppiness of filming practical stunts that makes them work, and perhaps when CGI learns to moderate itself and implement these imperfections it could be better integrated. With Tom Cruise nearing 60, it makes you wonder how many of these films are left, as no one else seems to have the megastar muscle to demand the budget it’d require, or the star that’s willing to risk his life each time. BELOW: This is real Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
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 One of the best shot melodramas of the 21st century Director: Asghar Farhadi Writer: Asghar Farhadi Cinematographer: Mahmoud Kalari Producer: Alexandre Mallet-Guy by Jon Cvack The Past has been in my queue for six years now, joining the seventy-five or so other films that have also been pushed down in favor of other choices, slowly assembling throughout the last half decade until, ever so slowly, this film rose to the top. I don’t remember much from Asghar Farhadi’s A Separation (2011) other than that it was one of the most popular foreign films from the period, going on to win Best Foreign Film at the 2012 Academy Awards; that it was more or less an Iranian Art House Melodrama; and that The Past was his next film, released two years later. The Past abides by the same melodramatic/Art House hybrid structure, in which the story could just as easily be adapted as a play, following a cast of Iranians who live somewhere in France. The middle aged Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa) returns to town to get his wife back, Marie Brisson (Bérénice Bejo; who learned French in a manner of months) who’s now in a relationship with the owner of a dry cleaning company, Samir (Tahar Rahim) who has two children, Fouad (Elyes Aguis) and daughter Léa (Jeanne Jestin). Amhad forms a quick and strong bond with the children, seemingly able to provide them with the care and attention that neither Marie nor Samir are capable of. Additionally, there’s Marie’s third child, Lucie (Pauline Burlet) from her second marriage. All three children struggle with their mother’s temperament and inability to maintain a loving relationship. At the courthouse where Marie and Ahmad plan to sign the divorce papers, Marie confesses that she’s pregnant with Samir’s son and Samir then reveals that he’s still married to his wife who’s in a coma after attempting to commit suicide by drinking bleach; emphasizing that the act was based on depression, as she didn’t yet know of the affair. Lucie later confesses to Admad that she had actually forwarded the emails between Marie and Samir to Samir’s wife the day before she committed suicide, figuring it wasn’t right. Marie learns of the betrayal and kicks Lucie out of the house, forcing Ahmad to track her down. Later, Marie questions Samir as to whether he still has feelings for his wife. We learn that rather than any emails from Lucie, Samir’s wife attempted suicide after confronting an undocumented immigrant, Naïma (Sabrina Ouazani), working at Samir’s shop, who his wife suspected was having an affair with Samir. Naïma believes Samir's wife couldn’t have read the emails because when she came in, she immediately grabbed and drank the bleach. Samir nevertheless fires Naïma, essentially forcing her to return to Iran. Ahmad leaves and Marie and Samir attempt to reconcile their relationship. Still, Samir returns to his wife once more, with a box of her perfumes, lifting one to her nose and hoping it’d trigger a reaction to bring her out of coma. From our view, we see a tear fall from her eye as he dips his face into hers. It’s easy to notice the melodramatic elements and yet its Farhadi’s ability - in collaboration with cinematographer Mahmoud Kalari - to avoid making the film feel generic to the genre. Kalari makes gorgeous images out of a natural environment; capturing all of the colors and details of the set; looking as though out of a National Geographic magazine while Farhadi prevents any of the characters from straying too far from realism. Still, the plot left me with the feeling that most melodramas do, in that I was left wondering what it all was trying to say. Better than most, Farhadi captured the raw emotion of each character, where given the extraordinary circumstances of the plot - in which a woman commits suicide by drinking bleach at her dry cleaning office, now in an indefinite coma - I couldn’t help but appreciate how every scene felt so real. Yet so little stuck with me; serving the function that most melodramas follow, in providing a scandal laden plot, full of reversals, which are exciting to watch at the time, and yet fade quickly. BELOW: Some solid melodramatic confrontation Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Wide and Lean Director: David Lean Writer: Robert Bolt Cinematographer: Freddie Young Producer: Anthony Havelock-Allan by Jon Cvack I had finished A Passage to India (1984) right before checking out Ryan’s Daughter; disappointed by the former’s lack of Epicness usually portrayed in Lean’s work. Ryan’s Daughter was Lean’s second to last film, and not knowing anything about the plot, it wasn’t until I received the two discs from Netflix that I realized it combined Lean’s epic lengths with his romantic tales of infidelity. The film takes place in a coastal town in County Kerry, Ireland; opening up with magnificent vistas of the vibrant green rolling hills atop thick cliffs which stand upon a cerulean ocean. We’re introduced to a woman, Rosy Ryan (Sarah Miles) who’s walking the expansive beaches, deep in thought, greeted by the “village idiot” Michael (John Mills) who shows her the live lobster he just caught. He rips off its claw and offers it over, hoping to win her affection. Appalled, Rosy rejects the offer and Michael returns to the town, scolded by the youth who make fun of his every step. Rosy heads over to the local schoolhouse, where teacher Charles Shaughnessy (Robert Mitchum) has just returned and is preparing the room for the incoming students. Per Lean’s mastery, without any specific mention, we can feel Rosy’s desire for Charles ooze through the screen; not as a woman in want of a man, but a sexual dissastisfaction that’s bursting for resolve. Made in 1970, long after Mitchum established himself as Hollywood’s Alpha Male, we see him change direction; departing from his typical personality and into a more sensitive individual, who’s unable to satisfy the woman who desires him. Rosy suggests they get married and, as per usual from Lean’s earlier period, they agree within days of knowing each other. The news gets back to Rosy’s father Tom (Leo McKern), who treats his few loyal patrons to free Guiness as they disparage the British who occupy their town. Tom couldn’t be more thrilled at the news, throwing a massive party, which kicks off and culminates in some weird ritual where the town sees Charles and Rosy off to their bedroom where they’re to make love for the first time. In the most shocking performance I’ve seen from Mitchum, we see as he lasts only seconds, never providing Rosy the satisfaction she desired. A few months later, their life has regressed to a passionless and banal routine, in which Rosy takes care of the house work while Charles teaches a small school. Rosy remains unfulfilled, until an injured British soldier, Major Randolph Dorya (Christopher Jones), returns from the trenches arrives in town; decorated with a Victoria Cross for valor and exhibiting extreme shell shock; triggered by even the most minor of disturbances which render him writhing on the ground. While Rosy covers for her dad at the bar, Randolph enters, quickly collapsing on the ground when his disorder is triggered again by the commotion. Without a word, Rosy’s passion is reignited. She races to save Randolph, lifts him up, and unable to control herself, kisses him with all of the desire she’s desired. Tom and his friends return, cutting them off, leaving Rosy to crave his affection. Soon the pair meet up on a horse ride, making love in the middle of the woods, providing Rosy all of the satisfaction she’s been waiting for. The affair continues and Charles grows suspicious to the point of paranoia; soon confronting Rosy who denies anything has happened. In a fantastic scene, Charles takes his students to the beach, in which he follows a pair of footsteps, leading to a small pool where an empty hole indicates the home of a former sea shell. He follows them further and toward the caves where he’s confident Rosy and Randolph are off making love; which they are and which Michael sees by watching them from the cliff tops; seeing Michael follow the trail and abandon his pursuit, for Randolph and Rosy to then exit the cave. The scene’s power is in abandoning full logic in order to portray the way in which paranoia can unravel the truth. Ultimately, we don’t know if Michael ever gains the hard evidence, or that his mind convinces him without reason. After finding a seashell in Rosy’s underwear drawer, he confronts her once again, and Rosy finally admits to the infidelity. Charles confronts the town priest, Father Hugh Collins (Trevor Howard); who aside from his fair mindedness and willingness to accept the sins of the flesh, nevertheless disagrees with divorce and its ability to give broken couples a way out (not to mention being Michael’s chief defender). When Michael finds and puts on a military ribbon, goes up to Rosy and salutes her; hoping the decoration will win his affection, the town pieces the information together and forms a lynch mob. They head to the school where they demand Charles release Rosy for indiscretion. Soon she’s attacked, having her hair chopped off and clothes torn apart; all while her father turns a blind eye. Meanwhile, intercut within the romantic story is that of the early IRA members who are smuggling arms into the small town to organize an uprising. With only a cursory understanding of the politics, during the First World War, Ireland had not yet gained their independence; leading to the rise of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) terrorist organization which fought for its cause. In the most epic scene from the film, up there with some of the best of Lean, we watch as the town gathers on the coast during a storm as they retrieve the arms scattered about the cove; where massive waves slam the munitions into the cliff bases. When they load up and attempt to return to town, Randolph and his unit stop them, killing the three responsible while the town is forced to watch; with Randolph shooting one of the men in the back as he runs away, further gaining the town’s ire. Come the end, Father Collins convinces Charles and Rosy to make up, though Charles demands they leave for Dublin and start a new life; knowing they no longer can live in the town. Rosy ends things with Randolph, though when Randolph and his team recover further munitions on the beach, Randolph detonates a stick of dynamite, killing himself and all his pain. While it’s been nearly a decade since I’ve seen Dr. Zhivago (1965) or Lawrence of Arabia (1962), but what I most recall is the way in which Lean used personal struggle to further reflect on the larger conflicts at hand. In A Passage to India, we saw as Adela Quested suspected rape by Dr Aziz Ahmed (which began as a burgeoning friendship) and how it referred to the larger issue of British colonialism in India. In Ryan’s Daughter, Rosy and Randolph’s relationship seemed to indicate Britain and Ireland’s inability to reconcile. Like Ireland, Rosy hoped to gain her independence, and like Britain, Randolph’s power was diminishing; indicating Britain’s downfall as the world’s superpower. Watching the Behind the Scene documentary, it was surprising to learn that David Lean was not much of an intellectual; much more concerned with providing immersion into the world rather than complex ideas. When he recruited screenwriter and intellectual Robert Bolt, the two were often in conflict as to how to portray the story; Lean wanting to depend on visuals while Bolt hoped to convey information through the interaction of characters. While the film would go on to win a well deserved Best Cinematography and Best Supporting Actor Oscar for John Mills performance, it seemed a prelude to Lean’s deflation with A Passage to India. The film is beautiful and the story is engaging, but at nearly three and half hours long, it provided too little action for the running time. Still it’s well worth checking out; ideally on BluRay if you can find it. BELOW: Some old school white privilege (though mostly because there's slim pickings on YouTube) Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Oh, that feeling of older kids ask you to hang out... Director: Bo Burnham Writer: Bo Burnham Cinematographer: Andrew Wehde Producer: Scott Rudin, Eli Bush, Lila Yacoub, and Christopher Storer by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... It’s clear by this point that the film is going to provide a series of these moments, anxiously anticipating where else the story could go. Sure enough, the next week there’s a school shooting exercise, in which theater kids dress up with gunshots to their head, while a police officer walks around in tactical gear and an unloaded assault rifle, mimicking a mass shooting. In the classroom, as the lights turn off and the students get under their desk, Kayla works up the courage to crawl over to Aiden and strike up a conversation; having heard earlier that he enjoys dirty photos. In another skin crawling scene, Kayla lies about having dirty photos, leading Aiden to ask whether she gives blow jobs, which Kayla says she does, then heading home to research what a blow job is; going straight to Youtube where she learns all the fluid details, moving onto a banana, which while one of the easier scenes of the film, nevertheless provides another great conclusion when her dad comes home early. With days left, the eighth graders are invited to shadow some high schoolers. Kayla meets senior Olivia (Emily Robinson) who’s friendly and excited to show Kayla around and introduce her to all her friends. By this point, I had grown so bitter about teenagers that I figured it was all a ruse and yet it kept going well. Olivia gives Kayla her number, and believing she’s finally made a friend, Kayla gives her call and Burnham comes out of left field with an onion cutting scene as Olivia invites Kayla to the mall and she attempts to conceal her excitement. Her dad drops her off and again Burnham nails the dynamic, as Olivia and her fellow seniors gossip and discuss all things impossible for Kayla to follow, who offers little more than a few words and a genuine smile; simply happy that she’s hanging out with people. Of course, while not a ruse, it proves all too good to be true, as when Olivia is dropped off first, her male high school friend parks the car on the way to Kayla’s house, getting out and hopping into the back, inquiring as to how far Kayla’s gone with a boy, and whether she’d like for him to show her some things. The scene is brilliant in leaving us wondering whether Kayla will give in for the sake of fitting in and not losing her friends, or whether she speaks up and rejects him. Fortunately, she does the latter, forcefully saying no, immediately apologizing and realizing it cost her the friendship. The complexity is that for as much as we celebrate her willingness to stand up, we also empathize with disappointment, or even possible regret. Back home, Kayla makes a final video, declaring that she’s done vlogging; later removing the Spongebob toy she found in her time capsule; removing the top half and revealing a thumb drive which contains a video she shot years earlier in which her sixth grade self offers hope that she had an amazing experience in sixth grade, maybe even getting a boyfriend. Again, the memories of that time came flooding back, as I recalled the idealism of entering a new school, hoping that I might meet a girl or go to a bunch of wild parties and live the experience I had so often seen on television. Just as eighth grade ended with disappointment, high school - while containing some rich experiences - was far more limited than expected, and college followed more or less the same track. I immediately want to say that, looking back, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was, and yet when I watched Bo Burnham on Jimmy Kimmel, he mentioned that we have a tendency to romanticize that period when, in fact, it actually was, many times, a difficult and disappointing experience. Kayla asks her dad to light a fire so that she can burn the age box, apologizing for being the way she is. So begins a monologue from the dad that reminded me of Michael Stuhlbarg’s speech in Call Me By Your Name (2017), in that it was about a third longer than it needed to be, as he breaks down how proud he is of his daughter and the fact that she’s able to do so much without him. In one of the more enlightening explanations of parenting, he mentions how scared he was of being a good single parent, realizing that she was developing and maturing all without his help; and that he simply got to sit back, watch, and offer his general guidance, making Kayla’s complete disinterest in their relationship all the more heartbreaking. At graduation, Kayla works up the courage to confront Kennedy, refusing to make eye contact and struggling to find the words to properly tell her off, but getting her point across. All she tries to be is nice and there’s no reason that Kennedy has to be so mean; providing one of the most satisfying bully confrontations that I’ve seen in years. Kayla makes another video, explaining to her audience about how she’s always nervous, feeling as though she’s about to get onto a roller coaster, except the feeling never stops. In another interview, Burnham mentions how the film was his attempt to explore his own anxieties, and so while I didn’t think the scene was absolutely necessary (as for all the outcasts who aren’t struggling with the disorder, it felt a bit alienating; that is, if they don’t have anxiety, is it their fault at that point?) I also respect and admire Burnham's ability to take his personal experiences and apply it to such a unique world. The closing scene has Kayla ending up at Gabes, providing one of the most hilarious moments of the film, as again, Jake Ryan somehow is able to create a character that feels like an awkward 40-year old man trapped in the boy of an eighth grader; making me thrilled for what else this kid will go on to do. It’s a film that took me back to a period that is far too easy to idealize; in which the memories came rushing back; of searching for a place to fit and the disappointment of those struggles seems to never end. Burnham achieved the miraculous; of being able to use words, images, and sounds to capture moments of the past which we can all share. It’s a film about a time we all go through that’s unlike anything I’ve seen. BELOW: Some of the most authentic teen dialogue I've ever heard; back when years difference felt like decades Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Gucci! Director: Bo Burnham Writer: Bo Burnham Cinematographer: Andrew Wehde Producer: Scott Rudin, Eli Bush, Lila Yacoub, and Christopher Storer by Jon Cvack Next to Hereditary (2018), this is one of the most successful word of mouth films to come out this year. I had first hear about it earlier in the winter during Sundance, expecting the usual quirky indie film involving the “weird but hilarious” parents, the dry-witted best friend, and the underwhelming, light hearted plot that often drives the genre; made all the more suspicious when I saw that former YouTuber Bo Burnham wrote and directed the piece. I had gotten my start in Los Angeles working with YouTubers. I worked at Maker Studios which was one of the earliest and most successful digital media companies that would go on to sell to Disney for nearly a billion dollars (no, I didn’t get any of this). What started as a lean production company creating content for about half a dozen YouTubers blossomed into over five hundred employees, acquiring over 55,000 channels and producing content for nearly a hundred of these channels. We worked with successful channels such as Good Neighbor whose Dave McCarey, Kyle Mooney, and Beck Bennett would go onto SNL (and McCarey going on to get engaged to Emma Stone), while other channels - determined they’d achieved similar, if not higher success - went on to crash and burn. While there were a few great talents and entertainers, the vast majority were extremely difficult to work with, either because they’d never collaborated before (creating all their content on their own), or possessed egos so large that they treated most of us like garbage, no matter how little we were paid versus the six to seven figures they were taking home. I’ve long considered writing an account of the experience, as the situation was so absurd that I, at times, struggle to believe that any of it actually happened; ranging from the people I met to the things we had to make. It was a mixture of what old Mtv felt like combined with the company politics from The Social Network. Ultimately, I grew bitter with many of the talents, as it was clear that beneath their success was a strong insecurity that they protected by an inflamed sense of worth. Aside from the frustration of my professional experience was the cringeyness of seeing so many others attempt to replicate these social media stars; launching their own vlogs where they offered their thoughts on all things Life - boys, friendships, relationships, success, etc. I’ve known about half a dozen people who have started motivational vlogs, hoping to become a type of Tony Robbins, while others simply create banal videos about their day to day lives, hoping that they too could make their living in the ways their social media heroes have. What you realize is that, for as little interest as I have in popular and professional influencers, the successful ones, like any entertainer, have a particular charm and inherent talent in making the mundane entertaining; leaving most aspiring vloggers to confront the fact that they’re just not engaging enough. Eighth Grade opens with Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) vlogging about how to be a more confident person; offering all of the empty platitudes that any inexperienced and socially isolated thirteen year old would provide. The vlog then cuts and beneath the filter, we see a chubby, acne-laden teenager, completely addicted to social media. She heads to school where she’s in her final week of eighth grade. During an assembly, the principal announces multiple student body awards - Most Attractive, Most Talkative, Most Funny, and Most Quiet, which Kayla ends up winning, to then be whisked away to another classroom where her and the other winners get a first glimpse into the boxes they made in sixth grade for their future eighth grade selves. Kayla finds her marked with “To the Coolest Girl in the World” pasted in glitter letters across the top; inside of which are the sundreys of any middle schooler, except for a strange Spongebob toy that piques her interest and will come into play later. Kayla then looks up to her crush Aiden (Luke Prael), in which an awesome techno score lights up, overwhelming the scene and taking us away from the traditional “Dream Weaver” that typically plays over these types of moments. Later that day, while heading home, Kayla’s popular classmate, Kennedy (Catherine Oliviere), is picked up by her mom who invites Kayla over for a pool party for Kennedy’s birthday; embarrassing Kennedy in the process. At home, Kayla is your average teenager; completely uninterested in her single dad, Mark (Josh Hamilton), who’s hoping for any bit of conversation; forced to have to watch Kayla glued to her phone with her headphones on. Again, Burnham provides a fantastic use of sound, where in roaring fashion, we see Kayla scrolling through Instagram and Snapchat while playing upbeat pop soundtracks before her dad finally grabs her attention and they share an awkward conversation; in which the dad struggles to get a word in without Kayla cutting him off, even when he asks for just a minute before she responds simply to say he’s proud of what she’s done with her videos; failing to get a couple seconds before she screams yet again, then returns to her phone. Similar scenes have been done this countless times before, with the teens lasered into their phones or television, the parents attempting to talk and facing their kid’s volatile tempers, but somehow each individual element felt fresh, adding up into a unique and heartbreaking moment. Although we know Kayla struggles to make friends or even talk at all at school, she has no problem scolding her dad for wanting to have the slightest interaction. The next day, Kayla has her dad drop her off to the pool party. The camera follows her from walking up to the door, greeted by Kennedy’s mom who subtly expresses her disappointment that Kayla’s father isn’t coming in, down through the extravagant house, and out into the backyard where all the popular kids are hanging out and having a wonderful time. It’s the film’s most brilliant moment, as I was immediately taken back to similar experiences; fortunately not being invited by a parent so much as having only one friend amongst the popular kids, knowing all the other kids and knowing they knew me, wondering if they thought I should feel privileged to attend, and myself wondering if I should feel privileged to attend, then realizing that beyond some friendly hellos there was little else to talk about other than to laugh and offer single word responses to the inside jokes and banter they all shared. I honestly squirmed in my chair as Kayla made her way downstairs, knowing that none of the kids wanted her there, and that she knew most of the kids didn’t want her there, and still she kept going; making me both sympathize with all of the weird people I knew like Kayla back in school, and also recalling how awkward it was when they attempted to force themselves into social situations. She then dives in the pool, fortunately greeted by one of the most memorable supporting characters since Paul Dano in Prisoners (2013), the socially inept and likely autistic, Gabe (Jake Ryan), who arrives in a swim mask, challenging Kayla to a breath holding contest, and allowing Kayla’s own weirdness seem pale in comparison. Hours later, as everyone heads inside to play a Karaoke game, Kayla heads off to a different room, begging for her father to come pick her up. She’s approached by Aiden and he grabs her phone, asking why she’s not hanging out with everyone else; prompting Kayla to walk into the family room, grab the microphone, and sing her heart out during a karaoke song; in which Burnham practices incredible restraint; avoiding another all out cringey scene by letting us watch her sing. Instead, we listen to her vlogging voice over, recounting an alternative history of the events, encouraging her viewers to put themselves out there and have confidence, as they never know what could happen. Continue to part 2... BELOW: A tale of two realities Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  What could be the Favreau/Vaughn of the 20s Director: Carlos López Estrada Writer: Rafael Casal and Daveed Diggs Cinematographer: Robby Baumgartner Producer: Keith Calder, Jess Calder, Rafael Casal, and Daveed Diggs by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... On the third day, Collins wakes up and we know there’s an inevitable problem about to occur. Like Chekhov's Gun Maxim, the set up was boiling hot, and so begins an absolutely fantastic, if not near flawless, final act with enough substance to dissect for hours. After an eventful day of clearing out yet another rundown house where the owners died, now purchased by a yuppie couple with a lot of tech money, Miles and Collins head back home to get ready to celebrate Collins’s official release. Getting ready to go out, Miles’ daughter gifts her dad a light blue, skin tight t-shirt saying “Kill a Hipster, Defend Your Hood”. Although embarrassed, being the good father he is, Miles wears it out for the night. Returning back to the living, they find his son holding the gun Miles purchased; the chamber displaying the bullets within, made all the more intense when his son holds it up to his face. Collin and Miles cease the weapon, causing Ashley to flip out. When she asks whose gun it is, Miles looks toward Collin for help who keeps quiet, leaving Miles to admit that it’s his. Ashley kicks them out and Miles scolds Collin for failing to help. While Collins says he didn’t want to be known for bringing a gun into their house, we also wonder if it was his way of selfishly avoiding breaking his parole. The two head to a party and quickly discover that rather than the old school Oakland house party they’re used to, it’s a put on by some new money tech millennial in his freshly built modernist construct. Other than Collin's two friends, they’re the only three black people present; making Miles skintight outfit all the more awkward. It’s here that I realized how bad trailers can be for independent films, as in the trailer, there’s a cheap joke about how the “hipster” has the same below-the-ear tattoo of an outline of California with a star in the Bay Area. While a degree of the joke is preserved in the scene, it’s a far more thrilling moment, as we know that Miles resents how he’s being perceived and the cultural appropriation allegedly going on. He hates that the hipster hijacked his tattoo, but one could just as easily say that his tattoo is based on the appropriation from other cultures. Collins' two black friends don’t know Miles, who quickly goes to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. The one black male friend follows where he meets Miles, who appears like a hipster that’s trying to be a volatile tough guy, not knowing that Miles actually is a volatile tough guy, quickly escalating into a fight which turns into Miles beating the guy’s head against the side of the car, then pulling his gun and firing a few shots. Collin takes the gun, and the two run off, ending up in an empty parking lot and providing the film’s most powerful scene, in which Collin castigates Miles for doing what he did. In an area that’s becoming increasingly more wealthy, there’s no reason for a gun other than to attempt to preserve - and further endanger - some past culture that’s vanishing. It causes Miles to finally admit the anger of losing his identity; that in a culture that’s increasingly looking to his style of tattoos and ironic fashion, it’s not just that his community is changing, but that he believes he’ll lose the very essence of who he is as a person. The scene culminates as Miles refers to the fact that Collin will retain his identity, which Collin suggest is Miles' way of calling him a “nigger”; demanding he just come out and say it. The scene’s brilliance isn’t in the shock value so much as the humanizing of the word; in which we see the way in which it veers between dire offense and endearment and respect. Collins believes that Miles means the former while Miles defends it as the latter; all while refusing to say and creating a deeply complex scene. The two split up and we remember that Collin still has the gun and again we’re teased with what we expect to happen, which is that he’s going to get pulled over by the cops and lose his parole. Sure enough, a cruiser slows next to him, pops on its spotlight, though just as it looks like they’re about to hassle Collin, it turns on the cherries and speeds away. He returns back before 11am, deciding to finally complete his chores, and sleeping his final sleep before freedom. The next day, the routine begins again and the two end up in the suburban house where a woman and her child are rushing to leave; clearly distraught over the husband who remains inside. Unfortunately, there was a fairly large logic break at this point, as I had trouble buying the fact that in just two days, after such a significant event in the officer’s life, that his wife would decide to leave him (not just leave him for a couple days, but pack up everything and move; perhaps this was due to earlier issues, but still seemed weak). And again, it was just a bit too convenient that the pair just so happened to end up at the officers. Regardless, Collin sees the man and pulls the gun on him, then entering into a spoken word diatribe which is pretty cool, but even cooler when I know who Daveed Diggs is. Better yet, was some blurb tweet I found while looking up the film which suggested the rhyme flirts with Shakespeare, epitomized by this final moment as Collins says all that’s been boiling up within him to the officer. We never expect him to actually fire the gun, and unfortunately, I wasn’t left thinking that Collins had much of a chance escaping from the officer’s wrath, who was presented with psychosis and far too little empathy to suggest that he’d simply let the matter go. One of my primary issues with the film is actually how it portrays white people; as being disconnected, vapid, and entitled. In one scene which made little sense, a white millennial male unloads his Whole Foods groceries while on the phone, blocking the moving truck. Miles screams at the guy, then laying on the truck horn, none of which makes any difference, as the guy just keeps on loading his groceries, oblivious. At the party scene, we see all the boring white people listen to John Mayer, sit around, and talk about their latest tattoos and fashions. While the stereotypes were okay at first, I was left thinking if the flip happened; if the story was told from the POV of a white millennial who was living in an area that was displacing the lower classes and showed them with similarly shallow stereotypes. It seemed unnecessary; especially within a film that had such a fantastic view of local culture. Overall, while the film has some issues, trying a bit too hard at times to imitate Spike Lee, Tarantino, or even Shakespeare, it also provided some of the most profound looks into an ongoing and increasingly serious problem; in which lower class communities and their cultures are being displaced at a record pace as housing costs rise with no end in sight. What arrives is a homogenous land of overpriced real estate and juice drinks and health food restaurants; ostensibly tricking people into spending twice the amount on goods that should cost them half. It’s a problem that I’ve seen in LA, increasingly hear about in Chicago, and has been going on for the last twenty years in New York. As these cities continue to expand, you realize that the chances for these same lower class communities to make a living and impact their cultures is diminished. As a friend pointed out, while any person could become an aspiring actor in LA, working at a restaurant and making ends meet, the city’s become so expensive that the “struggling actor” lifestyle is reserved for those with the means or familial safety net to do it. It’s a problem with no end in sight, as a combination of NIMBYS and the rich refuse to acquiesce one iota of their neighborhoods to accommodate those in need. I was left wondering where any of these displaced lower classes go. A lucky few might be able to sell their homes for millions of dollars, but for the majority living in rental properties, they’re forced to move and find scarcer jobs in non-urban areas and rebuild the communities they’d known. It’s an idea that I struggle to think of another film exploring so well; pioneering what I think many other filmmakers will soon explore. NOTE: Sure enough while writing this, another police officer was exonerated for the shooting of an unarmed black man. BELOW: A powerful Shakespearean climax Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The Dream: two besties write a feature and it gets made Director: Carlos López Estrada Writer: Rafael Casal and Daveed Diggs Cinematographer: Robby Baumgartner Producer: Keith Calder, Jess Calder, Rafael Casal, and Daveed Diggs by Jon Cvack It seems as though every other month brings a dubious police shooting of a black man - some justified in force when additional information comes forward, and others showing a gross abuse of power. Worse, the officers are often excused and the distrust and division continues on. The documentary Flint Town (2018) provides an underrepresented of the dilemma; following a unit of Flint, Michigan police officers whose city consistently ranks within the top ten most violent in the country. We meet a range of officers on the political spectrum, all attempting to do the best they can to combat crime. Throughout the series, we see the pendulum swing from results to failure and witness the frustration in each of the officers who struggle to believe they’re making a difference. Faced with a community filled with distrust, a short staffed department, and pitiful pay, we see that the vast majority of police officers do want to do good work. Just as the police don’t want a few bad officers to reflect the whole department, the same goes for the black community Blindspotting is a story about two friends, Collin (Daveed Diggs) and Miles (Rafael Casal), who grew up in the streets of Oakland. Gentrification is now rolling strong, transforming the area into a thriving upper middle class neighborhood within just a few years. The movie opens with a brilliant montage of the Oakland streets as they’re slowly transforming from liquor stores and crumbling homes to juice stores and refurbished multi-million dollar mansions. We meet Collin (with his hair braided; this will be important) in a courthouse, getting out of jail on parole, where the judge states that if he can live a straight life for a year he will gain full freedom. Fast forwarding 11 months and change, Collin has three days left before he’s free and, of course, we know he’s going to skate the line. Something I didn’t know before going into the movie (and wish I had) is that the film was written by Oakland locals Daveed Diggs and Rafael Casal who’ve spent over a decade developing the script. Previous to acting, Diggs was a spoken word artist who often appeared on Def Poetry Jam before joining Hamilton where he played Thomas Jefferson. The movie is a little rough in some places, but it always retained an unrelenting personal connection to Oakland; the way a Woody Allen movie feels like New York, PTA like Los Angeles, or John Hughes like Chicago. For as much as a few scenes made little sense or functioned as plot serving devices, the film introduces us to the modern streets of Oakland in a way that’s never been seen. The story opens with Collin and Miles in the back seat of their friend’s car. Purple and blue neon lights string across the ceiling and we’re immersed within the film's rapid style. The three are eating and arguing about burgers which then progresses to finding the driver’s guns to then finding out that the driver works for Uber and he then gets a call. While it seemed like it was trying a bit too hard to be a Pulp Fiction throwback, the act further built the world and played with expectation, moving from local restaurants to whether there’s crime in the area to revealing the car as a lowrider standing a couple feet up on the ground with massive rims next to an expensive trendy burger restaurant where customers have to support if they want anything other than vegan meat. Thanks to Collin’s shirt, we know we’re in Oakland, which is undergoing rapid and significant gentrification; so fast that within a block you can go from a rundown liquor store to a trendy coffee shop. Collin and Miles are a couple of movers with a Good Will Hunting-type of morning tradition, in which Collin picks up Miles and the pair stop at a liquor store where Miles buys a single loose cigarette for a dollar. The store has also started selling fresh green juice in a fancy bottle for ten dollars which Collins decides to try out. Collin’s ex-girlfriend Val (Janina Gavankar) works as the receptionist at the moving company, having gotten both Collin and Miles their jobs, now studying for her degree in psychology (which might be the film’s first plot serving example, but more on that later). After a long first day in which we discover all of these details, Collin races to get home in order to make his 11pm curfew at the halfway house and complete his chores. However, at a stoplight that refuses to switch green, Collin sees a man sprinting for his life, chased by a police officer (Ethan Embry) who then shoots the man in the back; all witnessed by Collins, who’s nine minutes late going home, trying his best to sleep. The next day, he grabs Miles and meets his five year old son and wife Ashley (Jasmine Cephas Jones). They’re a loving family, trying their best to provide a decent life for their child and preserve their roots in a changing community. With the story of the shooting on the news, Collin explains what he saw, but is reluctant to go into the details for fear of upsetting Miles. It’s this second act that I struggled with, as it began introducing back to back convenient plot devices to advance the narrative. After we see Colin's hope to rekindle the flame with Val, they then visit Collin’s mom, who has a new African-American-Asian child with her new husband, who’s taken over Collins’ old room which he was hoping to move back into. In a scene that boggled my mind, while Collins talks to his mother, Miles walks off and returns with a box of hair straighteners, asking if he could have them. While I assume the mother was a former hairdresser, why she had a large container of the tools, or even why she was willing to let them go without another thought (while refusing to let Collin move back home) made little sense. Miles and Collin then take the hair straighteners to a local hairdresser and in some weird Spike Lee throwback, Miles attempts to hawk them off to characters we’ve never met before. In the end, they demand Miles prove they work and it cuts to Collin with all of his hair now straight. Not wanting to lose his braids, and needing them remade before curfew, he calls Val, who agrees to help him out long as and so the two meet up and we get to learn of their romantic history; culminating in a potential kiss that’s disrupted by Collin’s mother. Collins is late to the halfway house once again, confronted by his parole officer who admonishes him to honor the rules, whether by punctuality or doing his chores; explaining that the purpose of the rules is to demonstrate that the ex-convict can actually do what he’s told, which Collin is failing to do. Yet the convenience doesn’t stop there, as the next day as Collin is getting ready to leave for the day at the moving company office, a customer recognizes him as “The Scorpion” and tells the tale to a friend about how Collins achieved the moniker. The story provides one of the best scenes of the film, but again I was frustrated that the coincidence of a customer recognizing him which seemed included solely to tell the audience the story. Within a matter of minutes I was left wondering - what if Miles never found the hair straighteners? Why did they have to do all of Collin’s hair, and given that it was a hairdresser, why wouldn’t he just have them braid his hair, if he was so upset by the straightening? What were the chances of these customers just so happening to enter the moving office so that we could hear the story of how Collin got where he was? The individual scenes all worked well, but it was the craft of getting from the various points that felt too easy, leaving me wondering how the rest of the movie would then play out. Continue to Part 2... BELOW: Very clever scene Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Yes, this is Alec Guinness Director: David Lean Writer: David Lean Cinematographer: Ernest Day Producer: John Brabourne and Richard Goodwin by Jon Cvack Reading about E.M. Forster’s book, there’s a fascinating debate between postcolonial and feminist scholars as to just how offensive the book is. Postcolonial scholars believe it portrays an Indian culture that’s acquiesced to Britain’s hegemony; in this case, following white characters as they galavant amongst the oppressed local Muslim and Hindu people, a few of which they befriend, though not without the disdain of the majority of local Brits. Feminists believe that the central female character Adela Quested and her potential mother-in-law reflect two women who’re willing to abandon the chains of patriarchy and journey into an alien world where they can assert their ideas. Others believe it’s a classic and important story, written by one of the 20th century’s greatest writers. While I haven’t read the book, I was left with a position somewhere in the center-critical position; seeing a film that for its time (written in 1924) was a wildly progressive piece, in which some of the problems as compared today, while justified, might slightly outweigh the story’s benefits. What pushed me over is that should the book be similar in the plot as the movie, I did take significant issue with Adela’s character; serving as a woman who was - in the movie - far too easily manipulated by men to defend a position she didn’t believe. David Lean has made some of the cinema’s most epic stories. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), and Dr. Zhivago (1965), which I feel silly for mentioning, but for anyone that’s brainfarting, it’s important to have an immediate grasp of these texts and their scope. Less well-known though brilliant movies include Brief Encounter (1945), Great Expectations (1946), and Summertime (1955; and highly underrated film overall); demonstrating his transition from mid-budget movies (albeit making small stories feel massive) and into the great and epic stories he’d later create. While writing this I have the one feature of his remaining, Ryan’s Daughter (1970), which he made between the five-film periods from 1957 thru 1984 period. A Passage to India concluded it, having been unavailable for years until a recent release on Blu Ray arrived a few months ago. I knew it’d fail to meet the perfection of Kwai, Lawrence, or Zhivago, but I figured what he missed in the story he might make up for in visuals; having a near-flawless filmography far behind him. Instead, the story proved underwhelming; feeling as though the flawed politics and criticism of the book contributed to its ineffective narrative. What worked was a bit too offensive, and all else fell short of what other filmmakers like Malle and Renoir have explored with their own portrayals of India and its rich culture. It felt like a man who, perhaps like Forstureer, failed to grasp why the story might have failed to work. Adela Quested (Judy Davis) and her potential mother-in-law Mrs. Moore (Peggy Ashcroft) arrive in India and immediately meet up with Mrs. Moore’s politically ambitious son Ronny Heaslop (Nigel Havers) in Chandrapore, which is experiencing a people's uprising for independence. When a local school teacher Richard Fielding (James Fox), Adela and Mrs. Moore meet the Indian doctor Aziz Ahmed (Victor Banerjee), a widower who agrees to show them around the area, introduced by local school superintendent and Aziz’s friend Richard Fielding (James Fox) who encourages both women to dive into Indian culture. Ronny disagrees with the friendship, as the current caste system treats Indians as second class citizens to the British ruling class. His mother Mrs. Moore disagrees with his ruthless pursuit of politics, in which his prejudices are rewarded, if not encouraged in order to preserve British hegemony. Mrs. Moore and Adela ignore his admonitions, shocking him when they go so far as to place their feet in a swimming pool of a local philosophy professor - who I’m shocked to find out is actually Alec Guinness; both for not at all recognizing the man, and more importantly, that somehow David Lean thought painting on a brown face in 1984 was a good idea; especially for a film that’s hoping to explore racism. It’s all the worse in a scene taking place minutes after when we go to a party where the local Indians are more or less segregated from the white British people; standing in the grass while the Brits sit at their table, resting on elevated platforms. It’s not even as though David Lean failed to capture the bigotry - or why having Guinness paint his face brown to play a Hindu - as during one scene, while passing a group of Indian women, a character mentions that they don’t understand English; only for a couple of the locals to mention the three others languages they speak in addition to Hindi. Later Aziz takes Mrs. Moore and Adela on a tour of the Marabar Caves - a fictional destination (with its own Wikipedia page), which are known for their haunting ability to echo the speaker's words. In a series of cryptic shots, cutting between basecamp, a tour guide-led group, Aziz and Adela take off on their own. Ronny later arrives at the scene though Adela becomes separated and spooked; especially upon seeing Aziz at the cave entrance, looking in. Lean cuts to some birds flying and then Adela runs down a hill, falls into some cacti and soon accusations Aziz of raping her The problem is that when you read about what happened in the cave from the book, you realize that Lean completely failed to capture the details or the mystery. Ultimately, we never know what happened in the book in which Ronny arrives earlier and confesses his love for Adela who fails to have similar feelings. She then heads off and meets up with Aziz, filled with lust and making a pass which he rejects; still agonizing over the death of his wife. She then races out and falls into the prickly plants; definitely assaulted, but what happens remains a mystery. Aziz and Ronny blame the tour guide, but nothing is ever proved. The caves serve as a fascinating metaphor for the story, both reflecting the boiling point that would lead to the Indian Nationalism that would overthrow the country, while the infamous echoes reflect the self-reflection of both Mrs. Moore and Adela who grasp India injustices. The cave remains the film’s strongest scene, but watching Ryan’s Daughter which better abides by Lean’s usual style, creating more memorable images in its first forty minutes than in all of A Passage to India; almost feeling as though it failed to grasp even the most novice concepts that E.M. Forster explored within my cursory look. Lean seemed to take a bit too much of a side in his version, particularly in how he shot Aziz standing at the doorway looking in toward Adela - moments before she came running out; removing the ambiguity. So begins the meat of the film as Aziz is allegedly innocent and wrongfully accused. All of Britain gets behind him, and we see another terrifying example of the popular tribal justice that carries on almost every other week of the month. The white people all assume that Aziz is guilty while the Indians protest against another use of colonialists subverting their justice system. The trial is a bit of a farce. The judge fails to maintain order while Aziz’s lawyers become overwhelmed with emotion, storming out in protest of the bias. Ronny disowns his fellow country club friends and the Indian people begin demonstrating. After reading my first couple books on American Reconstruction, I’m realizing that the bias in these types of mainstream trials have existed as long as any marginalized group has fought for justice. The cases serve not just for the immediate guilt or innocence of any one person, but as a reflection of the society at large. Having just finished The Run for His Life, the OJ Simpson trial might have been one of the most popular examples of this bias. It’s tough to differentiate whether it was Lean or Forster who dropped the ball in this section. Adela is relegated to a helpless persona; manipulated by the men in power in order to promote their agendas. In the end, it’s not the Indian lawyers who win the case, but Adela finally fessing up to the truth she’s been holding in. I suppose it reflects an issue existing within any culture; in which too few people speak up for the injustices they witness, no matter how wrong they are. In the end, Aziz is acquitted, bitter against his new white friends and demanding monetary damages from Adela. Ronny leaves, though years later, he returns. Aziz still harbors resentment, until finally forgiving Ronny. We never know get to see what happened to Adela, leaving the end feeling empty; as though it could have continued on but didn’t. Again just a quick glance at the book’s summary, we see that Aziz was suspicious that Ronny was leaving to go marry Adela - the girl that betrayed him - vowing to never befriend another white person again. While Ronny returns and attempts to reunite with his old friend, Aziz resists, declaring that they cannot be friends until India is free and independent; a particularly harsh conclusion against what sounds more nuanced in the book. This would be the last feature David Lean would make until his death seven years later. At only 71 years old at the time and with a tremendous body of work behind him, I’m not sure what went wrong. Whether studios interfered or Lean finally met his match with source material. Reading about the book, I was left wanting an updated version; seeing it as an important story for our current times. The director would have to look no further than Lean’s other work for inspiration. BELOW: Some old school white privilege (though mostly because there's slim pickings on YouTube) Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Jaime Bell as the film's most best character Director: Lars von Trier Writer: Lars von Trier Cinematographer: Manuel Alberto Claro Producer: Marie Cecilie Gade and Louise Vesth by Jon Cvack I started Volume 2 (The Director’s Cut) right after finishing Volume 1, excited to see how else it could possibly evolve for the next three hours of story. As mentioned, I’ve been disappointed and incredibly disturbed by Von Trier’s other recent work; which seemed much more focused on using “artistic cinema” to shock viewers with sensational images. I had a suspicion that Volume 2 would return to this format and sure enough, it provided some of the most disturbing images I’d ever seen in cinema. The story opens up on yet another anecdote, in which Joe looks over to a painting of the Mother Mary and the two discuss the old and new testaments, relegating their philosophy to the former being about the “Church of Suffering” and the latter a “Church of Happiness”. Joe expresses her struggle between guilt and satisfaction and the idea is explored throughout the rest of the film. Unable to feel any sensation in her vagina, she and Jerôme nevertheless have a child. Regardless of her condition, her sexual appetite is just as acute. Unable to satisfy her, Jerôme allows Joe to start seeing other men again and Jerôme grows deeply jealous. Soon Joe grows interested in a mfm threesome, preferring two African men who she assumes are well endowed, using a random translator to lure them back to her hotel where the two men argue about who’s going to take which hole first; soon resolving it for a moment where we get to see actual double penetration in what I assume was reserved for the director’s cut. The situation ends within seconds as the argument continues and the men leave, annoyed. Joe exploration and search for orgasm evolves to her meeting up with the film’s most interesting character, sadist K (Jamie Bell), who operates out of a mysterious warehouse in the middle of nowhere. His conditions are that there are no safety words and there’s no sex. Jamie Bell somehow provides charisma to the character; in which he politely asks Joe to remove her clothes and bend over the side of the couch where he straps her down, fingering her vagina to check how aroused she is. It takes a few visits and the dissolution of her marriage before he finally flogs her on the ass, in which Von Trier shows the skin break and K checks to see the results. What induces severe pain soon evolves to a deep sensual pleasure as Joe finally achieves orgasm. As if that wasn’t enough, K culminates their relationship by giving her the “Silent Duck” which is when he lays his fingers around his thumb and sticks his hand up her anus and von Trier shows it all. Years later, Joe is now played by Charlotte Gainsbourg who’s attempting to maintain a job, working as a secretary is some nondescript office job. However, when her boss learns of Joe’s promiscuity, and that it’s begun to expand to her co-worker’s husbands, she demands that Joe go into therapy or be terminated. In group therapy, she admits to her addiction and attempts to end it, taping off everything in her apartment which she could rub against including chairs, coffee tables, dresser knobs, and faucets. The film doesn’t provide some grand withdrawal sequence - as I’m sure Von Trier knew it’d be tough to top either Trainspotting (1996) or Requiem for a Dream (2000) - and instead provides a more enlightening moment. Back at group therapy, as she explains her progress, she drops her prepared speech in order to declare she’s going back to sex, as given the lack of personal harm it causes her compared to other drugs, she wants to be free and welcome the addiction. It was here I was left thinking of the ideas behind Belle de Jour (1967), and its portrayal of a woman who takes pleasure in masochism, bondage, and dominance; regarded as one of the most important feminist texts in the history of cinema. Until Nymphomaniac, I realized I had never seen another text like it; showing a woman proud of her identity rather than limiting her arc to a more traditional recovery. While her promiscuity destroyed lives, it was also based upon men’s inherent weakness when propositioned with such a rare offer. I was left wondering if Joe’s addiction to sex wasn’t just based in pleasure (as it didn’t always exist), but rather because it allowed her to control and dominate men; perhaps in the way Joe’s mother controlled her father without a single word (with strong hints that it was sex alone that caused him to stay in the relationship). The consequences culminate when Joe gets pregnant and so begins one of the film’s weakest and most disturbing scenes which I’ll never forget for the rest of my life. She demands her doctor abort the fetus, but is so frantic and enraged that he recommends she goes to a counselor before committing where she undergoes a demeaning questionnaire about her personal life. The issue here is that Joe could have so easily played along with the counselor and received the safety of a professional abortion, but instead erupts and elects to do the procedure herself with a series of large needles and a clothing hanger. In the Antichrist (2009) I found myself looking away during the circumcision; finding little satisfaction in the overall story. In this case, I felt a strange obligation to watch how horrendous these procedures are; as I really think you could show this scene to any pro-life individual to demonstrate how horrifying the alternative is. We watch as she sterilizes the needles which get progressively larger, then using a precision caliper in order to grab the fetus at the precise distance. She lays down on her floor, takes the first needle, and then Von Trier cuts into a close up of her vagina where she inserts each and every device, including the coat hanger where, with the use of an animated graphic, we see the way it hooks on the fetus, which she removes and pops out of her. It’s truly the most disturbing scene I’ve ever witnessed in the history of cinema. At first I was turned off, believing that Von Trier included it simply to engage with the sensationalism that so many of his other films contain. And then I began considering that Joe was smart enough to know her own irrationality during the counseling session, and that the abortion served as the ultimate punishment she wished to inflict on herself; to destroy the creature that perhaps could have changed her for the better whilst experiencing the maximum amount of pain. Seligman and Joe debate the issue. For the first time, Seligman is disgusted and so begins one of their first disagreements. Joe somehow says it’s hypocritical for Seligman to express disgust for the procedure when he supports a women’s right to choose. Initially, you might criticize the logic, but then again, I do think it’s an important experience to witness the scene in order to understand the significance of a woman’s right to her body and the consequences of taking that away; but then again he did listen to the whole story and I did watch the act and remained disgusted, both in what I saw and what Joe opted to do. The act leads Joe into a life of crime, using her sex in order to retrieve outstanding loans from crime boss “L” (Willem Dafoe). In one of the more interesting scenes, accompanied by two guards, she refuses to have them beat the man and instead discovers his proclivities; finding out he’s a pedophile and using the information to get back the payment. Soon L requests that Joe find an apprentice, indicating that her older age will prove increasingly less effective. She soon meets the fifteen-year-old “P” (Mia Goth) who she falls madly in love - or more so lust - possibly seeing herself and not just molesting the child but essentially molesting herself. The pair end up at Jerôme’s, where Joe refuses to go in, giving P her big shot. The two then fall in love with each other. When the two are outside Jerôme’s house, Joe hides in an alley with a gun P had purchased, going up to Jerôme and firing, but the gun fails to go off. Jerôme then beats her and urinates on her broken body and Seligman finds her shortly after. The trope of a safety-caught gun is easy enough for both Joe and Seligman to acknowledge; with Seligman thinking it was too common a part of movie culture for Joe to ignore, and that possibly she wanted Jerôme to beat her as the final punishment for what she considered an immoral life. While I remain on the fence about a few of the key moments from the film, it was the cynical conclusion that left me most upset. When the sun finally rises, Seligman and Joe say goodnight. Joe falls asleep and Seligman enters the room, pulls down the blanket, and strokes himself. She wakes up and he defends that action with the fact she’s been with thousands of men. She then takes the gun, and in a black screen, fires and kills Seligman. Again, I was left wondering if this was the official final punishment; either for the jail which awaits her or to kill the one friend she had made; as ultimately, given that she too had raped and hurt men, it seems like, right or wrong, she of all people should have understood and empathized with his desire for sex. It felt like far too harsh an ending and completely unredemptive. Yet perhaps that’s the point; that so far as von Trier sees it, a common side of addiction is complete self-destruction. And just as a nymphomaniac or queer sex hasn’t been properly explored, neither have the tragic conclusions of any addiction; at least in cinema. BELOW: Unexpected redemption Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Remains Shia's best role yet Director: Lars von Trier Writer: Lars von Trier Cinematographer: Manuel Alberto Claro Producer: Marie Cecilie Gade and Louise Vesth by Jon Cvack Coincidentally, while writing about The Double Life of Veronique (1991), and looking up a New York Times article which compared Krzysztof Kieslowski to Lars Von Trier; describing Trier as a spoiled brat and Kieslowski as a gloomy neurotic fatalist (which I can't argue with). The last four films I’ve seen from Von Trier include, Antichrist (2009), Melancholia (2011), Dogville (2003), and most recently Manderlay (2005), all left me feeling impressed at certain moments (often in the beginning), and then evolving into uncomfortable anxiety that made me wish they’d end sooner, with absolutely no interest in returning to them. In all the interviews I read and watch with Lars Von Trier, I only see a raging Trumpian narcissist; insecure enough to create controversial films meant to shock and piss people off and abandoning the flawless craftsmanship of his mid-work with films like Europa, Breaking the Waves, and Dancer in the Dark. There’s a certain cynicism prevalent in his later work (including this film and perhaps his most controversial yet in his latest The House that Jack Built; arriving this year). I was expecting more of the same from Nymphomaniac: hyper-violent sex, possibly so far as bondage and assault. And while I haven’t yet finished Volume 2, I figured that this should definitely be treated as two separate films; as I had forgotten of their separate release due to each volume running at about two hours with the director’s cut running six hours total. Unfortunately, I could only get the theatrical first volume and director’s cut for the second volume. The film opens on a rooftop where rain falls down, trickling down into the gutter, leaking out and onto a trash pile below. Knowing what the film’s about, you immediately piece together the metaphor; watching as the pure liquid works its way into trash we find a woman on the ground, Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg), beaten and unconscious. Rammstein kicks in with “Fuhr Mc” (Lead Me) and we see a man, Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), walk into a bodega and buy a few groceries, before finding her in the alley. He offers to call the police and she refuses, asking to go back to his place. She’s put up in the bed of his modest studio apartment. The walls are barren except for a picture of Mary holding Jesus and a piece of fly tackle hooked into the ceiling, along with a record player and a few books. Seligman is a well-read and empathetic man. He makes Joe a cup of tea who begins to tell her story, quickly revealing that she’s a nymphomaniac. The film is divided into five chapters, beginning with the story of how Joe discovered her addiction. It starts off with the most awkward scene of the film in which two young girls, no older than ten, splash water on the ground of a bathroom before rubbing themselves against it (leaving me in discomfort as I imagined how Von Trier could possibly direct this). Joe’s dad is a nameless doctor (Christian Slater) who maintains a loveless marriage (both emotionally and mentally) and seems to comprehend and empathize with Joe’s affliction. Around twelve Joe decides to lose her virginity, meeting up with the local bad boy Jerôme Morris (Shia LaBeouf) who takes her by inserting himself three times into her vagina and five times into her anus before finishing, which Seligman will reveal is a Fibonacci sequence (a mathematical formula that operates within most forms of the visual arts and music). Joe then stumbles home and so her sex addiction begins. At fifteen, Joe (played by the brilliant and courageous Stacy Martin) friends a fellow nymphomaniac friend who invites her to a game of sleeping with as many men on a train ride as possible. The winner receives a bag of chocolates. The friend explains that the easiest way is to ask "W-questions" - What time is it? Where is the bathroom? Where are they going? All meant to slowly lure the men out of the compartment and into their nest. It culminates in one of the films most grueling scenes as Joe essentially rapes a married man who’s on his way home to his ovulating wife, waiting for him to try and make a baby. Joe instead rubs his legs as he begs her to stop before fellating and relieving him of the seed he was saving for her. By this point I was nervous the film was simply another sensationalistic piece, showing the lowest and most private forms of life for the sake of pushing boundaries. At no point during the sequence does Joe show any signs of pleasure or enjoyment; nothing beyond wanting to service the man and her own compulsions. Back to present times, Seligman compares the train episode to his hobby of fly fishing (the chapter’s name “The Compleat Angler” in reference to some classic outdoors book about flying fishing by Izaak Walton) and the ways in which certain lures (like the one Seligman has hanging on his ceiling) are used to get the fish. For instance, in the case of the married man, it’s both about finding the best spot where the older and wiser fish live (like the First Class compartment) in which she can then trap them by their inability to leave. The story moves onto the next chapter, where Joe criticizes Seligman for eating pastries with a fork, which reminds Joe of her first job as a secretary; just so happening to apply for a job where Jerôme has temporarily taken over for his uncle. Remembering their rendezvous, he meets her into the elevator and stops it, making a move to which Joe denies him. By then, Joe had joined an anti-love group, causing her to sleep with everyone except Jerôme, including his co-workers, which drives him mad, until she decides she’s in love with him, writes a note, heads to work and finds that he had been fired and ran off with his other secretary. Joe continues her pattern of sleeping with men, scheduling a minimum of eight per day, requiring precise time frames which some men don’t mind and others don’t comprehend. It comes to a head when a Mr. H (Hugo Speer) arrives with his bags in hand, ready to move in without Joe’s knowledge. Shortly after which Mrs. H (Uma Thurman) arrives with her three boys, devastated and distraught, having followed him over; made all the more awful by the fact that Mr. H doesn’t know of the other men. Back to the present day, Joe’s in awe of Seligman’s respect and insights; if not a bit offended that he’s failed to make a pass. Seligman reveals that he’s asexual, existing on the opposite side of the spectrum, revealing that he’s never had any sexual desire; accompanied more by his books and music than anything else; kick-starting a discussion about Edgar Allan Poe’s and how his death reminds Joe of her father’s death from colon cancer. While her mother stayed away from the hospital, she watched her dad deteriorate which made her aroused. The film ends on the chapter “The Little Organ School” in which Seligman makes another obscure connection to Joe’s promiscuous habits and Bach’s composition by the same name which uses polyphony (meaning there’s more than one note played at a time; which sounds fancy but is basically what all music does today); in which each man she sleeps with provides a different form of pleasure. The selfless F (Nicolas Bro) fills a box with water and bathes Joe as though a child. The "second voice" G (Christian Gade Bjerrum) offers an animalistic lust. While Jerôme provides the emotional connection; each function as a different instrument. As things look like they’re beginning to settle, Joe then suddenly loses all sensation in her vagina and the film ends. The story takes on a common structure of a person relaying their life story to a complete stranger - Forrest Gump (1994) and Interview with a Vampire (1994) being two of the more popular examples. While it comes out of the gate with a bit too much shock value, it soon settles into an otherwise endearing story of a woman who’s struggling with a lifetime addiction that’s not at all different from alcohol or drugs. The reason the first chapter feels less connected to the others is by the very absence of pleasure. In the beginning, we see the young girl receive some sensation, but by age fifteen sex has developed into the very negation of pleasure; where at no point did she seem to enjoy herself so much as have a desire to have sex. The absence of explanation here made it feel a little gross. My cursory understanding of the disorder is that people are addicted to pleasure and are unable to moderate their intake. But if Joe had no pleasure, how did the addiction blossom? BELOW: Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page |
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