#me(dieval)too

The Last Duel (2021, Ridley Scott) centers on the plight of the character MARGUERITE DE CARROUGES, played by Jodie Comer. Because Marguerite is beautiful and well-versed in Latin literature, men both desire and take advantage of her. 

     The Last Duel is a woman’s picture adorned with a surface coat of medieval action. In it, the central character must choose between a marriage of security or an affair of romance. Except she doesn’t have any choice in either matter, as both men rape and objectify her anyway. There’s also a Rashomon narrative structure that doesn’t really make a convincing debate for either of the other perspectives besides that of Marguerite. And in one of the most overtly aggressive instances of symbolism, the scene where JEAN DE CARROUGES has a fit because a black stallion starts mating with a white mare, the awkward tone of this movie’s subject is hammered home.

     This is the least sexiest Ridley Scott movie I’ve ever seen. When there are sex scenes, they feel immoral because the characters are horrible. When there are sex scenes between characters we think may turn out to be decent, they feel immoral because there’s no intimacy, connection, or even consent. As Jean de Carrouges, Matt Damon delivers a great performance, being constantly dealt miserable blows to his ego that he whines or rages at, all with his scarred face and bad mullet.

     This movie feels so unscrupulously assembled that I think it may be destined for cult status. Something about its lavish production values, big-name  cast, and heavy handed agenda seem spoiled by what amounts to cheap melodrama. But I will say somehow seeing this in the theater wasn't a total waste because of Alex Lawthor as KING CHARLES VI. Oh my what, the king's expressions, snickering, and amusement during the proceedings is hysterically counterpoint to the tone of everything else in this movie; what a treat.

 

10/16/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8

Atlanta, GA

DCP

     

Everyone Loses

Halloween Kills (2021, David Gordon Green) is something powerful. Somewhere around the early ‘10s I’d noticed David Gordon Green had a fondness for casting oddities, weirdos, and what I referred to as “grotesques.” Some of these people have an authenticity one doesn’t usually encounter in Hollywood movies. Some are amputees. Some are from the streets. Some have a mental illness. But Green cares for them. And this is part of what makes him original and begins to encapsulate a description of his style of filmmaking.

     MICHAEL MYERS is the ultimate David Gordon Green grotesque. The motif Kills establishes wherein Myers is discovered to have spent most of his life looking out the window of his bedroom not at Haddonfield, but at his own reflection is profound. This image system adds so much depth to Myers’ character because in answer to the fundamental question the franchise is built on: “Is there anything staring back at us behind those empty eyes?,” it suggests the possibility that maybe as a child Myers wondered the same thing. And one could even go further and ask, how much of the violence and hate inflicted on Myers made him less a person and more THE SHAPE?

     To make a broad sweeping generalization about David Gordon Green, his movies typically fall into two distinct categories: R-rated comedies with heart, and bleak rural arthouse depression. What makes Halloween Kills indelible is how depressing it is. The original (cut) ending David shot for Halloween (2018, Green) had The Shape getting attacked and shot by a crossbow through his shoulder, finally wandering away to sit, exhausted, defeated, and remove his mask as the camera irises out. That’s the kind of depressing tone David does so well. And even though it was replaced by a more traditionally satisfying ending, I felt the same impact in another scene in Halloween Kills. It’s when SHERIFF BARKER, played by Omar Dorsey, finally gives up trying to uphold the law when the mob rushes out of the hospital; sitting down in a stairwell, exhausted, defeated, and removes his cowboy hat.

     Yet even more depressing is the scene where the escapee from Smith’s Grove makes the plummet. Fuck. That shit is emotionally atrocious. Because right when KAREN takes his hand and offers him kindness, he’s done for. That’s where the pathos sparks. But that aftermath from Christopher Nelson is one of the most gruesome, shocking, amazing deaths in a horror movie. And then the mob, well...

 

I wasn’t prepared for how much I loved all the 1978 timeline, and how well it matches its period look. Halloween Kills pays a lot of attention to building on Haddonfield as a world, and again trenching up so many potent aspects of already established franchise lore. Like the way it picks up on the same night just like Halloween II (1981, Rick Rosenthal). Also the way Halloween Kills all takes place on the same night as the film that precedes it has this quality where it’s in many ways bigger, and faster paced, and has more action, but still contained and claustrophobic—something Carpenter built into its style long ago.

     And as I wind down I’ll close with some minutiae. In Halloween (2018), the shot where the smartphone gets thrown in the nacho cheese read to me like the movie was alluding to some deliberate wink about how modern tech devices and crap like that don’t belong in the movie. So I had a similar hunch in Halloween Kills during the scene with the drone; not saying much here other than could be poking fun at modern technology/annoying products? Also the bartender at the talent show is played by an actor named Brian Mays, who I think owns Sam’s BBQ in Austin, that casting director John Williams suggested. I do know David loves casting Brian Mays, and the dude is great in a way that proves the joys of seeing someone give non-professional actors a shot. 

     The scenes with the little kid razor blade trick r treaters is the funniest. Just those kids whole attitude is fun. And it kind of goes with the comments from the doctor about JULIEN, when he calls him like “that little asshole kid.” Halloween Kills rules because it’s bleak, sad, way depressing, yet with a dash of funny hijinks. Everyone loses. And for a horror movie, why not? Halloween Kills is brutal in many ways, but especially in that it doesn't give us any silver linings for once. Brilliant.

 

10/14/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8

Atlanta, GA

DCP 

I Hate Movie Reviews

Titane (2021, Julia Ducournau) gives us the life of a character called ALEXIA. The titanium grafted into her skull is strong and resistant to high levels of heat; yet it also can be a vulnerability if impacted by great force. This motif defines her character. 

     Alexia’s values, behavior, psychology, and motives don’t conform to those of traditional narrative filmmaking. But as a movie character, her plight pulls us in. And were I to describe the feeling her character evokes, it’s an outpour of empathy. Okay, you know that girl with the tank top that says “Never Give Up?” Notice how Alexia inexplicably winds up with it on—because that slogan belongs to her. If there’s one thing I know about Alexia, it’s never give up. Think about the scene in the airport bathroom: it’s the only time we see her smile. And why? Because she’s found a way to buy herself just a little more time. 

     But Titane isn’t so much a movie to be analyzed, as it is to be experienced. Its plot asks us to accept some pretty outlandish turns, but why shouldn’t it? After all, it’s a movie. It’s stylized artifice. The scene with that newscast on the tv leads off with its three top stories: the ADRIEN LEGRAND case closing, the fourth victim of a serial killer and a catastrophic forest fire. And those aren’t just the top stories in this fictionalized France, they’re fundamentally the premise that drives Titane.

     So while Titane has a clear premise, Alexia’s sexuality doesn’t readily offer any simple explanations. And this is what makes Titane so enjoyable—and gives it depth. The sequence with the assailant in the parking lot has the same terrifying sound cues as the scene with the low rider. Does that mean in the latter case, Alexia is exploring some kinky taboo? Or is she assaulted? Or both? Sexuality is the basis for the most pivotal scenes in the movie. 

     The opening set piece at the low rider car show is the movie’s most technically ambitious in terms of staging. It’s a long take. It fetishizes car parts and women’s bodies. And Alexia’s erotic dance could make one ask what her reasons are behind it. The easy answer is she gets off on cars. But does she enjoy arousing the audience? Is she doing it to provoke them? Does she do it for attention? Of course, Titane knows leaving these questions unanswered is best. It’s how this material derives its dramatic tension. 

     Then there’s the bus ride. Something about that reprehensible dynamic makes Alexia decide to go back to the house she just left. Again, we don’t see what happened to the other girl on the bus. It’s not about that. It’s about Alexia running out of options. Finally, the final dance when Alexia’s on top of the firetruck gives us the most insightful glimpse at her character arc. Even though she returned to live out this life, she dances the same type of dance she did in the movie’s opening scene. Because she’s used to being herself. Because it’s an integral part of her identity. And again it’s as though this arouses her to the point of giving in to the same kind of sex she indulged in right after the first dance we saw. But this time it’s entirely different. Why doesn’t it work? Why is everything about it wrong? Why does it hurt her so much? These questions are the film’s climax and so much a part of its indelible impact.

 

10/1/2021 AMC Phipps Plaza 14

Atlanta, GA

DCP