Ian Thomas Malone

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Friday

4

October 2024

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COMMENTS

Joker: Folie à Deux is a meandering mess with no clear sense of identity

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Two prominent complaints surfaced in the wake of Joker’s blockbuster success in 2019. The first criticism took aim at the way Todd Phillips’s origin story bent over backward to garner sympathy for the most notorious villain in the history of comic books, if not the entirety of American popular culture. The second focuses more on the film’s derivative nature, an excessively derivative take on Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy. Neither of these legitimate criticisms stopped the film from grossing over a billion dollars against a modest budget, a smash hit with fertile ground for a sequel.

There is no set formula for what makes a sequel work. At a bare minimum, one might hope to see a story that moves the ball forward in some tangible way, or uncovers something fresh to say about its subjects. Joker: Folie à Deux does not cross this small bar. It’s unclear if anyone even tried. Rarely does a film plod along with such reckless abandon toward the idea that anyone is supposed to enjoy what they’re watching.

Folie à Deux mostly centers its narrative on the trial of Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) for his actions in the first film. Living out his days in the custody of Arkham State Hospital, Fleck is frequently abused by the prison guards, largely keeping to himself. While walking to a meeting with his lawyer (Catherine Keener), Fleck comes across a music therapy session in part of the hospital not used for inmates, where one patient Harleen “Lee” Quinzel (Lady Gaga) quickly takes an interest in him. Lee sparks an interest in music within Arthur, sending him on numerous hallucinogenic interludes that comprise a large part of the film.

The narrative is essentially split into three camps. Folie à Deux tries to be a musical, a psychological thriller, and a courtroom drama, all at the same time. It succeeds with none of them. The songs are terrible. Worse, they’re forgettable.

Phoenix, who won an Oscar for his last go-around as Joker, appears to be functioning on autopilot. Much like the “incels” who championed the first film, Arthur is merely a reactionary figure responding to the world around him. The Joker is supposed to be an agent of chaos. Folie à Deux’s Fleck is just an aging edge lord who frequently appears bored or indifferent to the world around him. There is the sense that the musical interludes are supposed to serve as an escape from the monotony, but they’re not strong enough to make much of an impact.

The courtroom scenes are quite boring. A pre-Two Face Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey) anchors the prosecution. While Lawtey puts forth an admirable effort, the script gives him nothing to work with. The legal drama plays out like a run-of-the-mill episode of Law and Order or The Practice.

Lady Gaga brings some interesting depth to Quinzel, whose backstory follows Fleck’s lead in being a loose riff on the comics. The script once again fails its actors, with Gaga being given little to work with. Folie à Deux reduces one of the most interesting new female comic book characters of the past few decades into the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope. It’s almost as if Phillips included her for the sole purpose of proving that the male basement dwellers weren’t the only people obsessed with the lunatic that is Arthur Fleck.

Successful sequels bring something new to the table. Folie à Deux starts off reasonably strong, building up the panopticon that is the Arkham State Hospital. The pacing is a complete mess once the courtroom is introduced. The film spends large chunks of its back half alternating between boring musical sequences and testimony from characters from the first film. The 138-minute runtime is painfully long, a meandering film that could’ve easily cut a half hour without missing a beat.

For all the complaints about Joker being derivative or morally irresponsible, the first film at least had a story to tell. Folie à Deux is fueled off scraps from the first, laced with boring musical interludes that add nothing to the story. Films do not need to be responsible, but all narratives should have something to say. Folie à Deux brings nothing to the table, an embarrassing waste of time for everyone involved.

Friday

20

September 2024

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Classic Film: Platinum Blonde

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There is a certain timeless nature to comedy centered around class differences. The drama at the core of Frank Capra’s 1931 film Platinum Blonde could resonate with modern audiences if the film were released today. The question of whether the film brings anything new to the equation, whether to modern viewers or those who saw the film nearly a hundred years ago is a different story.

Stew Smith (Robert Williams) is a hardworking reporter only making 75 dollars a week. An assignment sends him into the orbit of the wealthy Schuyler family, where playboy Michael (Don Dillaway) is caught up in a blackmail scandal. Taking pity on the family, driven by his feelings toward daughter Ann (Jean Harlow), Stew goes easy with his reporting. Stew and Ann quickly fall in love and elope.

Much of the film’s comedy derives from Stew’s discomfort at his integration into the Schuyler way of life. He spurns Ann’s efforts to clean him up, quickly dismissing a valet hired to attend to him. In particular, he absolutely refuses to wear garters. A chance encounter with his best friend from the paper, Gallagher (Loretta Young) stirs up old passions, putting Stew on a natural collision course with his new overbearing family. 

Platinum Blonde is mostly noteworthy for being Williams’ only leading role, as the actor died just three days after the film’s premiere. Williams brings plenty of range to the stock archetype that largely defines Stew. Despite having two fine actresses as leading ladies, Williams puts in most of his best work opposite Smythe (Halliwell Hobbes), the butler. Their interactions provide most of the film’s comedy. 

Strong performances and a competent showing from Capra are sunk by a meandering screenplay that gives the actors little to work with. While Stew’s apprehension toward a life solely known as “Ann Schuyler’s husband” provides much of the drama, the film constantly hints at a subplot concerning Stew’s aspirations as a playwright that don’t really come into focus until late in the third act. Stew claims to want to write, suffering from writer’s block and a lack of inspiration, an underwhelming dilemma for the viewers to watch unfold on the screen. While fairly charming at first, Stew’s constant negativity grows tiresome as the narrative rolls along.

The 89-minute runtime feels exceedingly drawn out. Ostensibly billed as a comedy, there’s very little to laugh at throughout the film, but it’s hardly much of a drama either. Capra does make some strides toward redeeming his picture down the stretch, but as a whole, the experience plays out as a first draft that struggled to tie everything together. As a time capsule, the film has some value, showcasing Williams’ ample potential, but Platinum Blonde is too unfocused to leave much of a lasting impression.

Monday

9

September 2024

1

COMMENTS

Classic Film: The Passion of Joan of Arc

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The Passion narrative carries a lot of theatrical value even for non-believers. The sham trials of Jesus before the Sanhedrin and Pontius Pilate perhaps best illustrate the larger-than-life nature of one of history’s defining characters, a man grappling with the contrast of divinity and humanity in real time. The 1928 silent film The Passion of Joan of Arc (original French title La Passion de Jean d’Arc) blends the history of one of France’s most beloved icons with the biblical tribulations of her spiritual lodestar.

Director Carl Theodor Dreyer’s work is a singular experience in filmmaking. Relying heavily on close-ups, with an absolutely breathtaking concrete practical set, the narrative sets up a succulent contrast throughout its 82-minute runtime. As the titular heroine, Renée Jeanne Falconetti’s expressive dramatic range evokes a sense of claustrophobia, buoyed by the imposing prison all around her. Falconetti never once lets up on all the angst coursing through Joan’s veins, delivering one of the finest performances in the history of film.

The silent film medium is perfect for the kind of storytelling on display in the film. The inter-title cards provide the necessary grounding for the audience to follow along with the plot, giving space for the actors to transcend all other conventional dramatic obligations. The musical accompaniment to Joan’s agony and the Machiavellian machinations strips the form down to its bare essentials, an immensely fulfilling adaption of the passion narrative.

All art is essentially human nature channeled through the creator’s preferred medium. There are limits to what a painting can do on a canvas or a film on its reel. Dreyer delivers a timeless treatise on the agony of the soul that bristles against the confines of its structure, a film so carefully constructed yet completely raw in its delivery. The Passion of Joan of Arc grabs you from its opening minutes and never lets go, an exhausting experience that drains almost as much as it inspires.

Perhaps more impressive than its ample artistic merits is the way the film breaks down the terrifying sense of awe and wonder of Catholicism, particularly its penchant for evoking guilt, for a general audience. Religion looms over much of popular culture and society at large, even for those of us who have nothing to do with the Church. Many religious narratives fall flat through their preoccupation with attempting to explain the unexplainable. The whole point of faith is belief in something larger than yourself, essentially for little reason other than it’s what you’ve chosen to believe. It’s not particularly convincing for many, for obvious reasons.

Billions of people have come and left this earth hanging on to a promise of eternal life that may never come. The Passion of Joan of Arc does not make much of an effort to explain why its titular hero chose martyrdom at the hands of a sham trial. What it does achieve is perhaps the most impressive feat for a religious narrative. For those seeking to understand the agony of faith grappling with itself in real-time, there are few better places to start than Falconetti’s spectacular performance. Dreyer’s nearly one-hundred-year-old work is still one of the defining examples of the sheer power of filmmaking to break down the barriers of time and space and deliver the essence of what it means to be alive.

Editorial note: Ian viewed a screening of the film with a live original score featuring the George Sarah Ensemble at the Art Theatre in Long Beach, California.

Monday

9

September 2024

0

COMMENTS

The Queen of My Dreams buckles under the weight of its many ambitions

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Film as a medium often shines best when introducing its audience to worlds unfamiliar to their own. Many in the West are unlikely to be familiar with the 1969 Hindi musical Ardhana, an intense intergenerational family drama. Fawzia Mizra’s 2023 film The Queen of My Dreams leans heavily on Ardhana, including clips from the classic film in its own narrative while adapting many of its themes. Its title is also the English translation of Ardhana’s most popular song “Mere Sapno Ki Rana.”

Azra (Amrit Kaur) is a grad student studying acting in Toronto in 1999. A closeted lesbian living with her “roommate,” Azra butts heads with her mother Miriam (Nimra Bucha) over her career arc and lack of desire to adhere to the strict expectation of a first-generation Muslim immigrant. The sudden death of her father Hassan (Hamza Haq) on a trip back home to Pakistan takes Azra out of her world, forcing a reexamination of her relationship with her mother, and her culture.

Flashbacks play a sizable role in Mizra’s feature. In a nod to Bollywood casting traditions, Kaur performs double duty as Miriam in the 1969 flashbacks, showcasing a colorful, inviting world that’s a lot of fun to spend time in. Though the first act spends much of its time building up Azra as the protagonist, Queen of My Dreams is really Miriam’s story, increasingly ceding ground to the flashbacks as the narrative rolls along. After finishing med school in Europe, Hassan finds work in Canada, drawing only daughter Miriam away from home, deceiving her own mother in the process, setting up some intergenerational strife that’s eerily similar to Miriam’s own struggles with her daughter.

Mizra delivers a touching commentary on the cyclical pattern of daughters antagonizing and emulating their mothers. The theme of defying expectations transcends culture, religion, and sexuality. Queen of My Dreams is very confident in its own world, delivering a welcoming portrayal of Pakistan for audience members who might be unfamiliar with the region.

The film loses a bit of its power in the third act. Mizra doesn’t have a great handle on the balance between the flashbacks and the film’s present-day narrative in 1999, exacerbated by an unnecessary pitstop in 1989 Nova Scotia, where Miriam and Hassan first settled. There’s little rhyme or reason to how the flashbacks come and go, Mizra’s fascination with revisiting Ardhana growing tedious in the absence of plot progression.

Queen of My Dreams often severely underdelivers on its LGBTQ themes. Azra’s girlfriend Rachel (Kya Mosey) is a nonentity for the bulk of the film, Mizra unwilling to force any lesbian awakening on her characters. Real life doesn’t often come with easy answers to the struggles that some families feel toward homosexuality, but this film doesn’t really try to confront any of this either.

The narrative is too often bailed out by the film’s gorgeous aesthetics. Inexplicably, the whole experience feels like it’s overstayed its welcome despite a brisk 96-minute runtime. There is a beautiful film to be found in Mizra’s work, but it’s hard to praise her technical skills as a director when her narrative so blatantly holds back from its audience.

Monday

5

August 2024

2

COMMENTS

House of the Dragon’s second season tethers itself too closely to its meager source material

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Game of Thrones faced a gargantuan challenge in adapting an unfinished book series with thousands of pages of material, an unwieldly balancing act it handled spectacularly, at least until the last two seasons. House of the Dragon essentially faces the opposite problem, with its meager source material that needs to be stretched out into four seasons. The book Fire & Blood is essentially cobbled together from two novellas originally published in anthologies, The Princess and the Queen and The Rogue Prince, as well as the coffee table book The World of Ice and Fire.

You can read the entire tale of the Dance of the Dragons in a single sitting. There are certain challenges in adapting such scant offerings, but also plenty of advantages. The characters that make up the opposing sides of House Targaryen, the Blacks and the Greens, are essentially blank slates for the show to define on its own terms in ways that couldn’t be true for beloved book characters such as Jaime Lannister or Jon Snow. The only trouble with making House of the Dragon its own thing is the presence of George R.R. Martin amidst HBO’s broader landscape to milk the A Song of Ice and Fire franchise for all it is worth.

George R.R. Martin wrote The Princess and the Queen as part of the Dangerous Women anthology he co-edited in 2013 with his beloved friend Gardner Dozois, who passed away in 2018. The cover of the book includes a promo noting that the collection contains an all-new Game of Thrones novella. The 2018 release of Fire & Bloods expands the peripherals a bit, but there is a fundamental reason for the fast pacing of the novella. Though the Dance itself has been referenced numerous times within the mainline series, the novella exists largely to help sell an anthology that George R.R. Martin enjoyed working on with his buddy.

There is no real inherent reason that House of the Dragon must maintain such a rigid devotion to its source material, other than perhaps the idea that deviation might anger its creator, who is prominently featured in the credits. There are plenty of reasons why one might think it’s actually a good idea to change things up. A single novella is not exactly meant to carry multiple seasons of a television show. The show burned through its other source material, The Rogue Prince, published in 2014 as part of the Rogues collection put out by Martin and Dozois, halfway through the first season, hence the awkward timeline.

A show might consider it a bad idea to sideline Daemon Targaryen (Matt Smith) to his hallucinations in Harrenhal for an entire season. A show might consider it a bad idea to kill off a sympathetic character like Rhaenys Targaryen (Eve Best) in episode four of its second season. A show might consider a bad idea to spend an entire second season on build-up after it spent its first season building up two mostly separate casts. The early demise of Kingsguard twins Erryk and Arryk Cargyll (Elliott and Luke Tittensor) wasted valuable screentime with a meager payoff. At least Rhaenys died in the season’s best sequence.

House of the Dragon is needlessly chained to its flimsy source material, a poorly paced slog that would do well to break free from the timeline of the novellas it remains haplessly devoted to. Prestige television takes years to make. You can’t expect viewers to wait years for a full season of exposition when most of them could read the entire novella within the runtime of a single episode.

The few substantive deviations from the source material have turned out pretty well for the show. Reuniting Rhaenyra (Emma D’arcy) and Alicent Hightower (Olivia Cooke) produced two of the season’s best sequences. The show’s bizarre devotion to the novella’s timeline hindered the season from spreading its wings after an uneven but compelling freshman effort.

As its title suggests, dragons are a large part of the show’s appeal. The CGI for the dragons has been spectacular, particularly during the battle sequences. Season two spent a large chunk of its time building up The Sowing, where four of the six riderless dragons living on Dragonstone, occupied by the Blacks, received riders. The show did a very good job spreading out the action, first building up Addam of Hull (Clinton Liberty) and Seasmoke in episode six before giving Vermithor and Silverwing new riders with Hugh the Hammer (Kieran Bew) and Ulf the White (Tom Bennett), with Sheepstealer teased for next season, presumably bonding with Rhaena Targaryen (Phoebe Campbell), replacing Nettles from the novella.

These four characters will all play important roles in the rest of the series. It’s hard to really make the claim that season two introduced them all that well. Hugh and Ulf received scant attention for the first half of the season, not making much of an effort to define their personalities until the final episode of the season, where their lowborn crassness was seemingly ratcheted up to put them in conflict with Jacaerys Velaryon (Harry Collett). Though the show has a huge cast, it spent the whole season keeping its leads in a bizarre holding pattern, leaving piecemeal for the newer, also important characters.

None of this is particularly excusable. House of the Dragon knew precisely which characters would be important. Vermithor made his debut in last season’s finale, serenaded by Daemon, only to be treated as an afterthought for much of season two. Season one had twelve episodes. Season two only has eight, an arbitrary number ill-suited for the show’s unwieldy cast and complex narrative.

One might expect a showrunner to look at the many pieces of the Dance of the Dragons and arrange them in a way that fits a four-season narrative. Not House of the Dragon. This show is so hellbent on following George R.R. Martin’s timeline that it forgets to be engaging television. The space between last season’s Dance over Shipbreaker Bay and the Sowing amounts to a handful of pages of the novella, hardly the best outline for a full season of television. Game of Thrones made plenty of changes from its source material. It’s not as if House of the Dragon hasn’t made a few of its own, but its sluggish pacing is an unfortunate, preventable lapse in judgement. One of the most exciting chapters in A Song of Ice and Fire lore has no business being this boring.

Wednesday

17

July 2024

0

COMMENTS

Stereophonic presents a grounded take on the messy nature of greatness in motion

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There is a certain temptation to glorify the antics of so-called tortured geniuses who produce great art while turning the lives of everyone around them into complete hell. Truly moving work is so sparse across the narrow confines of capitalism that those capable of making it are often forgiven for their shortcomings. The consumer only views the landscape through its finished product, not the countless hours it took to arrive at such a destination.

The play Stereophonic is a treatise on the ugliness of beauty. Based heavily off the turmoil of Fleetwood Mac, the show centers around a five person band and their two sound engineers as they attempt to record a follow-up to build on their growing success. Peter (Tom Pecinka), the singer, guitarist and relative newcomer to the group, takes lead on producing the album, butting heads with drummer and group leader Simon (Chris Stack) and bassist Reg (Will Brill), who is in a dysfunctional decaying relationship with keyboardist Holly (Juliana Canfield). Peter’s own longtime relationship with singer Diana (Sarah Pidgeon) runs into its own problems when Diana starts to come into herself as a songwriter, challenging Peter’s stranglehold on the group.

The three-hour show takes place entirely on a single set, a recording studio with a live room upstage, complete with a glass barrier where the band performs real music. Two engineers, Grover (Eli Gelb) and Charlie (Andrew R. Butler) supervise the production from a center console, often providing comedy in the quieter parts of the play. The music is largely confined to the first act, only comprising about twenty minutes of the runtime, but sound plays a major role in the narrative, particularly when the band is separated from the audience from behind the glass, requiring the actors to communicate their sheer disgust for each other through gestures and facial expressions.

Where Stereophonic achieves its greatest success is through its deconstruction of the creative process, particularly the tedious monotony that often consumes the space between moments of genuine inspiration. A band can sit in a studio for fourteen hours doing nothing but engaging in drugs and idle chitchat, only to find the magic in the dead of night for a few moments until everyone comes back to earth, just as a writer can sit at their desk for hours on end procrastinating in an idle search for twenty unadulterated minutes of glory. Great art makes you feel alive. Making art is often a painful negotiation between the soul and its obligations to earn a living.

Artists often produce their best work when their backs are up against the wall, because they have nothing to lose. Success provides the individual with a much more tangible sense of what can be gained, if one could only figure out how to set ego aside and learn to work on a schedule. Artists are drawn to their work often because it’s the only thing they’re good at, but a balanced existence cannot be achieved through songs or words alone. A career can provide the fruits for a happy existence, but you can’t build a life off work alone. Creative genius may leave a powerful legacy, but life is a daily grind, hardly a three act structure.

Life is a team game. No work designed to be consumed by the masses exists in a vacuum, without the aid of editors, engineers, or other collaborators. The tendency to glorify the artistic tyrant comes from a place of acknowledging that there is often a hierarchy to the creative process. Just because a guitarist has a harder job than a bassist does not mean that the bassist doesn’t have anything to contribute. Greatness can in fact be achieved without stomping over everyone along the way.

Playwright David Adjmi crafted a remarkably balanced portrayal of greatness in motion. Will Butler, best known for his work with Arcade Fire, did a wonderful job with the music, blending the seventies-era melodies of Fleetwood Mac with his own indie trappings. The runtime absolutely flies by, an emotionally intense journey that makes plenty of space for quieter moments.

It’s rare to find art that achieves greatness while never losing sight that greatness is not some pedestal to structure one’s entire existence around. The Tony Award for Best Play was well-deserved, an immensely rewarding odyssey that gives all seven of its actors a chance to shine. For a show that leans as heavily on another artist’s legacy as Stereophonic does, the play displays great maturity in its restraint toward romanticizing the messiness that often defines genius in conflict with itself and everything around it. Artistic tyranny may find lightning in a bottle, but life is a day-to-day game.

Thursday

30

May 2024

0

COMMENTS

Furiosa is an entertaining, underwhelming addition to the Mad Max Saga

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The entertainment industry’s fascination with prequels forces its risk-aversion tendencies into an inherent state of contradiction. The types of successful films that produce prequels are generally the same that don’t actually need sizable holes in their narratives filled with the equivalent of feature-length exposition. Prequels also save studios money on not needing much of the cast back, unlike sequels that often run the additional risk of undoing the hero’s journey of the original work.

Mad Max: Fury Road is not the kind of film that needed a prequel. The entire series is built on minimalistic storytelling, each film essentially operating as a standalone. Nobody needed to see a single installment in George Miller’s original trilogy to enjoy the franchise’s first release in thirty years. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga diverges from this pattern by directly linking itself to Fury Road, following the origin of its title character (played as a child by Alyla Brown, and Anya Taylor-Joy as an adult, taking over from Charlize Theron).

While Fury Road left most of its world-building details to its audience’s imagination, Furiosa as a film spends most of its narrative building out the entire backstory of its leading woman, as well as the Wasteland itself. Taken from The Green Place of Many Mothers at an early age, Furiosa survives the harsh conditions of the Wasteland, first as a captive of Dementus (Chris Hemsworth) and Immortan Joe (Lachy Hulme, taking over from Hugh Keays-Byrne), before finding a mentor in Praetorian Jack (Tom Burke). The narrative is divided into five chapters, covering a wide spread of Furiosa’s life.

The politics of the Wasteland are thoroughly explored, particularly the supply chain that runs from Bullet Farm, Gastown, and The Citadel. The people who lamented Fury Road’s status as a feature-length chase stunt will find much to enjoy in the way Miller built things out this time around. Furiosa’s finest achievement is the way that the film enhances Fury Road without taking away from it or trying too hard to retrace its footsteps.

There is so much to enjoy in Miller’s approach to filmmaking, thoroughly marching to the beat of his own drum in a production that feels intimate in the way it centers Australia. Few movies with a budget of 168 million can make such a claim to exist in the same space as arthouse. So many blockbusters are overstuffed with obligations their greater franchise lore that they never stop to catch a breath. Furiosa is a lot more introspective than Fury Road, occasionally to its detriment.

Furiosa proves that the franchise can do just fine without Mad Max, but the film missed a key lesson from Fury Road, which subtlety built out its ensemble amidst all the mayhem. Furiosa rarely talks, leaving Hemsworth’s Dementus to occupy a weird space as not only a villain, but the force relaying most of the information to the audience. Hemsworth gives the role his all, but there is the sense that he’s doing too much, overstaying his welcome in more than a few sequences.

The way Miller allots the bloated 148-minute runtime also boxes Taylor-Joy out of much of the movie that bears her name as its lead. So much time is spent on Furiosa as a child that Taylor-Joy isn’t given much space to make the role her own, often amidst frantic action sequences that pale in comparison to Fury Road, inevitably drawing unflattering comparisons to Theron’s superior performance. Taylor-Joy only has about 30 lines of dialogue, and absolutely no chemistry with Burke, whose Praetorian Jack occupies an awkward space in the narrative.

To some extent, one might want to give Miller credit for not buffing out Furiosa with unnecessary side characters whose absences from Fury Road would have to be explained. The trouble is, the film doesn’t really have anyone to root for. You never lose the sense that Furiosa’s bond with the audience relies too much on what Theron built in Fury Road. There’s no Nicholas Hoult-type side characters to enjoy. Hemsworth is spread too thin carrying the dialogue, occasionally producing some unexpectedly substantive moments from his cartoonish character.

Miller’s technical craft is almost always on full display, but Furiosa lacks the sheer spectacle of Fury Road. The film is nearly a half hour longer, but the action feels smaller. That shift in scope isn’t really replaced by an added sense of intimacy either. Taylor-Joy never invites us into Furiosa, lacking all the subtle nuance of Theron’s performance.

Furiosa is not a bad film. There’s a lot of entertainment value in the way Miller puts on a show. It’s just a show you’ve seen before, longer, but not better. Fury Road felt like a genre-defining masterpiece. Furiosa settles on just being a solid, unspectacular prequel.

Monday

29

April 2024

0

COMMENTS

Classic Film: Happy Together

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One of the most frustrating aspects of love is seeing people we care about trapped in an endless cycle with an individual they’re clearly not compatible with, but can’t seem to live without either. Love makes us do stupid things. The issues are often confounded by external aspects, like living situations or ties to one’s community.

Wong Kar Wai’s 1997 film Happy Together crafts a fertile panopticon for a toxic relationship. Lai Yiu-Fai (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai) travels from Hong Kong to Argentina with his boyfriend Ho Po-Wing (Leslie Cheung). The two bicker frequently, breaking up often. Po-Wing possessing a magnetic control over Fai, his toxic traits somehow endearing in that way that problematic relationships often tend to work. Fai grows tired of life in Argentina and works a number of jobs in order to raise money to go home.

Wong does a masterful job layering the mess that is Fai’s life. Being gay, especially in the 90s, is an isolating feeling. Coupled with life in a country where no one speaks your language, it’s easy to see the cyclical nature of Fai’s misfortunes.

True to form, Wong is not terribly concerned with presenting a narrative within his features 96-minute runtime. Leung and Cheung are largely given the runway to make magic with their lover’s quarrel. Wong’s best skill as a director is the way he frames the claustrophobia of toxic romance. Cheung’s Po-Wing is such an insufferably odious individual that you want to reach toward the screen and shake Fai until he comes to his senses. Leung does an excellent job selling his lead, a heartsick homosexual lonely in a foreign country with no one who cares about him but his selfish lover.

Wong’s commitment to the tedious nature of his film’s core romance highlights a key pillar of the 90s LGBTQ experience. Many of us know what it’s like to give partners significantly more chances than they deserve. The isolation that defined much of our community in those days breeds a lot of fear that we’ll grow old, unloved, and alone. These anxieties are hardly exclusive to gay people, but the discretion expected of our people fostered an environment where this nonsense could thrive, often unimpeded by common sense.

Bad relationships can be glaringly obvious to one’s friends and family. Wong takes the safety nets away, throwing a young gay guy to the wolves. Happy Together is a tough watch, but it’s a beautifully honest portrayal of the messiness that often defines queer romance. We’ve had to build a world within the broader heteronormative society. People aren’t exactly expected to act rationally when they’ve got no support systems. Many of us can relate to Fai. One of the most important aspects of community is the way the people who genuinely love us can help us steer clear of that fate.

Thursday

25

April 2024

0

COMMENTS

Classic Film: Chutney Popcorn

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One of the defining challenges of the LGBTQ experience is the way our community exists within a broader heteronormative world, forced to juggle expectations of countless previous generations that didn’t necessarily have space for us, alongside our own desires. It’s not enough to merely survive, but to thrive in this adventure called the human experience. Life is messy enough when you’re not expected to pave your own trail.

The 1999 film Chutney Popcorn examines the essence of family through a queer lens. Reena (Nisha Ganatra, who also directed the film and co-wrote the screenplay) is a young lesbian who works at a photographer in New York City. Reena possessing the kind of strong-willed character that many write off as selfish, including her mother Meenu (Madhur Jaffrey) and sister Sarita (Sakina Jeffrey). When Sarita finds out she’s infertile, Reena offers to serve as a surrogate for her sister and brother-in-law Mitch (Nick Chundland). Reena’s pregnancy puts her at odds with her girlfriend Lisa (Jill Hennessy), and their broader childfree friend group.

Ganatra’s work has an easy, lived-in feel to it. The film never feels like it needs to explain lesbian culture to its audience, instead frequently relying on humor to ingratiate itself to its audience. Much like Reena’s reluctance to give in to her family’s expectations, Ganatra’s effort behind the camera firmly marches to the beat of its own drum. Backed by a strong minimalist score, the scenes often play out like small vignettes through a year of Reena’s life.

The film’s greatest triumph is the way Ganatra breaks down seemingly impassable messiness, making an impassioned case for the power of love to persist under the harshest circumstances. The idea of being in love with someone who wants diametrically opposite things out of life than you do is unbelievably scary. It’s not inherently a bad thing to be scared either, forcing yourself to grapple with the reality that someone you’re intrinsically wrapped up with wants something that you don’t want. That is life. Love is supposed to take you outside of yourself, to push the boundaries of the soul past the confines of your own safe harbor.

Chutney Popcorn makes no apologies for desire. People are allowed to want things. People are allowed to change their minds. People are allowed to be terrified. Human existence is defined by those moments where your back is against the wall, and the only way forward is to hold your head up high and face that which exists outside of your control with grace and dignity. You can find out a lot about the purpose of this whole experiment when you take a deep breathe and allow some space for something beyond your own orbit to gain a foothold in your world.

The film does lose a bit of steam in its third act, Ganatra’s pacing circling the runway for a bit too long at the end. The results are in service to realities that we all need reminding of every now and again. The people we love are capable of surprising us, of pushing against their own limits to support our ambitions, to accept the basic entropy of intersectionality.

The queer experience can feel isolating, an added layer to basic realities that afflict many people regardless of sexuality. Many of us have to invest in found family for our own basic survival, but all family structures are fundamentally a buy-in. Those of us queer people who want families of our own are often forced to get creative with the ways we can make that happen, alongside the other people in our lives committed to figuring out how to cross the oceans of own desires. Plenty of us have made mistakes on that front.  Chutney Popcorn is full of relatable themes for a general audience, a narrative that holds up remarkably well twenty-five years down the road. Anyone who’s ever been put in an unfathomable position by a loved one could learn a lot from the grace displayed in this beautiful film.

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The 2024 Oscar Nominees for Best Picture Ranked

Written by , Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

2023 was a fantastic year for filmmaking. The nominees for the Academy Award for Best Pictures have several contenders that would have been worthy winners in any of the three years since the pandemic. Of course, awards don’t work that way. Best Picture winners are forever immortalized, even in the years when any number of films could’ve eked out a victory.

Art is subjective, an inherent flaw of awards shows. Any number of people could rank the Best Picture nominees in a thousand different ways. My list reflects the way each filmmaker’s storytelling landed for me. Your list would almost certainly be different.

As a critic, I’m primarily interested in two elements of filmmaking: craftsmanship and messaging. All ten Best Picture nominees feature exceptional acting, an element of the art form that can often be found in complete turkeys. It is a far more daunting task to elicit genuine emotion from the audience toward perspectives quite foreign to their own. Art reminds us all of the inherent relatability of the human experience across the boundaries of space and time.

Here is my list, ranked from most deserving of Best Picture to least deserving. Your thoughts on the nominees and my ranking are encouraged in the comment section.

1. Anatomy of a Fall A legal drama has not won Best Picture since 1979’s Kramer vs. Kramer. Anatomy of a Fall does not seem likely to break that trend, but Justine Triet’s intimate depiction of a writer on trial for the death of her husband presents one of the most captivating treatises on language depicted on film in the modern era. Sandra Hüller plays an eminently cold individual who manages to draw sympathy from the audience almost through a force of gravity, a gripping slow burn. Alternating between French and English, Triet constantly plays with the nature of identity and the agony of a human heart at war with itself. Few films manage to capture the claustrophobia of marriage without pointing fingers. People are often awful to each other. Life is not a scorecard, except in places like the courtroom, where everything is on the line.

2. Past LivesFew films capture the quiet, painful dignity of heartbreak quite like Celine Song’s work. Greta Lee delivers a performance of eloquent nuance as Nora, a South Korean expatriate whose journey to America separated her from her childhood crush Hae Sung, played by Tae Yoo. For all of us, the passage of time is full of what-ifs, moments that could consume an entire existence if one allows it. Song handles her material with such grace, a style reminiscent of French romanticism and the best elements of the 2000s mumblecore wave. Few films capture the humanity of loss with such a restrained approach. No other Best Picture nominee captured the pain of love quite like Past Lives, a marvelous feat of filmmaking.

 3. The Zone of Interest The greatest triumph of Jonathan Glazer’s adaptation of Martin Ames’ 2014 novel of the same name is the way the film communicates the horrors of the Holocaust so vividly without ever depicting them on screen. The narrative focuses on Rudolf Höss and his family’s comfortable life in Auschwitz, with a single wall separating their idyllic existence from the atrocities just beyond their backyard. The cinematography puts quite a bit of distance between its subjects and the audience, though Christian Friedel and Sandra Hüller, the latter nominated for Best Actress for her work in Anatomy of a Fall, put forth commanding performances in the lead roles. The Zone of Interest is a tough film to watch, but Glazer deserves a lot of credit for his innovations in a well-trodden genre, an experience that leaves you completely drained by the time the credits roll.

 4. Oppenheimer Oppenheimer will almost certainly win Best Picture. Christopher Nolan’s work is both larger than life and strangely intimate, anchored by a tour de force performance from Cillian Murphy in the lead role. Few films with three-hour runtimes move with such deft precision, using Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s 2005 biography American Prometheus as its lodestar. The “Barbenheimer” phenomenon represented a singular convergence of blockbuster filmmaking and genuine art. Nolan’s split timeline non-linear narrative has the weird effect of taking the film outside both its subject and his bomb, a dynamic that starts to shrink Oppenheimer as the story progresses. Oppenheimer loses a bit of his mystery as a man when the narrative shifts to Los Alamos, appearing more like a traffic conductor or a politician than someone who rather singularly transformed the entire world.

 5. BarbieThe defining blockbuster of 2023 is a worthy awards show contender. Greta Gerwig managed to transform a doll designed to be everything to everyone and deliver a message that felt both personal and universal, a sentiment best expressed through America Ferrara’s Oscar-nominated supporting performance. Robbie and Gosling are quite delightful in the lead roles, shuttling between the plastic world of Barbie and the plastic world of Los Angeles. Barbie gets a little cutesy when awkwardly poking fun at itself, but Gerwig’s work is well-deserving of a nomination, even if the film is unlikely to walk away with many trophies.

 6. Poor Things ­­– Few filmmakers can elicit genuine shock quite like Yorgos Lanthimos. An adaptation of the Alasdair Gray’s 1992 novel of the same name, the film follows Bella, a woman who was revived after her suicide when a mad scientist implanted her unborn child’s brain into her body. Emma Stone is absolutely captivating in the lead role, easily the best performance of her career. The film possesses the best set design of all the nominees, with gorgeous steampunk aesthetics, but the story loses a lot of its power as the narrative wears on. Lanthimos’ most beautiful film is quite compelling in its own way, though its quasi-feminist messaging leaves a lot to be desired.

 7. American FictionCord Jefferson’s adaptation of Percival Everett’s novel Erasure is an absolute delight that marches to the beat of its own drum. Jeffrey Wright delivers a commanding lead performance as a writer/professor who finds unexpected success with a satire of stereotypical Black narratives that pander to white audiences. A powerful and necessary scathing rebuke of the publishing industry’s treatment of marginalized authors. Jefferson’s work struggles a bit down the stretch, but it’s a delightfully charming film. Sterling Brown, Tracee Ellis Ross, and Issa Rae deliver strong supporting performances.

 8. The Holdovers There is a lot to like about The Holdovers, a charming 1970s period piece about a Massachusetts boarding school. Paul Giamatti showcases his leading man chops as a hapless curmudgeonly teacher, bolstered by strong backing performances from Da’Vine Joy Randolph and Dominic Sessa. Director Alexander Payne plays it a little too safe with his narrative that borrows too heavily from filmmakers of the time period. Giamatti would be a worthy upset over likely Best Actor winner Cillian Murphy, but The Holdovers itself is hardly Best Picture worthy.

 9. Killers of the Flower Moon ­The framing for Martin Scorsese’s epic western centered on the 1920s Osage Indian murders is a complete disaster, focusing on a woefully miscast Leonardo DiCaprio instead of the far more compelling Lily Gladstone. Nominated for Best Actress, Gladstone finds herself sidelined for much of the unwieldy 206-minute runtime. Robert DeNiro and Jesse Plemons put forth strong supporting efforts. The cinematography is superb, but Scorsese’s exceedingly relaxed pacing undoes almost all its dramatic tension.

 10. Maestro – Bradley Cooper shows off his ample technical skills as a director in his sophomore effort, while also exposing some glaring flaws as a storyteller. Cooper’s first film, A Star is Born, was the third remake of the 1937 classic. Maestro presented no easy crib sheets, a meandering slog that feels much longer than its 129-runtime suggests. As an actor, Cooper disappears into the role of Leonard Bernstein, but he doesn’t have anything compelling to say. Carey Mulligan does her best grasping at straws for material amidst this poorly conceived avant garbage.