Ian Thomas Malone

Movie Reviews Archive

Tuesday

2

February 2021

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Sundance Review: Land

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The shadow of Christopher McCandless, the subject of the book Into the Wild and its feature film adaptation, looms large over Robin Wright’s debut film. McCandless wandered into the Alaskan wilderness woefully ill-prepared for his Thoreau-inspired journey. His death, while tragic, came as little surprise to anyone with knowledge of the difficulties of that nomadic lifestyle.

One can’t help but shake the feeling that Land’s protagonist Edee (Wright) ventured onto her vast property in Wyoming inspired by the ease with which McCandless managed to end his life. Shunning the advice from a local to keep a car, Edee doesn’t know much about life in a log cabin, hardly able to heat up a can of chili.

We quickly learn that horrific personal tragedy prompted this self-exile. Edee doesn’t necessarily want to kill herself, but she’s kind of open should the idea present itself. Her basic lack of survival training is a good place to start.

Alternating between rustic and amateurish, Wright’s directing leaves a lot to be desired. Too many scenes are awkwardly framed, especially in the log cabin, feeling more like a clunky student film than serious drama. She fares a bit better outdoors, with the beautiful Rocky Mountains providing cover for her subpar filmmaking.

Everything about Land is formulaic and boiler plate. For a while at least, Wright hints that she’s playing Edee with a hidden sense of depth that’s going to be further explored. That never really happens. It’s a rather aloof performance by a talented actress clearly capable of better.

The second half is a bit more interesting than the first, aided by the introduction of Miguel (Demián Bichir), a local hunter who rescues Edee from starvation and hypothermia. Bichir gives Wright someone to work opposite, though in some ways his presence represents a weird abandonment of the film’s initial intentions to explore Edee’s desire to live a nomadic life.

Wright dances around themes of grief from time to time, never really engaging with the material on any serious level. With a brisk runtime of just under ninety minutes, Land hardly overstays its welcome, but the whole thing feels like one big missed opportunity. Visit Time to prepare website for the latest preparation and survival news.

Plenty can relate to Edee’s desire to unplug from the world and try to experiment with what it’s like to live off the grid. Land harnesses that relatable notion, but the script would rather have its nomadic-minded protagonist cede her independence to be rescued by a man, for little other reason than to give her something to do. Wright never projects like she’s trying to do more than the bare minimum to make a movie. What a waste.

 

Tuesday

2

February 2021

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Sundance Review: Mass

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The success of any individual film largely rests in its ability to relate its themes to the audience. Some issues are obviously more relatable than others. Mass centers its narrative on the unthinkable, a grieving family sitting down with the parents of the boy who took their son’s life in a deadly school shooting.

An unassuming backroom in a small town church serves as the primary setting for Fran Kranz’s intimate drama. Judy (Breeda Wool) and Anthony (Kagen Albright) try to make the room as comfortable as possible, engaging in painfully awkward small talk with Kendra (Michelle N. Carter), a social worker who arranged the meeting. After a few short minutes essentially setting up the narrative’s primary objective, the three depart, leaving the four principal actors alone for the bulk of the remaining 111 minutes.

Jay (Jason Isaacs) and Gail (Martha Plimpton) wear their years of grief with every line of their faces. Worn down by their incalculable loss, Kranz quickly communicates the most important point. They’re not there because they want to be there. This effort at closure is pretty much the only move left to play in a last-ditch effort to move on from this unending darkness.

Linda (Ann Dowd) and Richard (Reed Birney) are essentially a more polished version of the same crushed template. The narrative quickly reveals a string of lawsuits filed against them in the wake of the shooting, peppering their cordiality with the aura of deliberation. Their son ruined countless lives in his spree of carnage, but Richard and Linda are kind of done apologizing. Their lives were wrecked, too.

With grace typically reserved for the stage, all four leads easily deliver the best performances of their respective careers. The tension in the room is unsettling, but you never really want to look away, not when Plimpton, Dowd, and Isaacs are showcasing their immense talents as they give everything to this unthinkable scenario.

Birney has a bit of a different role to play in the narrative. Richard wants to accommodate the lines of questioning, without relinquishing control. Rattled without the coaching from his legal team, Richard frequently comes across like an insensitive ass, engaging in pointless battles of semantics. Birney isn’t completely there to play the villain, but he succeeds in bringing out the best in Isaacs and Dowd in particular.

In many ways, the script is pretty insulated from normal methods of engagement. Is it realistic? Who can really answer that question?

Kranz’ screenplay does err on the side of caution a bit too much for a narrative so confined to one space. Mass never gives the sense that it’s about to devolve into a shouting match, but it doesn’t completely feel like everything was left on the table either. Maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.

The script does succeed in two very important regards. Kranz never allows the audience to believe that this meeting was a mistake, which would in effect pour a bunch of gasoline on four souls who have seen enough grief to last a few lifetimes. It also never spends too much time on the politics at hand, keeping the whole exercise from feeling like a debate.

Mass could be described as powerful by the very nature of its premise. Kranz impresses in his directorial debut, repeatedly striking at the core of tragedy’s all-encompassing effects. Often brutal to watch and clearly not for everyone, the film offers its four stars the rare opportunity to completely carry the narrative off of the strength of their craft.

Tuesday

2

February 2021

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Sundance Review: The Pink Cloud

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One has to feel for the plight of The Pink Cloud. Written in 2017 and filmed in 2019, facts plainly laid out by the film at its start, director Iuli Gerbase never set out to make a COVID-19 movie. Films don’t exist in vacuums, reflective of the times they debut in, leaving a totally different rubric through which to engage this breezy dystopia.

A pink cloud has engulfed the skies, deadly to humans after ten seconds of contact. The cloud can’t get in through cracks doors or windows, requiring much suspension of disbelief. Everyone is trapped in whatever building initially protected them from this deadly plague.

Giovana (Renata de Lélis) didn’t expect more than a one night stand when she invited Yago (Eduardo Mendonça) into her home. With the cloud hovering above, the two are stuck together, unsure if they even like each other. Like everyone else who stepped out to go to the grocery store or to a friend’s house, they don’t exactly have much of a choice.

Gerbase deserves a lot of credit for her accuracy in predicting how a global pandemic would unfold. Health care is a nightmare. Relationships are practically impossible, even under the best of circumstances. Video calls are not sufficient human interaction for anyone. Life is very, very hard.

The broader world-building leaves a lot to be desired. Set almost entirely from Giovana’s point of view in her fairly spacious home, Gerbase isn’t super interested in exploring the implications of a years’ long pandemic on society at large. After the past year, it’s practically impossible to believe that many national governments wouldn’t completely fall apart at the idea of having to care for billions of homebound people.

How badly you were affected by the cloud largely rests with where you were when it hit. Giovana has plenty of issues with depression, but the film suffers from its over-emphasis on her relatively rosier perch. There are a few subplots involving characters in far worse scenarios, occasionally in more interesting conflicts than Giovana and Yago’s. The other characters have extremely inconsistent screentime, making it harder to be invested in their seemingly compelling stories.

The 104-minute runtime is a little long for a film with no real sense of urgency toward its narrative. Gerbase keeps things interesting with her beautiful color scheme and inventive camera angles that keep the settings feeling fresh, even deep into the film’s third act. The script has an endearing dry wit to it, a subtle sense of humor that pops up when you least expect it.

No one working on The Pink Cloud expected to have their thesis tested before the film was even released. Under unexpected scrutiny from an audience with a newfound connection to the problems presented, Gerbase’s narrative holds up quite well. Beyond simple realism, the film also succeeds at being an entertaining pandemic narrative, no easy task for a world ready for things to go back to normal.

Monday

1

February 2021

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Sundance Review: Captains of Zaatari

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The timeless question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is presented to us as children countless times before adulthood. The answers rarely reflect the reality of the job market, nor do they need to. No one needs to dream of being an accountant from an early age to live a happy life. To want to be a superstar athlete is a natural desire.

The documentary Captains of Zaatari challenges this notion from a unique perspective. Set in the Zaatari refugee camp in Jordan, home to tens of thousands of Syrians forced to flee their war-torn homeland, the film follows two teens, Mahmoud and Fawzi, as they hope to leverage their soccer talents for a chance at a better life. A visiting soccer academy presents the chance to make that dream a reality, offering a glimmer of hope in a community desperate for some positive news.

What’s most impressive about director Ali El Arabi’s work is his gift for presenting a universally relatable story that transcends any language or cultural barriers. The hardships that come from living in a refugee camp, in what look like converted shipping containers, are not the kind of struggles that most international viewers will have any firsthand experience with. El Arabi doesn’t focus on the state of the region’s geopolitics, but rather the plight of his teenage subjects, the kinds of conversations you might hear in any high school corridor.

The film does a great job setting the scene in the camp, showcasing the boys’ families, loving parents who want to temper their sons’ dreams of becoming the next Christiano Ronaldo. Refugee camp or not, life moves forward. Education is important for anyone, a reality that their parents try to remind the kids of as they follow their dreams.

Filmed over a six year period, Captains of Zaatari comes together when the boys travel to Qatar for a tournament. One of the most subtle, harrowing moments, comes from a remark that this is the first time that the athletes will be competing with cleats, often depicted playing barefoot. Televised to their families back home, El Arabi captures a moment of triumph that puts the pursuit in perspective. We don’t know what the future will bring for Mahmoud of Fawzi, but it’s quite inspiring to see the power that the game has had on their lives play out in real-time.

Perhaps most impressive of El Arabi’s achievements is his ability to present this touching narrative with only a seventy-three minute runtime. Captains of Zaatari is a testament to the power of passion to shine a light in darkness. These families lost so much when they were forced to flee Syria, unthinkable horrors. It is quite inspiring to see their perseverance, aided not only by the love of a game, but the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

Monday

1

February 2021

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Sundance Review: Violation

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Media punditry often does a terrible job examining accusations of sexual harassment in the wake of the #MeToo movement. Situations that call for compassion and sensitivity are instead treated like post-game analysis you’d find on ESPN. The public engages in a kind of weird negotiation on behalf of the accused, seeking a way to carry on with minimal interruption. Watching it all play out is enough to make a person want to scream.

Violation is a film that captures that rage in a calm collected matter. Miriam (Madeline Sims-Fewer, who also co-directed the film with Dusty Mancinelli) returns to her hometown with her husband for a weekend with her younger sister and brother-in-law. An unfortunate evening encounter throws a wrench in the festivities, leaving Miriam isolated as she struggles with how to respond to such a betrayal.

Sims-Fewer delivers a powerful performance in the lead role, capturing the essence of the feelings of isolation that many experience after sexual harassment. The desire to be heard is a natural human response to a horrific situation. Sims-Fewer and Mancinelli have a keen interest in exploring the space that surfaces in the vacuum, when no one wants to acknowledge the pain.

Sims-Fewer & Mancinelli frequently use close-ups and other camera angles to capture the sheer disgust that Miriam feels toward her situation. The results are often uncomfortable, clearly a deliberate choice by the directors. The film features extensive frontal male nudity, subverting a trope that the horror genre loves to deploy.

Violation cares little for judgement. The film eschews any attempt at commentary on the broader contemporary politics that the #MeToo movement has sparked in so much of the world. Rather, Miriam is given the stage to pick up the pieces in a way that she sees fit. The audience doesn’t always have to agree with her. These situations often spark reactions that essentially play like report cards, but that’s really not how the world works. Life is messier, something that this film illustrates in a way that often jarring, sparking the necessary broader conversations that need to be had.

Monday

1

February 2021

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Sundance Review: Prime Time

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The world is full of people who want to be on television, not necessarily out of acting ambitions or to showcase any particular talents, but rather out of a more primitive instinct. So many simply want to be seen, to stand out from the rest of our busy society. Prime Time focuses its narrative on a very lonely boy, desperate for someone, anyone, out there to stop for a moment and acknowledge his very existence.

Set on January 31st, 1999, in the heart of Y2K mania, director Jakub Piatek cuts through the noise of the era, a period piece that doesn’t really rely at all on being set in the past. Mira Kyle (Magdalena Poplawska) is a TV presenter facing stiff competition from the younger talent at the network. Plans for a New Year’s Eve broadcast are hindered by Sebastian (Bartosz Bielenia), who takes Kyle and Grzegorz (Andrezej Klak) hostage in an attempt to force his way on live TV.

Piatek impresses as he wrestles with themes of visibility and control throughout the narrative, a strong debut for the talented director. The main suspense comes from Sebastian’s constant arguing with the police, the film producers, and his loathsome father. Sebastian may wield the gun, but he’s hardly ever in charge of the mess of his own making.

The women of the film keep the tempo, sensible counterweights to all the chaos. When her supervisors fail, young officer Lena (Monika Frajzk) tries to reason with Sebastian rather than inflame the situation. As Kyle, Poplawska continuously captivates, carefully navigating the tightrope she’s forced to walk. Laura (Malgorzata Hajewska-Krzysztofik), a producer, also demonstrates a sense of calm that sets her apart from the rest in the male-dominated control room.

As the unassuming security guard that no one seems to care about, Klak is in many ways the film’s secret weapon. Security guards are not exactly equipped for hostage situations, but Klak gives Grzegorz a satisfying supporting arc that flies under the radar for much of the narrative. Shot during the pandemic, the entire cast deserves a lot of credit for the way they came together to create such riveting suspense within fairly small confines.

Piatek does struggle a bit when it comes to presenting Sebastian and his rationale. He plays footsie a bit too much with the idea of sympathy for his gun-wielding hero, a dynamic complicated by his reservation toward truly exploring the root of Sebastian’s actions. The media is often criticized after mass shootings for coverage deemed sympathetic toward the plight of these perpetrators.

That’s not to say that Sebastian can’t exist in a grey area. Piatek points toward that direction without responsibly making the case for why the audience should feel for him. Bielenia’s performance might elicit that kind of reaction anyway, but that doesn’t excuse the script of its obligations to avoid lionizing people who pull these kinds of stunts.

Despite a few bumps along the way, Prime Time is a satisfying suspense-filled thriller. The acting is superb and the film never drags through its brisk ninety-three-minute runtime. Piatek is an inventive director with a bright future ahead of him.

Monday

1

February 2021

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Sundance Review: In the Earth

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We are at least a few years away from truly being able to examine the burgeoning genre of the “COVID movie.” Ben Wheatley’s In the Earth was shot during the summer of 2020, a reality that dominates the narrative that makes no mention of coronavirus. Most impressive about the film is the way that Wheatley causes you to forget about the broader production circumstances, allowing the audience to lose themselves in this horror-filled tale.

The film follows scientist Dr. Martin Lowry (Joel Fry) as he attempts to navigate the eerie desolate woods to find his missing colleague (Hayley Squires). The pandemic-ravaged world of In the Earth is essentially presented as similar to our own, through a camping lodge turned scientific outpost hints at something more sinister. As Martin and his guide, park ranger Alma (Ellora Torchia), navigate the woods, the true toll of their new reality begins to unfold.

The actors do a pretty superb job keeping things interesting in a world where coronavirus obviously limited their physical interactions, especially in the first half. Fry and Torchia work well opposite each other, a quick, professional chemistry. Reece Shearsmith delivers a delectable supporting performance as Zach, a man living in the woods despite its obvious dangers.

As a director Wheatley effectively turns the audience’s attention away from comparisons of the pandemic within In the Earth and that of our reality. The sentiment lingers for a bit in the beginning, but the film’s worldbuilding gives the mind plenty to digest over the 107-minute runtime. A master of suspense, Wheatley maintains of a firm grip on exposition, often preferring to let the terror speak for itself.

The film is definitely fifteen minutes longer than it needs to be. Fry and Torchia work well together, but the script doesn’t give them a lot of space to go deeper than the patterns established early in the narrative. There are a few times where the narrative starts to lag, only for Wheatley to right the ship.

There is a tedious amount of strobe lighting. The sensory overload Wheatley hoped to evoke through the flashes, accompanied by a killer score, feels like a bit much. Shot over the course of 15 days, the film is immensely impressive in its execution, but everything feels less intentional as time goes on.

Wheatley shows off his considerable talents with his minimalist narrative, a highly ambitious film that succeeds in spite of a few flaws. In the Earth consistently goes the extra mile. Others may produce work in spite of the pandemic, but Wheatley sees this era as an additional bar to surpass.

Sunday

31

January 2021

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Sundance Review: Eight for Silver

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In a world where vampires have gone completely mainstream, there’s something refreshing about Sean Ellis’ effort to craft a classic horror tale centered around their furrier counterparts. Werewolves are pretty frightening, inspiring terror not only from the external threat imposed by their stature, but also the implications of a monster transformed from of a non-consenting body.

Werewolves can’t control who they are, unlike the men crafted to oppose them in these narratives. Eight for Silver spends much of its first act depicting men at their worst, featuring a 19th century slaughter of an indigenous settlement that provokes the events of the film. Ellis hints that revenge is on the mind, but his muddled storytelling prevents the narrative from ever really delivering on this premise.

Eight for Silver doesn’t really have a protagonist in any true sense of the word. Much of the action revolves around the home of Seamus Laurent (Alistair Petrie), a brutal landowner with seemingly no personality. The introduction of pathologist John McBride (Boyd Holbrook) gives the film something to drive the action, but he’s hardly much of a hero to root for.

A big part of the issue seems to be the constant struggle of style vs. substance. This dynamic is on full display with the early slaughter of the indigenous people. Ellis opts to depict the brutal events from a wide panoramic angle. At the time, it’s unclear what message Ellis wants to send by depicting this brutality for a distance, far too much going on for the eyes to focus on any one point. It’s beautiful cinematography that ends up feeling a lot like a cop-out, coupled with the film’s penchant for extreme gore and violence.

Ellis crafts an absolutely beautiful film that has no substance. He has a great sense for framing a scene, with no ability to elicit emotion. The runtime of just under two hours is far too long for a film with no one to care about, a remarkable absence of anything resembling character development. The horror scenes lose their scare value early on, leaving the audience with little but a sense of diminishing returns.

The acting is serviceable in the sense that there’s little to complain about in any of the performances. Petrie, Holbrook, and the others aren’t really playing characters. Rather, Seamus and John are pieces in Ellis’ broader dollhouse, elaborate manor houses that play well into the film’s period setting. Such a travesty to see such beautiful filmmaking undone by an absentee script.

Eight for Silver might impress genre fans on a technical level. Ellis clearly has a gift for building the frame of a fantastic movie. With this one at least, it’s not at all apparent that he has any idea how to tell a story.

Sunday

31

January 2021

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Sundance Review: A Glitch in the Matrix

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Technology has undoubtedly increased the sheer number of people who believe that we’re all living in one big computer simulation. Maybe we are! Rodney Ascher’s documentary A Glitch in the Matrix certainly seems to think so, even if the director isn’t too terribly concerned with presenting a cohesive case for why anyone else should follow suit.

Ascher anchors his film around a 1977 lecture that novelist Philip K. Dick gave in France, using points Dick raised to divide up his case for a simulated reality. Dick’s extensive bibliography continually grapples with what it means to be human in the age of artificial intelligence and mind-altering drugs, powerful work that reflects his deep passion for questioning the nature of reality. If Ascher has actually read any of his books, the notion is not well-presented, tailoring his thesis to the specific confines of a single talk.

Dick died in 1982, largely underappreciated throughout his life and career, then often considered a mere pulp genre writer. The subsequent decades have elevated his legacy to a more fitting stature, though explaining the scarcity of video footage featuring the man himself. A simple YouTube search of Philip K. Dick’s interviews produces the interview that Ascher used right at the top.

Whether Ascher engaged with Dick on a level beyond the first video that popped up or a few paragraphs of his Wikipedia page is unclear. A Glitch in the Matrix substitutes intellectual rigor with the seemingly-spontaneous musings of some random people Ascher found on the internet, usually cloaked in filters that make them look like bad CGI from a 90s B movie. There is far too little substance to be had in a documentary that’s just shy of the two-hour mark.

Ascher is clearly fascinated by the personal experience of these unidentified individuals, rambling ad nauseum about their own supposed experiences. As a director, he has no interest in curating these interviews, presenting their mumble-filled rants uncut for long periods of time. Extensive footage from films with reality-questioning premises gives the eyes a break from peering around these people’s bedrooms where they conducted Skype interviews with Ascher, complete with poor audio quality.

The director does curate an interview with Oxford professor Nick Bostrom, a revered figure among computer-simulation theorists, who receives a small fraction of the focus enjoyed by Ascher’s broader collection of crackpots. Ascher never really digs deeper with Bostrom, producing a pretty surface-level reading of his paper’s abstract. His heart clearly lies with the internet-dwellers better suited to indulge his wildest fantasies.

Fitting for the documentary’s title, the film spends much of its runtime talking about The Matrix. Like his attitude toward PKD, Ascher engages with the popular film at its shallowest level, prioritizing the feelings of his interviewees at the expense of any substantive exploration of the material. The Matrix is often taught in philosophy courses, using the Wachowskis’ work as an entry point for broader discussions about Descartes, Kierkegaard, and countless others.

While the film has been a popular tool for academia since before either Wachowski sister came out as transgender, it seems a bit ridiculous that Ascher droned on for an hour about their film without ever bringing this topic up. Maybe the message board where he found his subjects didn’t allow that to be mentioned. Gender would be an interesting point to discuss with regard to simulated reality, but perhaps a bit too dense for Ascher’s shallow approach to storytelling.

Ascher’s greatest stunt comes in the form of the sole interview to be conducted over the phone rather than Skype. For a few extended segments, this interview talks about how he watched The Matrix hundreds of times, inspiring him to buy a trench coat and a movie poster. For a while, this extended rant seems to fit in line with the non-sequiturs provided by Ascher’s other subjects, but he lets this one ramble for what feels like forever, no purpose or end goal in sight.

The big reveal turns out to be that the voice belongs to Joshua Cooke, who murdered his parents after becoming obsessed with the idea that he was living in the world of the film. “The Matrix defense” was even planned by his lawyers as an insanity defense, before Cooke simply pleaded guilty. Ascher provides detailed animation to match Cooke’s recollection of the murder, which might have landed with more of an impact if he’d bothered to edit it down by about five minutes. For too long it felt like trolling done by Ascher to make the audience question the reality implications of a film like this being made.

Ascher proudly entertains the half-baked musings of the same sorts of dudes who worship Elon Musk tweets. Breathtakingly bad. The same random dudes Ascher found might find ent in this shallow approach to complex issues, but this film has no appeal to anyone who spends less than ten hours a day on Reddit.

Sunday

31

January 2021

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Sundance Review: Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street

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It is impossible to underestimate the global impact that Sesame Street has had on countless children across the world. Seeking to provide a counterbalance to advertisement-centric programming, a group led by Joan Ganz Cooney, Lloyd Morrisett, and Jon Stone crafted a show that led with inclusivity and sought to empower children rather than speak down to them. The documentary Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street explores the first few decades of the series that has remained on the air since the early days of the Nixon administration.

Director Marilyn Agrelo blends extensive archival footage with contemporary interviews with key players who built Sesame Street, as well as family members to speak for those who are no longer with us. The film provides a great primer for understanding the show’s formula, research-based education strategies blended with entertainment provided through Jim Henson’s Muppets and the unforgettable musical numbers.

Agrelo’s most impressive strength is her ability to juggle the stories of so many figures in the shows history, from the creative leads to the on-screen talent to the musicians who all worked to make the magic. The political nature of the series receives extensive focus, breaking down barriers and giving marginalized groups some much needed positive visibility. The show’s central demographic has always been inner-city kids, teaching letters and numbers to those who may not have had the same opportunities before kindergarten.

Many of the show’s bigger moments have been covered extensively over the decades, but the film manages to elicit plenty of emotions, even in well-trodden territory. The on-screen depiction of Mr. Hooper’s death following the real-life passing of actor Will Lee remains a powerful milestone in children’s television. Even with so much else to get to within the film’s 107-minute runtime, Agrelo ensures that the floodgates reopen with an extended viewing of the episode’s saddest moments.

Such pacing reflects the director’s firm grasp of the vast material. She builds a sense of trust in the audience that doesn’t cause too much second-guessing toward the film’s extensive, perhaps excessive, focus on Stone and composer Joe Raposo, at the expense of other figures. The time really does fly by as you sit and watch all these years of memories unfold on screen, the kind of documentary that you wish would have been a multi-part series.

While clearly a victory lap of sorts, the film does turn a critical lens toward the show on a few occasions. A few scenes featuring interviews from the family of Matt Robinson, the original actor to play Gordon, demonstrate conflicting opinions as to how to represent black characters on the show. The Muppet Roosevelt Franklin disappeared from the show over concerns from black families that the character reinforced stereotypes, causing a rift that eventually led to Robinson’s departure from the show.

The film’s title lays out its specific intentions, a carefully curated segment of Sesame Street history from its formation in the late 60s to around the early 80s, plus some brief coverage of Henson’s death in 1990. Elmo only make a minor cameo, never directly mentioned by name. In that regard, it’s a little puzzling to see a Sesame Street documentary that covers a shorter range of the show’s lore than 2014’s I Am Big Bird: The Caroll Spinney Story. While that alone shouldn’t be held against the doc, Agrelo does whiff on anything resembling a cohesive conclusion for her film.

The idea that they all hate Elmo sorts of hovers as the film comes to a close. It’s understandable that no one would want to say that, sandbagging the current talent in the process. The film thoroughly explains the power of the show’s founding individuals, but doesn’t particularly care to lay out what it feels the show is missing in their absence.

There’s a natural sense of incompleteness that would be inevitable considering that Sesame Street is still on the air. Bert and Ernie will live forever, but Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street as a documentary concerns itself with an era that does have a distinct beginning, middle, and end. The doc definitely missed an opportunity to offer some semblance of an opinion on what it meant for the show to lose most of its remaining original cast members in the last few years.

Though Spinney appears in original footage in the documentary, his 2018 retirement and 2019 death receive no mention at all. There’s another missed opportunity in choosing not to cover the controversial exits of longtime cast members Bob McGrath, Emilio Delgado (who plays Luis), and Roscoe Orman (the third actor to play Gordon) following the show’s acquisition by HBO, which also produced this documentary. All three appeared in the documentary, suggesting that there’s little behind the scenes drama, but it feels weird that none of this was ever brought up within the film.

Conclusions aside, Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street is just about everything you’d want from a Sesame Street. The behind the scenes footage is a delight and the interviews provide a lot of context into the shows mechanics. Fans of all ages will find much to enjoy spending two hours with the architects of an American institution.