 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
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 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  Little boys and trains knows no bounds Director: Yasujirō Ozu Writer: Kogo Noda and Yasujirō Ozu Cinematographer: Yūharu Atsuta Producer: Takeshi Yamamoto by Jon Cvack I figured it was safe to assume that Early Summer would follow the style of Ozu’s other seasonal titles, focusing on a family as one of the members dealt with a woman who was reluctant to leave home. Late Spring (1949) follows an aging widower whose aging daughter refused to leave his care, The End of Summer (1961) flips the narrative, focusing on a widow who recruits her friends to match up her daughter, with Early Summer removing the more interesting co-stars, replacing them with a pair of matchmakers, creating a rom com structure with a melancholic romance. It involves 28-year old secretary Noriko Mamiya (Setsuko Hara) whose boss Satake (Shūji Sano) recommends as a match for his forty old friend and businessman. Not too interested, Noriko delays the decision as most of the members from her extensive family begin pushing her to accept. Soon she meets a childhood friend Kenkichi Yabe (Hiroshi Nihonyanagi), a doctor and recent widower, whose wife died a few years and brother was killed in WWII. Soon he’s called to a remote village for work, bringing Noriko along and the two soon get engaged, devastating her family. In the end they accept the decision, happy that she’s happy, watching her off as she travels off to start her new life, walking off through the barley fields. It’s this last point that someone on Wikipedia really lays into, editorializing that this closing image represents the “impermanent nature of life.” I personally just saw it as an art house version of a fairly classic romance. A girl is told to marry a successful businessman versus an impecunious doctor who’s dedicated his life to serving others and the family eventually comes around. Most of Ozu’s “seasonal” work I’ve seen has masterfully integrated these ideas into the narrative, combining older and younger characters that fully capture the finality of life and universality of what it means to be human. Early Summer was the first time I was bored with the filmmaker, as considering this story anything more profound than a 30s/40s American rom com is stretching the praise. What Ozu did so well with his other films (and I’m only about halfway through his filmography) is taking ridiculously simple stories and providing characters that create volumes of insight. Early Summer almost feels incomplete; as though failing to ever getting the full polish included on all his other work. It’s worth checking out, if nothing more than for realizing that he can repeat the same story for a third time, and with only minute differences, and make it feel far more empty. BELOW: Those closing barley fields - beautiful image or profound meditation on the impermanence of life? Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Susan Lacy Cinematographer: Ed Marritz and Samuel Painter Producer: Susan Lacy, Jessica Levin, and Emma Pildes by Jon Cvack NOTE: This was written about eighteen months ago before I got onto a pretty good gig directing full time. Before starting this blog, I wrote on movies for about a year and a half both out of embarrassment to put up anything. It created a backlog that's about eighteen months old from when I watched the film. It’s been a slow January, which is what I expected after a freak professional accident offset plans I had for continuing work on what began as a YouTube series, evolved toward a documentary, and then crashed and burned through a simple and stupid mistake. I can’t go into the details, other than to say it was an interesting, and at times, uneasy month and change. Although I’ve gone through it before, there’s something about freelance that prevents me from ever being comfortable; where no matter how much money was made or great of a project, and all the other projects before which led to that, I become convinced I’ll never work again. I once ran into a guy I went to school with on a train from Chicago in the middle of the night who was a political consultant, bouncing from campaign to campaign, and expressing the same discomfort. One of the grim realities I discovered with Road to the Well (2016) was that none of the people on the festival circuit have made many gains from their success. One friend of mine is approaching 40, living with his parents, trying to pay off the debts of his third feature film. All of us had faith in the idea of becoming the next 20-something indie filmmakers from the middle of nowhere who made a low budget feature that opened up the gates. What most of us somehow failed to grasp are the literally thousands of others whose films didn’t get into Sundance, or any top film festival, or couldn’t make it through post production because they didn’t have the money. The Onion articles are almost too easy to see - Filmmaker Living in Parents’ Basement, Hopeful his Fourth Micro Budget Neo-Noir Thriller Will be Festival Hit. The common criticism is that we should have just made something better, or at least have had a face in our projects; the former being ambiguous enough to be meaningless, and the latter being a matter of money and patience. Or my personal favorite being that, “It was always tough,” as though everything is the exact same in a world where no one buys DVDs, goes to the movies, and video games, new media, and television are at an all time popularity. A little over ten years ago, Sundance received about three to four thousand submissions. The year we submitted they said they received over 13,000 submissions. It’s objectively harder to get noticed, with a bar of quality being raised higher than most middle to lower close filmmakers are capable of achieving when scraping together a hundred thousand dollars or so. Even Sean Baker, while shooting Tangerine (2015) on iPhones, still had a $100,000 budget and he had made four features beforehand. He came up through that golden 90s period, and while I’m sure he’d say it was hard, again I know of at least two films that I believe should be far more successful than mine. My one friend’s Dependence Day (2016) is a raunchy mumblecore comedy, which at the very least, matches the quality of Swanberg, West, and others, and yet has had an underwhelming release, which isn’t to say it won 't one day blow up, so much as I’m surprised that even he, who made the most commercially competitive film, didn’t find the success I was anticipating. I had heard about Spielberg from a couple close friends, both who mentioned a scene specifically, in which Spielberg, George Lucas, Brian de Palma, Martin Scorsese, and Francis Ford Coppola would all hang out, critiquing each other’s work, creating a magical competitive spirit which would go onto produce some of America’s finest films. It’s a beautiful moment that makes me wonder if we’re all too late; that if it was simply a different time; that we all missed it by just a hair, and we’re all chasing something that’s becoming increasingly difficult, if not next to impossible. Watching Ken Burns Baseball (1994) the subjects often mention the magical feeling of going to the field, seeing a person just like you making a living playing such a seemingly simple game. They were able to watch their heroes stand in the field, waiting for their moment to perform, failing most of the time, and succeeding when it mattered. Ever since I’ve begun seeing filmmakers in the same way; that people like Scorsese, Coppola, de Palma, Paul Thomas Anderson, Tarantino, etc. all have the ability to make up stories and then go off to create them is one of the most magical ideas I can fathom. Making a film was the greatest professional/creative/personal experience I’ve ever had. For the first time in my life it felt as though I was doing exactly what I was made to do and what I had spent most of my adult life planning for. To accept that the vast majority of first time filmmakers will never go on to make another film is a difficult pill to swallow. Spielberg opens by discussing Lawrence of Arabia (1962) and the way in which the film completely transported him as he witnessed craftsmanship of the highest order creating a perfect piece of art. I haven’t returned to Lawrence of Arabia since I first worked through the AFI’s Top 100 and so while I don’t share his enthusiasm, if I could point to any one film that changed my life and perception of cinema as a profession rather than interest it’d be Jaws (1975). Like most great filmmakers (and as portrayed in the film), it’s Spielberg’s passion for cinema that indicates why he’s such a fantastic filmmaker. He had grown up Arizona, with his dad moving out after his mom had an affair, causing Stephen to increasingly turn to cinema to get his mind off the situation. He mentions how it was never the finished product that offered satisfaction but rather the process of filmmaking - solving problems, and trying your hardest to work a little to create as much as possible. In terms of my own experience on an ultra low budget picture and my current directing gig on Solve, I can 14 hour days never fly by faster than on set, as we were battling the clock and elements. What you discover is that the fun is as much in the problem solving as witnessing the film in your head come to life, as the latter rarely arrives. There isn’t a serious filmmaker in the world who doesn’t know the story of Spielberg taking the Universal Backlot tour, sneaking off the tram and finding an office where he pretended to work for weeks until one of the execs noticed and brought him in as one of the youngest television directors on the lot. He was only 20 years old. After a string of successful television episodes, proving that he had what it took, he was offered to direct his first feature at age 24 or 25 - the ABC television movie Duel (1971). Its success then led him to direct Jaws at only 29 or 30 years old. Being 31, I’m increasingly blown away that a first studio movie made for $50 million (adjusted for inflation), going 100 days over its 55 day schedule, merging high craftsmanship with popular storytelling, still regarded as one of the finest creature features ever made (let alone greatest films), was made by someone years younger than me. It’s here that I don’t resent what he achieved, as to this day I don’t think there’s been another filmmaker like him, who’s able to combine incredible craft and insight with accessibility, enough to please both cinephiles and mainstream audiences. Off the top of my head only Hitchcock or Billy Wilder could take such a position. Spielberg is in an anomaly; a person who was able to work his way through the complex Hollywood labyrinth at an early enough age to develop his craft that would lead to such a meteoric ride. The documentary goes on to explore some of his films, and while I’d like to say his most noteworthy, it leaves some out or offers only tangential thoughts (Hook (1991), Saving Private Ryan (1998)) while digging deeper into those most could care less about (Minority Report (2002), The War of the Worlds (2005)). The film could have easily been a four part series, going through each film one by one, offering us all of the trivia and anecdotes that filled each production (the development of Indiana Jones with George Lucas; the production of Saving Private Ryan; working with Robin Williams and how they developed the character; and so on). Nevertheless, it was fascinating to watch his evolution as a filmmaker, moving on from his more popular subject matter before finally showing up critics by turning to more serious content. I watched The Post (2017) while working on this essay, which was absolutely incredible; and while I’m waiting for my hype to die down, it could be one of his finest dramas. It’s a return to his ability to show rather than tell, following and blocking characters with high energy. Unfortunately, his biggest weakness is having too strong a dependence on VFX in his latter career, in which films like Minority Report, AI (2001), The War of the Worlds, and The Crystal Skull (2008) all lose that Spielberg touch in teasing audiences with information, and instead showing them outright. Having returned to the original Indiana Jones trilogy, you need look no further than The Last Crusade (1989) or The Temple of Doom (1984) to understand this point. It’s tangible and exciting, and exactly what cinema is about. That a person like Spielberg could exist - who in his own words “dreams for a living” - in which amidst the ugliness of big money can go on to create some of the finest works of art of the past fifty years is one of the most beautiful ideas I can think of when it comes to modern art. What bums me out is wondering about all those kids on the downside of privilege who will never have the opportunity. I often wonder how many have been arrested or kicked out for trying to replicate his story of sneaking off the tram. Now most colleges of film or media production programs, with equipment so cheap that anyone can make a movie, with studios risk adverse, relying on the independent companies to filter out talent, who rely on film festivals to scout out talent, who require the filmmakers themselves to make their own art, and compete with tens of thousands of others on a playing field that is anything but equal. The top film programs have their own networks, and in a industry where money often buys solutions, it’s the middle and lower classes that can’t compete with the wealthy. Watching Spielberg you realize how miraculous it is for a person like him to exist and how precious his art truly is; when someone who loved it most who make it to the top. BELOW: I had probably seen this movie over a dozen times before I realized this is a single take. It's the epitome of immersion Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Armie and Chalamet were built to play characters from the 80s Director: Luca Guadagnino Writer: James Ivory; Call Me by Your Name by André Aciman Cinematographer: Sayombhu Mukdeeprom Producer: Peter Spears, Luca Guadagnino, Emilie Georges, Rodrigo Teixeira, Marco Morabito, James Ivory, and Howard Rosenman by Jon Cvack Every year there’re those one or two films that provide a flawless experience. I could argue why other films seem misplaced on the Year’s Best, but ultimately, when it comes to a certain caliber of filmmaking, it all depends on taste.* Everyone hopes to achieve this feeling with each new piece of art; that’ll it be a favorite of the year, or - even better - one of the best of the decade, or - even better - the greatest movie ever made. It rarely occurs, but when it does, it leaves you with that lingering inexplicable feeling which can last weeks. Call Me By Your Name has been labeled a "Gay Love Story", but it’s arguably one of the greatest love stories ever made; breaking down the division between gay and straight cinema once and for all. Brokeback Mountain (2005) was the first time I ever saw a “Gay Love Story”, providing a pretty good and heartbreaking look at a long love affair between two cowboys, along with examining the very foundation of masculinity. I revisited the film a few years later and realized the power of story over topic, and how although Brokeback Mountain was a good movie with amazing performances, I never connected with the characters, as I’m neither a tough guy or a cowboy and thus the rugged masculinity was something I struggled to relate to. The same issue occurred with Moonlight (2016), which while a very good movie, still felt as though something was missing from the affair; essentially exploring similar ideas as Brokeback, except focused on urban rather than rural America. In such an environment, hyper masculinity thrives, in which those with the most courage (expressed through violence) gain respect, dividing real from fake men, leading us to assume homosexuality can't possibly work within such a toxic world. Barry Jenkins flips these assumptions on their head, though unfortunately, the love story between Chiron and Kevin, while ending beautifully, ignores the initial spark between young lovers. Teenage Chiron’s timid personality just didn’t off enough richness to forge as solid a bond with Kevin in youth. Ultimately, while both films came close, I never fully connected with the other set of characters, making me wonder if it was because they were "Gay Love Stories" and I was only looking for superficial reasons to convince myself otherwise; that is, did I like and not love these films because they unrelatable or because of some more systemic reason. I knew Call Me By Your Name was a similar story, though not knowing the acclaim it would receive, I watched the preview, seeing what looked like an absolutely gorgeous film. Soon it was positioned at the top of most critics lists, and having loved Timothée Chalamet in Ladybird (2017), I rushed to see it before it left theaters. It opens up in the 1980s in an Italian countryside during the summer, at a cottage which is surrounded by apricot trees, rented by an archaeology professor Mr. Pearlman (Michael Stuhlbarg), his wife Annella (Amira Casar), and their 17-year old son Elio (Chalamet) who spends his days with his headphones on, listening to piano, transcribing the music, broken up by flying through books and hanging out with some of the local girls. Mr. Perl and Annela have selected a new graduate student Oliver (Armie Hammer) to join them for their summer internship and help with some research. I was a bit turned off by Hammer, initially. I haven’t seen him since The Social Network (2010) where he created one of the most bro-y characters I’ve ever watched. He maintains a similar confidence and attitude in this film, and yet provides an additional layer of complexity which doesn’t necessarily forgive or excuse what he does, but creates enough dimension in the character to create of the greatest romantic duos to ever grace the screen (or so I expect). We follow the characters as it moves from resentment on Elio’s end (having to give up his room and deal with Oliver’s bro-yness) and Oliver's complete indifference to subtle touches and innocent flirtation to the first kiss and all of the passion it brings. Most people I know have experienced a heart crushing love, falling into obsession as desire takes complete control of your mind and body, and all else takes a back seat. If it was you, you were fine with, and if it was your friend, you were pissed. In my own experience I simply remember the sheer elation in finally getting to be intimate for the first time with someone I cared deeply about; a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. As quick as it arrives the first problem occurs - there’s a fight one night, more follow, and soon the break up arrives, and whether a clean break or dragging on for months after that, all you end up with is chasing that initial seemingly perfect feeling which was not at all perfect. Call Me By Your Name captures this specific moment in time, in which everything from the production design to photography to characters to setting add up to create a world so vivid that anyone - old or young, gay or straight, bigoted or not - could connect to what Elio was experiencing, or at least anyone who’s gone through a similar coming of age moment. When I think back to my first love I recall the initial conversations we had through AIM, not knowing who she was, then meeting her and thinking she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen; in disbelief that someone like that could like me. From there, it quickly descended into a long, chaotic mess, extending across years worth of time. The details are some of the most embarrassing moments of my life, from accepting the way she acted for so long and for how I acted myself, all while maintaining the hope that things could return to that first moment. Many people have similar experiences with love - and with only a cliche to suffice - they too have blinders on as the relationship becomes unsustainable; scared that they’ll never find another person ever again, never able to grasp all of the glaring fundamental problems until years later. When I look back at my first, I can laugh and cringe at how naive I was, while respecting how powerful those feelings were. The greatest Coming of Age stories create distinct atmosphere. When I think of the best, it’s often Stand by Me (1986), My Girl (1991), and Now and Then’s (1995) ability to take you back to childhood summers, before you and your friends had to work; in which the town was the entire world, creating a desire for adventure; often involving a mystery that needs to be solved and inspiring thousands of kids all over the world to go and discover the difference between fantasy and reality. Call Me By Your Name isn’t as extreme in plot, yet the mystery remains just as prominent. How will these two characters pull off a romance in such an intimate setting? Set in an old beautiful house with a labyrinth of corridors and gardens, leading to pools and ponds and open laws, with guests, friends, and family everywhere. I could feel the heat of the sun, offering that perfect temperature that allows you to remain outdoors for hours. With its vibrant color, it moves beyond a look and actually feels idyllic. Everyone seems relaxed, down to the apricot juice to cool them off and chilled wine later in the evening. We watch as Oliver first offers an innocuous touch during the volleyball game as Elio cramps up, with his latest and very pretty female prospect Marzia (Esther Garrel) watching on, not suspecting anything, and slowly things intensify, culminating in one of the best shots this year, as Oliver and Elio stop in front of some statue, with Elio explaining its meaning, the camera then revealing it as a WWI memorial. They walk around it and toward the post office, arriving at the precipice of their desire. The first kiss follows shortly after. After writing a short thought blurb on Facebook, I had one person say Oliver was a predator. I never even thought about the situation. I wondered what the age of consent would be in Italy at the time, but it was a fleeting thought, quickly outweighed by Elio’s maturity and insight, though never becoming a full adult. There’s an immaturity to his view of the world which only experience could fill, which takes me back to what I said about first loves in that the passion simply overtakes you. For Elio it evolved to love, and for Oliver it was lust. One of the most powerful things about the film - never explicitly stated- is that no one in this film can be open about their sexuality. Being years older, and as hinted at throughout the story, Oliver understands the potential consequences, and having had to push his desires aside throughout all his life, mentioning his father who would freak and the woman he’s about to marry, I see a man whose guilt prevented him from ever even considering coming out. The AIDS epidemic was right around the corner, which made the setting all the more tranquil; as though the calm before the storm, when Gay Rights would charge to the forefront of debate. Concealment runs throughout the story, extending to Mr. Perlman who also offers subtle gestures toward his own sexuality before the final reveal at the end. In mild ways I wish he didn’t even give such an extensive speech at the end of the film, as with the hints scattered throughout the story, his point could have gotten across with half the specificity. And yet the speech dwells in my mind, in which we see how all these characters are connected - to the father who was unable to do anything about his sexuality or even experience the same beautiful opportunity, instead opting for tradition, which produced Elio who gets to experience the wonder of lust and love. Oliver understands the dangers, willing to follow his instincts while balancing a more traditional relationship. All of them demands their secrets are kept, described and shown in a way that is absolutely heartbreaking. The film hardly even touches on politics, and yet if there was a bridge that could unite audiences, I think this film could accomplish it. I struggle to think of a romantic film that produced such empathy, creating a waterfall of nostalgia and beauty, creating a story I think could be remembered as one of the finest lover stories ever made. BELOW: A magnficiently complex oner Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  It's hard to find to find a good image, but basically the guy on the right tries to hook up with girls around the age of 18 or younger and it's never presented as all that weird Director: Éric Rohmer Writer: Éric Rohmer Cinematographer: Néstor Almendros Producer: Margaret Ménégoz by Jon Cvack It was after seeing Love in the Afternoon (1972) about a year ago along with Suzanne's Career (1963) a year or so before that, that I was fairly certain that this film too would be misogynistic. It was exciting to see a New Wave filmmaker continue to produce interesting work into the 80s; coming up with black and white, taking on that unique 70s style, then reaching that specific 80s universe, now containing that modern look yet with the crimped blonde hair, short shorts and suits, one piece bathing suits, and white/blue and white/red striped shirts and jackets. Hours ago I had just seen Call Me By Your Name (2017), which provided that rare experience that only a phenomenal movie provides. It hasn’t left my mind since the credits rolled, with Timothée Chalame in close, his eyes full of tears. Prior to viewing, I didn’t know the film took place in the 80s, and yet it never calls attention to itself, as so many films are prone to do with the decade. Seeing this right after I finished Pauline at the Beach was peculiar, as the two films are strikingly similar, to where I’d assume director Luca Guadagnino had to have seen this; providing one of those rare cinematic coincidences where the stars align and provide you with a flawless blend. The story involves the sexy and crimped Marion (Arielle Dombasle) who is taking care of her younger, 12 year old cousin Pauline (Amanda Langlet). The two head to an unspecified coastal town, with nothing to do but hang at the beach all day. Marion wears a sexy 80s one piece swimsuits that shows off her every curve, which when bumping into an ex-lover Pierre (Pascal Greggory), reignites his feelings toward her. As they talk, they’re met by a creepy looking middle-aged man Henri (Féodor Atkine) who has an ugly tattoo on his arm and whose hairline recedes far back except for a tiny island clump near the front of his scalp. He invites the three over for dinner where they have a discussion about love, with Marion believing love at first sight, Henri not looking for anything serious, Pierre thinking love has to grow, while Pauline has no opinions (or experience at all). They later go dancing* where Pierre then admits his love for Marion, who rejects him, knowing he’s a jealous guy, suggesting that perhaps he should go for Pauline to which he immediately rejects the idea in disgust, Marion instead opts for Henri, sleeping with him later that night. I’m not sure what the statutory rape laws were in France in 1983; that is, whether this was culturally normal, or whether it was around the same age here, and therefore making Marion’s ideas all the stranger. The next day, Pauline and Marion return to the beach where they meet a boy around Pauline’s age named Sylvain (Simon de la Brosse). Pauline and Sylvain hit it off, ending up back at Henri’s cottage where they begin to dance, with them ending up in a bed as Henri comes home, finding Pauline shirtless, all while Marion is beginning to develop serious feelings for Henri. Pauline and Marion then head for a day trip, where Henri sleeps with a local beach snack sales girl Louisette (Rosette). Confusion arises when Pierre walks by, seeing Louisetta in Henri’s bed, all while Marion comes home while they’re having sex, leading Henri to put Louisetta in Sylvaine’s room, with Marion entering and asking who the girl is, with Henri saying he found Sylvaine and Louisetta having sex. PIerre then tries to tell Marion the truth about Henri, with Marion telling Pauline what Henri told her about Sylvaine, causing Sylvaine and Pauline to call things off, for reasons that Sylvaine doesn’t understand. Marion then gets called in for work, having to leave town, leaving Pauline with Pierre, Sylvain, and Henri, who all try to work the situation, with Pauline still pissed at Sylvain, wondering why he went along with Henri’s ruse. Things turn weird when Pauline has to choose between being taken home by Pierre or staying at Henri’s, choosing Henri, who then tries to seduce her the next morning (again, she’s 12 and he must be in his 40s), with Pauline kicking him out. In the end, rather than accepting the lies, Pauline and Marion decide to leave their affairs behind. While this might sound confusing, Rohmer actually maintains clarity throughout the story. In the end, he’s exploring four different perspectives of love, with two supplemental characters. Pierre’s commitment in allowing love to develop has prevented him from moving on from Marion, with only molestation offered as a possible option, deepening his humiliation; Henri’s distaste for serious commitment is what destroys all of the relationships; Marion’s love at first sight philosophy causes her to have blinders when the deceit begins; and Pauline attempts to explore all of the above, never fully immersing herself into any relationship so much as taking a taste, discovering tragedy in all options. It’s a stranger movie to consider than how it plays, and yet also one the better Rohmer films I’ve seen, offering a complexity across all genres. He doesn’t fully escape his misogyny by fully objectifying Arielle Dombasle, but rather attempts to show us as much as possible, no matter the purpose. The Pierre/Pauline pitch was also odd, and while it definitely added a bizarre twist, I’m not sure if it was meant to be as creepy as it came across, as Pierre’s reaction is far more tame than I imagine most others. While not nearly as brilliant or endearing as Call Me By Your Name, it’s a great movie from an increasingly fascinating time period. *It was this scene specifically that made watching Call Me By Your Name so weird, as I was admiring native 80s films’ ability to capture a moment in time; to show how kids dressed, the music they listened, and whether they ate drank or smoked. Call Me By Your Name provides a strikingly similar scene. BELOW: The only clip I can find Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Whose darkest hour? Director: Joe Wright Writer: Alex von Tunzelmann Cinematographer: Bruno Delbonnel Producer: Tim Bevan, Lisa Bruce, Eric Fellner, Anthony McCarten, and Douglas Urbanski by Jon Cvack It’s gotten to the point where I always count on at least one British biopic per year that will abide by the same exact formula - a famous figure deals with a seemingly insurmountable task, reaching the very brink of hopelessness and then overcoming it; appearing to originate with 2006’s The Queen, switching out the matriarch with 2010’s sleepy Best Picture winner The King’s Speech, somehow drifting into even duller territory with 2014’s The Theory of Everything (which I’m still in shock for having basically ignored every single one of Stephen Hawking’s world changing discoveries). For this reason, I had no intention of seeing Darkest Hour, as with it being an absolutely fantastic year for cinema, there was just too much to see in theaters, having also noticed that this film was bouncing out of theaters left and right. Between Call Me By Your Name (2017) and this, I looked up the trailer, figuring if pressed, Call Me By Your Name’s theatrical run would last longer. I then saw that Joe Wright had directed it. I’ve loved most of what he’s done, not yet having seen Pan (2015) or The Soloist (2009), but loving Atonement (2007), and especially his Pride & Prejudice (2005) and Anna Karenina (2012) adaptations. Similar to David Lean, he has an ability to take older material and provide a fresh and fascinating view. Seeing him in the chair for Darkest Hour - as generic as the story seemed to be; exploring Winston Churchill in this case - it’d at least be a very pretty movie to look at. Gary Oldman’s performance was the first celebrated piece of the film, and it's truly stunning. I was certain I’d at least be somewhat distracted by the fat suit for awhile, in awe of how great it looked, and yet within moments I was taken away. I did not see the suit anymore than Gary Oldman. It was watching the unique portrait of one of the most esteemed leaders of the 20th century, along with many of his foibles. Similar to Downfall (2004), he’s introduced via his new secretary Elizabeth Layton (Lily James) who immediately meets his temper as he attempts to dictate a letter, with Elizabeth unable to keep up. She sticks around and joins Churchill from becoming prime minister and down into the underground bunker where he conducts the war. The film opens up in the raucous Parliament with a bird’s eye view, as the members demand the resignation of liberal Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain in favor of a conservative leader. The camera drops down into close up as they narrow down the choices to Winston Churchill and Edward Woof of Halifax (I thought his name was Halifax, but the actual title is Edward Wood, 1st Earl of Halifax, so I’ll just go with Halifax). The members agree on electing Churchill who then has to go and meet King George VI (Ben Mendelsohn; who was killing me in trying to remember what I’ve seen him in; strange enough, it was Place Beyond the Pines (2012) of all films, where he plays the redneck mechanic). The King and Churchill don’t get along due to some reason I’m not entirely sure of and can’t seem to find by my cursory Wikipedia dive, but seems to involve a comment made about the king, with the King admitting that Churchill wouldn’t have been his first choice. I wish this movie came out before Dunkirk (2017), as there couldn’t be a better film to help people understand (myself included) what actually happened on the beach. As an American, I always thought it was some epic battle by the likes of our D-Day when it was actually the complete opposite, as with Roosevelt keeping America isolated and out of WWII, Hitler ravaged through Europe in blitzkrieg fashion, with the French soon surrendering and the British looking to be next to fall. Many on the Left, fearing a horrible slaughter if they were to continue, opted for a peace settlement, figuring that they could find a compromise with the Axis. Churchill and the conservatives wanted to keep fighting, and soon the vast majority of the British Army, approximately 300,000 troops, were stranded across the English Channel on the beach of Dunkirk, with the British having limited water or air support to rescue them. German Luftwaffe patrolled the skies and it was a matter of days before the Nazis closed in, demanding they settle in peace or that they’d continue the slaughter. It was truly a hopeless situation, with all signs pointing to surrender. Knowing any of this would have completely changed my experience of Dunkirk (at least the first third where I had no idea what was going on). In one funny scene, Churchill calls Roosevelt, asking - nearly begging - for the planes that they had purchased from the Americans, to which Roosevelt refers to the Neutrality Agreement he had to honor (not yet being in the war), preventing the states from sending the planes. He then suggests that Churchill bring some horses to the American/Canadian border where he can drag the planes across without breaking the law, for a reason not entirely clear. It’s an absurd idea which would take weeks to achieve when Churchill only had days, though also serves as a great version of Historical relativism, in which we think Roosevelt was this grand hero the whole time during WWII, when in fact, he has rather powerless in assisting countries until the Pearl Harbor attack. With the exception of Daniel Day Lewis or Philip Seymour Hoffman, I struggle to recall a better example of an actor falling further into an historical figure; as it takes only minutes before his presence fades and it truly feels as though we’re watching the actual Churchill, or at least the portrait created by all I’ve ever learned about the man. I struggle to think of what it is I didn’t like about this film, as counter to most biopics it picks a specific moment, offering a fascinating look into an incredible event, and yet, by containing a structure that’s applied to so many similar, yet far more superficial films, it never feels as fully realized as Wright’s other work. His birds eye views worked on occasion, and other time times felt like expensive VFX when a more intimate portrait of the men on the ground could have benefited. Allegedly there’s a supercut of the Dunkirk and this film, which the more I think about, the more amazing I think it could be. Given the situation, the reluctance to show the troops in a more intimate fashion made the story feel disconnected; at times as though Churchill was concerned more about proving his enemies wrong and himself right. Given what the battle scenes accomplished in Atonement, I was left wanting to see the same for Darkest Hour, with the story falling far too heavily on the character over the situation. The darkest hour wasn’t Churchill having to head to the war room after his English breakfast, served with fresh orange juice and champagne, capped off with his classic cigar. It was after fighting to defeat, waiting on the beach, unsure if their government would ever come to their rescue. BELOW: For all the Iron Maiden fans out there 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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