Holland

And it’s probably best if you don’t read this because nobody wants to hear someone else talk about how the book was better than the movie and how it was ruined by whitewashing it the way Hollywood always does. And nobody wants to hear somebody give away a bunch of spoilers just to complain about a movie they didn’t like.

     Cherry (2021, Anthony and Joe Russo) is a movie about junkies that feels like it was made by boring middle-aged white people whose target audience is boring, sheltered white teenagers. Everything this movie does misses the mark. The casting of the innocent, safe, boy next door with his squeaky high pitched voice and his dull, blank, kewpie doll are media bait targeting the youth market with the lure of counterfeit rebelliousness. 

     Also like every other Hollywood movie about junkies, Cherry conforms within the predictable arc of the rise and fall of a high that ends with loss, then punishment, then redemption through true love. There’re so many sappy scenes added that weren’t in the book. In the book Cherry and his wife cheat on each other habitually, and all of the love is drained from their marriage. But in the movie they’re ever-faithful and their love saves them from a harrowing bout with drugs that they manage to free themselves from. But the biggest divergence is the way they jettisoned the original ending. In the book, this despicable junkie couple just keep on carrying out the same acts of amoral, criminal desperation and shooting up heroin until you turn the page and it’s over. And what’s brilliant about that moment is it makes sense to depict addiction by showing characters that keep using. That’s what addiction is, right? But in the movie there’s now a new scene where the main character goes to prison. Cherry ends with him cleaning up and his wife apparently clean too, so they can live happily ever after. But why?

 

     Okay, then there’s the score. Obnoxiously, Cherry is wall to walled with symphonic orchestral arrangements that range from tender to romantic. As if there’s nothing more tender and romantic than drug addicted white twentysomethings. And the songs that pop up are adult contemporary bland tracks pulled from the muzak sampler of a Starbucks. Whereas the book is a moral latrine of unsympathetic, nihilistic, broken, dying animals that builds its milieu through detailed backstories of a large body of characters, many of which come and go never to return; the movie follows a few characters and replaces the pathos its characters solicit with the word fuck and vomiting. 

     None of the methods of filming in Cherry make sense either. For all the drone and crane overhead shots and sweeping pursuit vehicle moves, does the narrative ever benefit from them? Why the p.o.v. from inside the rectum in the prostate exam? To whom is that humor aimed? And worst, why all the mannequin challenge shots? Maybe all of this has been market researched and will amass a huge fanbase of youth receptive to its charms so why should I care?

 

2/25/2021 Landmark Midtown Art Cinema

Atlanta, GA

DCP

Wonderland

Willy’s Wonderland (2021, Kevin Lewis) could be seen as an allegory about the later phase of Cage’s acting career.                 

     Let’s say THE JANITOR embodies Cage’s eccentricities and obstinance to do his own thing—could that be a defining quality of an artist? The janitor has a job to do. He knows what he’s gotta do, what’s in it for him, and he keeps on schedule. And he never utters a line of dialogue. His silence could be seen as representing pure cinema.

     But what stands in his way? What opposition is he confronted with? Take the kids for starters. The kids represent commerce. From rock n’ roll flicks in the 50s to superhero tentpoles, teens dictate what dominates the market in Hollywood. In Willy’s Wonderland the kids are in many ways the opposite of the janitor: they’re annoying, always talking, their acting is bad, their dialogue is poorly written and cheesy; for the most part their screen time is cringe-inducing. And it’s apparent he wants nothing more than to be left alone to do his job. 

     Then there are the evil possessed puppets, who might depict something like the easy cheesy over-used motifs of genre movies. So in this building called Willy’s Wonderland of course the janitor defeats both of these adversaries in time. The kids all get murdered. Who says he has to save them? He dismembers all the big colorful cartoon machines. Because they were in the way of him getting the job done. 

 

     The most enjoyable moment in Willy’s Wonderland is a scene where the janitor lets himself go in the reverie of a game of pinball. Cage turns it into something more. There’s dancing, and some contortions best left to be seen for yourself. In addition to the pinball, the janitor’s only other indulgence he allows himself is a can of soda he consumes heavily. Does the soda mean anything? Probably not.

     Or does the soda represent artistic satisfaction? Fulfillment? The reward Cage gets from doing his own thing? And yeah, there is a survivor. One person. That segment of the demographic who get it, and their reward is that they get to come along for the ride, and share a soda.

 

2/13/2021 Plaza Theatre

Atlanta, GA

DCP

Boringland

Chloé Zhao’s films feel like she finds some people who nobody cares about, then begins researching their way of life. Like De Sica or Larry Clark, she casts non-professionals for authenticity, or maybe to discover something poetic.

     She films her marginalized menagerie in a western milieu, in touch with nature. Something wild in them yearning for freedom. An America without materialism, hi-tech interfaces, or decadence.

 

But her films are insufferable. Aside from the fact that Indians talk cool, and the curiosity to know more about life on the rez, what’s left is a bunch of really bad acting with a forced attempt at dealing with loss through an awkward, sentimental manipulation of fact with fiction. It’s not art just cause of the pretty horsies and sunsets.

     The films have a quasi-neorealism aesthetic, and you wanna feel for the characters. There’s an insight into their habits and behavior. But the dramatic thrust of the narrative isn’t detached, on the contrary, it tries to connect but fails. 

Nomadland (2020, Chloé Zhao) is a road movie about a homeless woman, who has no destination in the conventional sense associated with the genre. She takes crappy jobs here and there when she can find them. And we see her at work. Sounds amazing you say? Maybe even something like The Grapes of Wrath?

     Nah. It’s the same problem as with Zhao’s other films. If Nomadland were a documentary I bet I’d like it. In cinema, there’s a difference between slow and boring, but you wouldn’t know it from watching this movie. The most exciting thing in this movie are some scenes about rock collecting. I’m not saying I have a problem with rock collecting, but I’ve found for the first time an activity that I doubt has any business in any movie ever made. I’m thinking, right now, there has to be another scene where rock collecting pops up in some other movie. There has to be an exception. Even just one. I’ll have to get back to you on that.

 

     FERN has experienced loss. It defines her. The difference between loss and trauma, is trauma is easily rendered cinematically. Loss, on the other hand, is boring. We’ve all experienced loss. So what? Loss alone isn’t enough to compose a character off of. 

 

2/07/2021 AMC Southlake 24

Morrow, GA

IMAX