1. Annette (2021, Leos Carax)
2. The French Dispatch (2021, Wes Anderson)
3. Halloween Kills (2021, David Gordon Green)
4. The Suicide Squad (2021, James Gunn)
5. Rifkin’s Festival (2020, Woody Allen)
6. Last Night in Soho (2021, Edgar Wright)
7. The Last Duel (2021, Ridley Scott)
8. House of Gucci (2021, Ridley Scott)
9. Red Rocket (2021, Sean Baker)
10. Titane (2021, Julia Ducournau)
Paul Thomas Anderson has maybe three distinct phases of his career so far. First there’s the style of his early period, when his films were bombastic, forcefully kinetic, grand, sweeping melodramas with lots of yelling. These were Boogie Nights (1997), Magnolia (1999) and Punch-Drunk Love (2002). These films also display an impulsive originality, with odd characters and an indulgence in the unexpected. And they’re serious dramas that remain fully immersed in comedy.
But what happens in Magnolia and Punch-Drunk Love is that Jon Brion composes original scores that take prominence in the mixing of the soundtrack, and additionally are featured heavily throughout the entirety of these works. It's a pivotal moment in Anderson's development as a filmmaker. (I saw Magnolia five times in the theater when it came out and cried every time.) Then after many years came There Will Be Blood (2007).
The next phase would be marked by a refined cohesion of tone; a slower, more calculated fluidity of camera moves; and original scores by another brilliant composer who drops the H, Jonny Greenwood. These are There Will Be Blood, The Master (2012), and Inherent Vice (2014). These are Anderson’s 3 masterpieces. Two dark epics about obsessive capitalism and a pure comedy Pynchon-faithful to the finest detail adaptation. These are the 3 I can rewatch for days. Each is perfect.
Inherent Vice gets funnier every time I watch it. Eventually I realized my favorite parts involve the chemistry between the performances of Phoenix and Owen Wilson on screen together. The fog scene is amazing. DOC: “I don’t know what I just saw.” COY: “Me neither. In fact, I don’t even wanna know.”
For now, it seems like he may be in the final phase. I didn’t like Phantom Thread (2017) at first. I still don’t really, but it’s fun to watch because of Day-Lewis’ and Manville’s performances. And the Greenwood score—especially the high point of the film, the entire sequence where the socialite gets wasted in Woodcock’s dress, with the expressionist music accompanying and underscoring it.
If Phantom Thread is an anti-romance, fittingly it’s followed by the nostalgic youth romance Licorice Pizza (2021). If I tell you I didn’t like a movie does the reason why even matter? Mostly it’s because it’s a romance about two characters whom I really don’t care whether or not they even get together. Or maybe it’s because there’s not a single aspect of either of their young lives I find remotely appealing, nor does L.A. or Encino or whatever in 1970 whatever look cool, fun, or exciting.
Like Anderson’s early period, Licorice Pizza revisits his long since passed mode of rough camera work, with documentary-like whip pans, and in-camera editing, suggesting something like a return to his youthfulness technically to match the subject matter? Licorice Pizza also feels like it’s trying to be spontaneously odd, but I don’t know if it works this time. And does anyone else think it’s funny? I don’t. The biggest offence I took at unfunny is the John Michael Higgins character who speaks to his Japanese wives in a thick mocking American trying to sound Japanese accent. Not like racist offensive, like this is so painfully not funny offensive.
This movie was just such a disappointment to me. The motorcycle jump scene was excruciating. The buildup was not exciting. The jump was weak. The aftermath was a letdown. Symptomatic of the whole experience. Also what’s up with the characters running everywhere?
Trivia: Alana Haim is the star of Licorice Pizza. When I first heard of Haim I thought it was pronounced Haim like Corey Haim. I just watched Magnolia again on streaming (yes I cried 5 times again) and saw this scene I totally forgot about where as soon as the Michael Bowen character, STANLEY SPECTER’S dad, asks that Felicity Huffman character if she’s heard anything about the new Corey Haim pilot, he mispronounces it like the group HAIM.
12/25/2021 AMC Phipps Plaza 14
Atlanta, GA
DCP
Nightmare Alley (2021, Guillermo del Toro) is a perfect model of the application of genre and setting. Its genre is carnival noir. And its setting is the point between the end of the Great Depression and the beginning of WWII—does this give you an idea of how dark you can expect what follows to be yet?
The noir angle is more than following good guy STANTON CARLISLE (Bradley Cooper) as he turns bad. It’s the empty desperation within the lives of its characters. And, there’s a tangible, prevalent sense of the dread that all of them are on the grift; and in constant danger of being found out, betrayed, exploited, of in some form violently or mortally wounded by each other. Also, there’s this uneasiness about how the trades by which they earn their living are low, cheap, filthy—and Americans line up for more every time.
The carnival angle is built to function as a way for us the audience to see backstage, giving us access to fascinatingly detailed instructional histories of the procedures, purpose, psychology, and day to day operation of select attractions. It also evokes this contrast between the subculture of entertainers who are at once aware that they’re bottom rung and not good enough for anything else in life, and their ability to keep an inherent goodness and warmth between themselves intact. Okay but yeah, also carnivals are weird. They’re scary. Grotesque. They straddle the definitions of traveling and transient. They’re often shut down by the cops.
Nightmare Alley is also consciously and unsparingly nasty. It’s exceedingly violent. With scenes of disturbingly graphic, gnarly disfigurement, and shockingly in your face carnage, there’s little that happens offscreen and left to the imagination. But this suits the material. In fact, all of the creative choices have been done with care for the source, and considerable attention given to the audience. What a show.
12/15/2021 AMC Phipps 14
Atlanta, GA
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To begin with, Last Night in Soho (2021, Edgar Wright) gives us a young woman called ELLIE (Thomasin McKenzie), whose moral anchor is her dead mum. We’ll never know exactly what happened to her mother (or anything about any of the men in their family), other than: London was a lot for her, she suffered from mental illness, and took her own life. When Ellie gets into fashion school in London, it’s her chance to earn the redemption of her mother’s ghost.
Ellie’s dorm life is a lot for her, so she moves to Soho. There she begins to have dreams of an aspiring ingenue called SANDY (Anya Taylor-Joy). At this point in the movie, there’s a subtle shift. Sandy replaces Ellie’s mother as her moral anchor. Because Sandy is what Ellie hopes to be, and everything her mother wasn’t. Sandy is assertive, confident, and strong enough to defend herself against the untoward advances of gross men.
But around the midpoint, when Ellie realizes that Sandy is preyed upon in the same way her mother was and that Soho nightlife is a monster that breaks women, we get a terrifying Steadicam montage through a corridor of women shooting up, giving a blowjob, and ODing.
The film’s second act largely serves as a me too fueled mental breakdown. It’s when Ellie decides to make it her mission to bring the man who killed Sandy to justice that her psychotic breaks with reality escalate. And what does she do first? She goes to the police. And they don’t believe her. While off the record, the guy cop thinks she’s crazy and the lady cop believes her but admits she chose not to come forward.
So not having got anywhere, Ellie attempts to ensnare the man she believes guilty. Yet it turns out she costs him his life and soon thereafter that she’s falsely accused the wrong man. Okay so, yes a new spin on horror, and yes timely with its relevance. But there’s more. Ellie went after this guy because his victim was her idealized role-model; and said role-model is revealed to have wantonly mass-murdered every guy who took advantage of her.
Have you let that sink in? Last Night in Soho ends with Ellie’s success as a fashion designer, living happily ever after (looks like everyone can forget about the guilt of that old guy who got killed). Then there’s this haunting final image of Sandy staring back at Ellie from the reflection of a mirror. What a perfect note of ambiguity. So, Sandy is still Ellie’s moral anchor maybe? Is this friendly ghost an inspirational reminder? Or is this the final scene in a horror movie where the monster’s not entirely vanquished? And that Ellie’s mental illness won’t lay dormant for long?
In closing, Last Night in Soho is superb as a fun giallo horror with the complexity found in the best of that genre. The night scenes, drenched in neon spill and the rain-beaded windows along with the slick pavement and cobblestones is gorgeous. And one of the coolest shots in a horror movie ever is when Ellie’s fixed horrified stare is reflected in the knife blade slashing in and out of frame catching it every time it comes back and forth.
10/31/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
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Ridley Scott’s Red Period is where his late masterpieces are to be found. Prometheus (2012, Ridley Scott), The Counselor (2013, Scott), Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014, Scott), and The Martian (2015, Scott) were all shot in consecutive years with the RED camera. It’s The Counselor and Exodus: Gods and Kings that make a strong case against Scott being a purely commercial director. If anyone thought his follow up to Alien (1979, Scott) after 30 years was a cash grab, seeing The Counselor beckons us to expect more from him. With its series of scenes that each feel like 5 pages of dialogue or more between two characters, Cormac McCarthy’s crisis of cartel ethics is Scott at his most colourful and brazen. Think about the difference between Javier Bardem’s character in The Counselor compared to his performance in the other cartel film adaptation of McCarthy’s.
House of Gucci (2021, Scott) finds Ridley Scott in top form. It ranks among some of his finest work—his middle classical period: Gladiator (2000, Scott), Kingdom of Heaven (2005, Scott), and American Gangster (2007, Scott).
But House of Gucci, being a classical Hollywood movie of the highest order, is carried by the performance of its lead star: Lady Gaga. Anytime Gaga has starred in anything, I’m infatuated with her character. She’s adorable. She’s sexy. She’s a star. And in House of Gucci, from its cold-open introduction of her as PATRIZIA REGGIANI, seen on screen and heard through V.O. narration, I’m under her spell. I identify with Patrizia. No matter how despicable her actions, nor how loathsome her degradation, I always feel like she deserves to be happy and have everything she wants.
On one level, House of Gucci is a traditional love story between Patrizia and MAURIZIO GUCCI (Adam Driver). And the opulent grandeur of materialism seen through the lives of this couple makes us see their desires as they see them—as something to prize, to invest in, to live for. But on a tertiary level House of Gucci is high camp. In an exhilaratingly bizarre performance that sees Jared Leto playing something like a mentally challenged Jeffrey Tambor, his PAULO GUCCI rides a wave of oddly chosen descriptors and signature catch-word. Boff! And there’s more: Leto’s character shares most of his screen time with his father (Al Pacino). And this is full-Pacino, Heat-Pacino, we’re getting.
But commercial director isn’t exclusively pejorative. Ridley Scott’s lavish, high-gloss, high-end eye for hawking luxury is on full-display for the entire 2 and a half hours of the film’s runtime. Nothing can come close to the decadence and designer glamour of mansions and villas as done by Italians. Except New York City or the world of high fashion, which House of Gucci jets through while bumping Donna Summer, Wham!, Blondie, or New Order.
Yet how fitting it is for the narrative to follow Maurizio into exile in snowstorm Switzerland. I didn’t have high expectations for House of Gucci, but beyond anything mentioned already, its second half and build up to its climax and ending never dwindled. It gets darker as Patrizia’s perm gets worse. And for me the saddest point is seeing her stripped of her Gucci, condemned to mom jeans and that knockoff leather jacket.
In closing, could this be Ridley Scott’s first movie centered on one family? House of Gucci feels like The Godfather for the Kardashian era. And for me, as domestic melodrama has always been my favorite film genre (tied with something like noir or crime), getting to indulge in this treat from Ridley Scott deserves some praise.
12/14/2021 Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
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Wes Anderson’s most recent movies are like the courtesan au chocolat from Mendl’s. Their instantly recognizable meticulously ornamental design exempts them from being sawed into.
The formalism of The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014, Wes Anderson) and The French Dispatch (2021, Anderson), both visually and textually, is to be marveled at for having achieved the quality wherein the style of the work is what’s most discernably essential to its impact.
Visually, and beginning with Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009, Anderson), the camera is for the most part fixed, and predominately restricted to fluid movement along the x and y axes. Along the x axis this usually means dolly shots. And along the y, booming up. But the key thing here is that the camera remain fixed, so (to a lesser extent) pans are also a part of this visual language.
In The French Dispatch, the travel-guide segment features compositions that showcase something more: movement choreography within the proscenium. Hitchcock once said something about Jaws being the moment Spielberg succeeded in “taking us out of the proscenium.” The French Dispatch delights in adhering to the proscenium in the strictest sense. This feeling of everything having been staged is intentional. The interplay between foreground, mid, and deep background, through its precision and execution can be observed when the empty static frame of the Ennui neighborhood’s drainage system is released first, in the shallow foreground, to be followed by bodies and actions decorating the subsequent space and time in the frame with deliberate exactitude. But there’s stuff that’s fun and spontaneously charming too, like the Owen Wilson character’s rides on his ten-speed. Again, strict dolly tracking shot with his bike noticeably artificial in its staging, fixed with the movement of the camera, precisely choreographed with the pratfall to punctuate the sequence. Or similarly when within the static frame he gets attacked behind an object in the midground and the empty bike moves perfectly along the x axis.
Some of the visual techniques in The French Dispatch can be traced to Anderson’s earlier works, like the cutaway aircraft or ship hull first seen in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004, Anderson). Did he get that from Tout va bien (1972, Jean-Luc Godard)? But there is a growth observable to be seen in some newer devices as well. Tableaux shots are used more. Especially in the first story with the set piece depicting the ascendance of ROSENTHALER’S work—dolly track along x axis linking events occurring at distant places within the film’s diegesis together in the same space, like the bisected train compartments sequence set to “Play with Fire” from The Darjeeling Limited (2007, Anderson). Maybe the most noticeable introduction into Anderson’s lexicon of imagery is the addition of one or more of the same character inhabiting the same physical space simultaneously. Like when Rosenthaler is painting his self-portrait, and we see his crazy-eyed self in the midground, which he in the foreground paints. But also when NESCAFFIER is cooking and there is a tripling of himself in the next compartment.
Structurally, within the stories themselves the following aspects can be considered: 1.) In the travel guide, the writer is absent from the content of the article. 2.) In the first story, the writer’s article is narrated through a lecture she gives; her focus is on abstract art; she discusses the artist and the art (and his subject). 3.) In the second story the writer’s focus is a manifesto; she discusses ideas; she breaks the rule of journalistic neutrality and ultimately becomes the author of the manifesto itself. 4.) In the third story the writer recites the article as a guest on a 60s Dick Cavett type of tv program. What is the focus of his article? It’s the writing itself. He himself becomes a part of it; Nescaffier becomes a part of it; the warden and his son’s kidnapping become a part of it. And when the publisher tells him he left out the most important part, his reply is “I couldn’t agree less.”
Long ago I thought of how Rushmore (1998, Anderson) felt like a play. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001, Anderson) felt like a novel. Yet now The French Dispatch not only feels like a magazine, but it’s structured as such. Its menagerie of creative individuals collectively portray the aesthetic contributions of those who enjoy stories (from publisher to patron to audience to connoisseur); and those who tell stories (from stories about art to stories about ideas to stories encompassing the nuances of specialized essays).
10/30/2021 AMC Phipps Plaza 14
Atlanta, GA
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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
10/16/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
DCP
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
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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
My first favorite movie was Batman (1989, Tim Burton). And the one thing as a kid I could never understand was what those photos VICKI VALE took were all about. They were apparently graphic and disturbing. They were in black and white. And they were called Corto Maltese. Many years later one of the first things I used a search engine for when that technology became available was finally answering that question that had puzzled me for so long.
Other than Quentin Tarantino, who else has the luxury of a major studio handing over a big budget and the reigns to an R-rated, violent, profanity-laden, colorful, fun, genre pic with an eclectic soundtrack of their choosing and Margot Robbie? …The Suicide Squad (2021, James Gunn) is the most fun a movie could be. And in the era which began sometime in the ‘10s where Marvel took over the world and superhero movies dominated the market, The Suicide Squad is the first movie to exist in that genre yet still manage to be considered serious art.
James Gunn’s coolest gift is the Gen X sensibility he’s used to craft The Suicide Squad with. Yes I’m talking about the penultimate group shot of the team entering Corto Maltese in the rain, in slow-motion, to “Hey” by the Pixies with the refrain of Black Francis’ wistful “chained” echoing (and echoed by Kim Deal) the subtext of the shot, but so much more. The scene in the briefing when RATCATCHER 2 asks “what is that?” and WALLER tells her “that is an overhead projector” is the key to the true nature of the movie. “Do you ever use it anymore?” “No, not really.” “So why don’t you just throw it away?” Whether we call it grunge, alternative, or indie; whether we’re talking about the music, the movies, or the fashion of Generation X, what The Suicide Squad essentially conveys is the mix of beautiful drabness and witty sarcasm found in the otherwise discarded forms (and people). And being funny as shit.
But the thing Gunn does best is writing for an ensemble of misfits to make them all individually compelling while simultaneously building a story that uses each of them to their fullest potential in terms of both plot and character development. And being funny as shit.
My favorite set piece in The Suicide Squad is the La Gatita Amable. What the K. Flay song does from its opening chords while filmed in slow-motion PEACEMAKER bumps into Lloyd Kaufman, the trance-like bizarre otherworldly choreography of the dancers on stage, then into drinks at the table is bliss; along with the POLKA DOT MAN punchline “…except for the thousands of people killed in drunk driving accidents every year,” which was my biggest laugh. (Yeah it was awkward in a packed theater being the only person to laugh at that joke.) But wait there’s more: Ratcather 2 and Peacmaker’s moves on the floor; Polka Dot Man’s first sign of having fun in one of the most disturbingly awesome instances of face-replacement cgi since Chris Cunningham’s Aphex Twin videos in the ‘90s is the happiest moment in the movie, only to cut to KING SHARK outside in the most painful moment of the movie.
The best thing about the plot is that it’s about Jotunheim and it knows it. And once the team gets there that whole final section is its own movie. In closing, The Suicide Squad is the funniest, most violent, coolest fucking movie I’ve ever seen. And I wish I'd said more about the characters: Ratcatcher 2 (the sleepy, mumbling millennial), HQ (her time in this movie does more for that character than both the other movies combined), BLOODSPORT (best costume, arsenal), King Shark (learning to make friends on his own...).
And this other Gen X thing I think is really funny is just a guess, but like even though The Suicide Squad occurs in a contemporary setting (‘20s), it doesn’t really ever show anyone using smartphones. Except there is one scene where a character is texting and, well, we see what happens to him. But also there’s the bit about Bloodsport’s DAUGHTER wanting a watch to watch tv on, which, without making any judgements about technology or anything is clearly hilarious. Anyways.
8/5/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
DCP
Annette (2021, Leos Carax) is subdued, elliptical, and elegiac. Like Holy Motors (2012, Carax), its perspective is from that of the artist. And like the neon green luminous sign from Holy Motors, the color green is the primary basis of the color scheme in Annette. What does it represent? If we think about it, HENRY MCHENRY wears a lot of green early in the film. And ANNETTE has green eyes.
And again like Holy Motors, this is a movie that I probably shouldn’t attempt to evaluate the same day I saw it. But I will say I love Annette. It seems to deal with existential dread, self-doubt, hate, angst, creative turmoil, destruction, and death. Has there ever been an arthouse musical this dark? Oh yeah, once. But labeling Annette dark, or depressing is lazily dismissive. Like many great works of cinematic art, I’m still reflecting on what I saw in Annette.
And aside from other big questions like the relationship between artist and self, artist and audience, desire and love, or motivation, instead how about first of all just appreciating that there’s a movie that can still achieve a pure form of cinematic artistry and be this challenging. And a lead character of such calculatedly toxic masculinity with such a lack of redeeming qualities? This is different. Not all movies have to have a message, and not all messages are easily accessible, but there’s something here and already it’s enough to appreciate.
But okay, just from the point of view of the artifice and stagey devices, yes the voyage at sea and the little girl Annette are as imaginative in aim as anything out of Holy Motors and sometimes I worry about more and more how hard it can be to find this kind of stuff.
8/6/2021 Landmark Midtown Art Cinema
Atlanta, GA
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But then yet again I found myself compelled to return to that style of his one day when I gave Servant on Apple TV+ a shot in 2021. Maybe it was the casting, the atmosphere, the premise, the domestic gothic foundation, or some wonderful blend of it all, but I reinvested my esteem in the Shyamalan style. I learned that what once initially provided my basis for faulting his movies—over-stretched Twilight Zone plots—is now the very thing I enjoy most about them. Because after all, who says that has to be a bad thing? And obviously in addition to the Twilight Zone riffs, there’s his trademark dysfunctional wounded families, children featured in main roles, traumatic backstories, twist endings, and mix of sci-fi and horror.
The canon should be The Sixth Sense (1999), Unbreakable, Signs, The Village, Lady in the Water, The Happening (2008), and Old (2021).
As much as I would love Old were it simply a horror movie about a group of seemingly healthy, young, fit tourists plagued by a mysterious onset of hyper-advanced aging they’re powerless against, Old is more than that.
Along with The Happening and Servant, beyond their cool Twilight Zone vibe, Old has that ominous wtf tension built in. And considering how seldom a movie can be this disturbing, dark, and weird while still being PG-13 only speaks to its effectiveness of tone. What’s brilliant about Old is that it takes this group of people who seem harmless, or normal, maybe even good, and by subjecting them to be crushed with their own inescapable mortalities by aging years in minutes, succeeds in revealing hidden truths about themselves. Or it could be said that the narrative pits what we know or think about each other based on knowing someone for a short time vs. a lifetime. It’s that contrast that’s intriguing.
07/24/2021 AMC North Dekalb Mall 16
Decatur, GA
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What sets Black Widow (2021, Cate Shortland) apart from all the other Marvel Studios movies? Well, being a blockbuster featuring one of the few Avengers with no discernable super powers, it relies on what the other current big summer movies sell: gravity-defying set pieces where people, vehicles, and air craft ultimately transport us into what a kid’s imagination does with their toys. I always wondered what Black Widow’s super power was, and this movie taught me that it’s being able to walk away from the worst wrecks without a scratch (just like the Marvel brand itself).
Black Widow also maintains a policy wherein shots are framed from angles that never let us forget that Scarlett Johansson has a nice butt (notice how the poster illustrates the BW logo is a graphic symbolizing her hourglass figure). And because it’s Hollywood, there’s also the obligatory 12 years younger Florence Pugh sent in to replace her. YELENA (Pugh) gets the best lines: “This would be a really cool way to die,” and “You’re such a poser,” too. And YELENA has the Marvel sarcasm down wonderfully. It’s really Pugh’s movie. She’s amazing.
Along with the TV series that have been airing on Disney +, Black Widow observes the politics of representation that Phase IV mandates. Black Widow pits the sisters against TASKMASTER—a masked super solider who is revealed in the third act to be played by Olga Kurylenko. And under the mask her face has been badly scarred. So how do you think they will defeat this disfigured but still beautiful, powerful woman with what I think casting agents might call an “ethnic” look? Hint: her boss is a rich, powerful white male (played by Ray Winstone) who controls a cadre of racially and ethnically diverse young women from impoverished backgrounds.
Another thing about TASKMASTER is that her superpower is mirroring the fighting style of the person she’s fighting. It occurred to me that this is really funny because it explains why the fight scenes in Black Widow look like the exact same choreographed stunt fights in every other Marvel movie.
In closing, I mean, don’t take my comments as being too cynical. As a big summer action movie, Black Widow goes hard, is fun, and at its heart is basically taking the best from what John Woo was doing in Hong Kong in the late 80s. Don’t all big super hero/spy/military/special ops/international assassin/Fast saga action movies all blend into the same genre nowadays anyway?
7/11/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
DCP
A short time before I heard they were making this I remember talking about how the 1961 Cruella de Vil was so whitetrash—chainsmoking, haggard, skinny, boozy, raspy voiced. And about just how messed up it is that she wants to make a coat out of all those dogs. Why does she want to kill them all? How many does it even take to make the coat? What a great villain. Maybe the best Disney villain?
Cruella (2021, Craig Gillespie) is a punk fashion-war crime comedy. Cruella is so lively, energetic, and impassioned throughout that it makes it imperative to retire the phrase “over the top,” when considering it. Cruella is punk. There’s a difference.
Our story begins in London in the early ‘60s and technically in addition to punk, there’s also a glam influence (by way of Cruella’s Velvet Goldmine pal more later). What’s so great about the prologue that introduces us to this kid punker is we get a Disney movie not only approving of a child who hates school and gets expelled for persistent misbehavior but casting her as a hero while doing so. The whole movie even rewards grown up Cruella for cleverly devising criminal endeavors to achieve her goals—petty theft, forgery, vandalism, grand larceny. Cruella captures how fun it is to be young and punk.
The British Invasion soundtrack gives momentum to the excitement, but there’s also some storybook fairytale origin myth musicboxsymphonic original score passages that pull the empathy strings we need to root for this loveable misfit. Oh how perfect this role is to let Emma Stone fully display her range: from subtle awkward facial expressions and bumbling, meek ragamuffin, to powerful, strutting, iron-fisted dominatrix. And unlike the cartoon, Stone’s face isn’t sharp and angular. It’s round, soft and delicate.
There’s a seamless unmotivated establishing tracking shot of Liberty that rushes through a bustling crowd through an interior maze finding Cruella scrubbing the floor in the loo that’s all done in one take (or so it seems), which is pretty cool. And similarly striking from a technical aspect is the guerrilla fashion show montage—probably highlight of the movie, seriously, goosebumbs.
Cruella as a comedy mostly hits hardest with its hero’s insolent wit, and disdainful insults—when she smacks that box of Cocoa Krispies off the table, what pitch perfect timing and execution. But the actor who plays HORACE got the most laughs from me. I’d only seen this dude in Richard Jewell (2019, Clint Eastwood), and the tone in that movie was so serious I never felt like I could laugh at him. (Also rare instance where Eastwood cast an “unknown” in a lead I think.) But in Cruella he’s basically cast as the same type as far as his ineptitude and sincerity chemistry goes, yet it’s finally okay to laugh at him. Something about that guy kills me.
Another scene worth mentioning in regard to the Lubitsch touch working by way of Cruella’s sophisticated wit is at the end. When she’s at the fountain, visiting the ghost, and she’s giving her monologue, Cruella concludes it beginning with a line that starts out with: “Must dash…” Then after another scene, when Cruella is back, she’s got a moustache. I mean for real, wow. Love it.
In conclusion, the hero’s goal is to best her adversary—a heartless, cold, homicidal megalomaniac. And we love her for it. Yeah I know the bit with the rat served on a covered dish comes from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962, Robert Aldrich), but I gotta exploit this loose connection to an advert from the director I believe brought punk into cinema better than any other:
Prediction: 2022 Oscar for Best Costume Design
5/27/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
DCP
But what do I expect from him? Foremost, there’s the abundance of 120fps (or higher) shots. Something about the way it’s incorporated into his aesthetic and the way he uses it still captivates me. And beyond that there’s a sense of mourning. But is trauma becoming overused in genre films lately? Not for me, if done right.
Army of the Dead (2021, Snyder) may combine too many disparate genre ingredients for its own good. Or maybe not? I’m also thinking about my own initial unfledged negative reaction to seeing The Dead Don’t Die (2019, Jim Jarmusch) in the theater. After subsequent viewings it’s earned a cult status and I can rewatch it to death.
Army of the Dead is a heist movie, but with zombies. But it’s also an action movie. But it’s also, as we find out in the second act so I must be vague to avoid spoilers, a Frazetta fantasy adventure. Whatever it is, it’s aim is to spare no expense and, to reference its Vegas setting: raise the stakes as high as possible. Unlike other Snyder films I’m thinking of, Army of the Dead feels like a B movie. (Which, to clarify, I don’t use the term B movie despairingly, if done well.) Also, unlike other of Snyder’s films, it doesn’t ever come off as pretentious, or aspires the level of prestige he seems accustomed to.
The shots aren’t composed in the overly stylized, impressive, visual manner Snyder’s known for either. Army of the Dead looks rough. Gritty. I’m not talking late 90s von Trier/Barry Ackroyd or Cloverfield, but you know, newsreel/TV footage looking. Yet there is all the slow-motion you’ve come to expect, don’t worry. I don’t know if it’s cause this is Netflix, or because he serves as his own DP, or a combination of the two, but the Justice League Snyder Cut this is not.
And disappointingly, unlike Dawn of the Dead (2004, Snyder), the characters don’t really feel fleshed out. But speaking of Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead, his depiction of security guards as sleazeball power-crazed lechers is preserved for canon’s sake.
So in closing, Army of the Dead is fun, and really cool. First time I can think of where Bautista is the lead and I’m happy to see it. For an R rated as fuck genre treat, it seems cultworthy and not overly bloated due to its 2 and a half hour runtime. And in regards to the zombie tiger: I don’t care enough to actually fact check that Siegfried or Roy was actually mauled to death by one or not, but when that thing attacks I was mega creeped out and horrified by the significance of its occurrence in real life. But okay, in closing-closing, the narrative is especially well constructed when it comes to audience expectations and what happens to the characters.
5/16/2021 Cinemark Tinseltown 17
Fayetteville, GA
DCP
Somewhere in the back of my mind I’d always thought of the Saw films as a trashy ripoff of Se7en. As if there were a pitch meeting where someone said, “What if we got to see what happens to the victims as they were gruesomely tortured instead of arriving on the scene after the fact?”
This summer the Saw franchise returns with the reboot, Saw IX. And no, although it doesn’t play out during a constant downpour of rain, it reminded me of Se7en for a different reason: it plays out as a straight police procedural.
Around Saw III (2006, Bousman), the plotlines get messy. It begins with the parallel plotlines—with the twist that sometimes it’s revealed that various narratives occurred earlier or later in time than we were led to presume. Which, okay yeah, can be a lot of fun too though. Specifically, I’m thinking of Saw III with JEFF, the alcoholic dad who lost his kid, wandering through Jigsaw’s labyrinth; and amid so many other arcs and characters we kind of forget about him. Then at the end of Saw IV (2007, Bousman), when STROM finally finds the room he thinks the other cops are in, he walks in on Jeff and holy crap that’s so cool! I was like huh? You think all that stuff happened long ago and Jigsaw’s dead, but Strom walks in on Jeff? Amazing.
Okay, back to Spiral. Its narrative starts with a clean slate. All of the characters are new. And there aren’t any concurrent subplots with characters in their own arcs. Spiral is about ZEKE (Chris Rock) and no one else. Mmm, there are a few flashbacks, but with the desaturated pallet they’re easy to follow and identify where they fit the chronology—the cheap fake mustaches on Samuel L. Jackson and Rock’s lame goatee are maybe a little unnecessary but I appreciate the respect to clarity.
In closing, my favorite new touch is the Jigsaw voice. (Or I should say the voice of the antagonist, because in Spiral, they avoid playing that old game of bringing JOHN KRAMER back.) The new antagonist voice is like really creepy because it’s so artificial non-human sounding. I wish I could better describe it, but my point is I find it genuinely unsettling, unlike Tobin Bell’s voice which has become overused to the point of caricature.
5/15/2021 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
DCP
