Ian Thomas Malone

Pop Culture Archive

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.

Saturday

30

January 2021

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Sundance Review: Ma Belle, My Beauty

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Society is thankfully turning the corner on treating polyamorous relationships as taboo or unsavory. People should be allowed to love who they want. Perhaps more importantly, they should be allowed to enter into relationships that maybe aren’t the best thing in the world for them, too. Part of how we learn what’s right for us is to have had the chance to know what isn’t right.

Ma Belle, My Beauty centers its narrative largely around this concept. Set against the backdrop of the beautiful south of France, the film follows Bertie (Idella Johnson) and Fred (Lucien Guignard), musicians who relocated from New Orleans. While Fred is desperate to get back on tour, Bertie’s depression complicates their plans, as does the arrival of an old lover, Lane (Hannah Pepper-Cunningham), whose presence stirs old emotions.

Director Marion Hill, making her feature debut, crafts a complex dynamic between the three leads. The tension is palpable in the air, a stark contrast with the awe-inspiring scenery. As a director, Hill impresses with her camera angles, constantly finding new ways to present the house that serves as the setting for a large chunk of the narrative.

To a certain extent, it makes sense that Ma Belle, My Beauty evokes a sense of discomfort in watching this uncomfortable scenario play out. Lane’s reappearance is almost immediately regarded as a bad idea, as is often the case when old lovers reconnect. Breakups rarely exist in vacuums.

The narrative is fundamentally unpleasant to watch, old lovers picking at the scabs of their failed romance. The three leads don’t really have much chemistry at all, a major obstacle for the film to overcome. It’s one thing for Bertie and Lane to be fundamentally wrong for each other, battling back the tides of passion. Trouble is, it’s not really clear that there was ever any passion here at all.

Johnson gives the most impressive performance of the three, giving Bertie a subtle hero’s journey that does play out in a satisfactory manner. Bertie is easy to root for, albeit with a degree of frustration for the avoidable reality of her current situation. Anyone who’s had any prolonged undesired contact with an ex might find it hard to relate to a ninety-minute narrative that could have been easily solved by leaving well enough alone with regard to the breakup.

Ma Belle, My Beauty is a beautifully shot film that suffers from an underdeveloped premise and a lack of chemistry between its leads. Hill has a lot of talent as a filmmaker, but maybe took too hands-off of an approach to the story. It’s hard to get invested in watching three people interact on screen together when it’s clear that none of the characters want to be there.

Saturday

30

January 2021

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Sundance Review: On the Count of Three

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Depression crafts such a deep sense of loneliness, a concept. If misery truly loves company, On the Count of Three makes a compelling case for curating the kind of companionship one should entertain in their darkest hour. Whether internal or external, the drive to try and get better certainly isn’t aided by a Greek chorus echoing songs of hopelessness.

Val (Jerrod Carmichael, who also directed the film) and Kevin (Christopher Abbott) are two best friends teetering on the brink of suicide. Both find comfort in the idea that they’ll have each other for the end, making a pact to kill themselves in a manner best illustrated through the film’s title. Their exact degrees of despondency remain a bit of an open question, allowing the two characters to work each other up into a frenzy.

Carmichael and Abbott carry the film largely through their impeccable chemistry. The audience can clearly see how Val and Kevin became friends, and also why they’re absolutely terrible for each other. There are plenty of moments where you don’t think you should laugh, but Carmichael and Abbott force it out, backed by strong performances from J.B. Smoove and Henry Winkler in bit roles.

The dark comedic tone works pretty well for the narrative. The film earnestly engages with the subject of mental health, something many men struggle to open about. As a director, Carmichael has a firm grasp of pacing, but struggles to paint a clear picture of what the film wants to be. The script isn’t exactly up to the task either, though the acting provides ample cover.

The choppy messaging is bound to rub some people the wrong way, but the film impresses through its meditative engagement of the material. Mental health is a deeply complex subject, one that lends itself to no easy answers. Therapy doesn’t always work. Sometimes, nothing works.

On the Count of Three misses the mark more than it should have. It doesn’t feel like a completely earned sentiment, but Carmichael will undoubtedly provide a needed wake-up call to many depressed people who watch his film. Depression can create the sense that things have spiraled beyond your control, agency stripped from one’s future.

The film works best when it stops to grapple with these broader concepts. Carmichael is a thoughtful filmmaker who understands the power that comes not from arriving at answers, but the value of the pursuit of getting better. Getting help won’t always solve the problem, but the alternative doesn’t offer any solutions.

 

Saturday

30

January 2021

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Sundance Review: How It Ends

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The COVID-19 era of filmmaking will largely be defined by the countless delays in releases or the many blockbusters forced to abandon theatrical releases, rather than the works produced during this awful period in practically everyone’s life. Shot in against a quiet, dreamy Los Angeles backdrop, How It Ends brings some levity to this hellish timeline.

Using an impending meteor crash as a COVID stand-in, the film follows Liza (Zoe Lister-Jones) as she treks around LA, meeting quirky people and gradually accepting the end of her life in just a few hours. Accompanying her for the ride is a metaphysical version of her younger self (Cailee Spaeny), mostly there to provide perspective for some of her life decisions.

The narrative is mostly comprised of a series of socially distanced vignettes as the Liza’s walk through a deserted LA. The apocalyptic setting is captured quite well, bringing about those random interactions that seem increasingly scarce in this strange era. A never-ending stream of veteran comedy actors including Fred Armisen, Lamorne Morris, Charlie Day, and Whitney Cummings provide plenty of entertainment, even as some land better than others.

Directed by Lister-Jones and Daryl Wein, How It Ends leads a nonstop charm offensive that manages to pack in a healthy degree of sincerity toward its bleak subject matter. Regrets are bound to be on anyone’s mind. The film engages the concept of closure, particularly in heavier scenes with Olivia Wilde and Helen Hunt, never losing sight of the reality that time, particularly borrowed times, only moves in one speedy direction.

The film’s crowning achievement might be the way it makes you miss meeting people, if only for a moment. You gain a new appreciation for the random stranger on the street who strikes up a conversation, maybe out of loneliness or maybe because they think they have something to share with the world. COVID has changed the way we connect to each other, giving added weight to How It Ends’ random conversations.

It may be a bit unfair to label the film as a vanity project, but the script isn’t quite strong enough to skirt those notions, particularly in the third act. The film waits too long to pivot away from vignettes toward its deeper plot obligations, exacerbated by the diminishing returns from the comedy that increasingly feels like improv as the film progresses. How It Ends certainly carries the aura of the early pandemic, when celebrities broadcasted messages of “solidarity” from their Hollywood mansions.

There are definitely times where the film feels like the cinematic equivalent of Gal Gadot’s infamous “Imagine” video, cringeworthy feel-good vibes from bored millionaires unable to see how out of touch their look from behind their manicured hedges. It is a deeply privileged narrative that exudes the avoidable smugness of its intentions by never really trying to convince the audience that the film exists as anything more than a project to cure pandemic boredom.

Despite all of that, How It Ends is an undeniably charming movie saved by the chemistry between Lister-Jones and Spaeny. When film historians inevitably study this era, assuming we survive this mess, this film will provide a valuable tool for exploring the state of popular culture, especially some of its flaws. The script definitely needed more time in the oven, but Lister-Jones and Wein deserve a lot of credit for the way they crafted a feel-good narrative that entertains in spite of its flaws.

Saturday

30

January 2021

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Sundance Review: Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided To Go For It

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Rita Moreno is one of the greatest actresses of all time. The truth so evident in the modern era remained tragically elusive to many of the men who governed Hollywood for much of the early chapters of her illustrious career. The new documentary Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided To Go For It exposes these injustices, perfectly capturing the essence of the star whose mere stage presence is enough to evoke a smile on one’s face.

Director Mariem Pérez Riera sets an ambitious agenda for her documentary, covering a career that spans across seven decades. The audience hardly needs any reminders for why Moreno is so beloved, but the first few minutes perfectly set the tone for the film’s intentions. Moreno makes for a fascinating subject, willing to take the questions to depths that plenty would rather avoid.

Using extensive archival footage from Moreno’s early years on screen, Riera does a superb job illustrating the ways that nonwhite actors, particularly women, were boxed into offensive supporting roles. Moreno was forced to act in roles that required extensive tanning makeup and an accent to fit whatever race she was cast to play, a stark contrast from her normal voice. Hollywood’s racist past is no secret to anyone, but the documentary frames the extent of the discrimination in terms that prevent anyone from painting the era with rosy excuses of ignorance of a bygone era. It was always wrong.

The film spends a great deal of time focused on Moreno’s personal life. She recounts past traumas with intimate detail, freely opening up about sexual assault, an attempted suicide, her years-long relationship with Marlon Brando, marital unhappiness, among other life hardships that many prefer to keep to themselves. It’s incredibly moving to watch a woman with so much life experience reflect with such a raw degree of honesty.

Riera includes extensive interviews from Hollywood actors such as Morgan Freeman, Eva Longoria, and Lin-Manuel Miranda, who help provide some context as to the scope of her legacy. Moreno’s impact breaking down barriers for the Hispanic community cannot be understated, nor can her importance to American film as a whole. West Side Story is a great cinematic treasure, one that Moreno helped elevate beyond some its problematic aspects, something she continues to shape as part of Steven Spielberg’s upcoming adaptation.

Perhaps the greatest inspiration that Moreno provides is through her sheer determination. Never content with success, she remains a tireless advocate fighting for women’s rights, especially abortion access. To be a working actor in Moreno’s early years meant accepting some roles beneath her stature, but she never forgot her worth. There’s a lot of food thought in the documentary for working artists, especially in today’s climate.

Riera’s film dazzles both as a tribute to Moreno’s trailblazing career and a contemplative piece exploring life’s great inequities. This documentary is nourishing for the soul. Ninety minutes of Rita Moreno doing just about anything would make for a good film, truly one of popular culture’s most charming figures, but Riera puts together a marvelous narrative that beautifully captures the legacy of an icon.

Saturday

30

January 2021

1

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Sundance Review: The Most Beautiful Boy in the World

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The film industry has no shortage of young stars who found fame early in life, well before any person could be reasonably expected to handle such stardom. It is hard to imagine that anyone could truly handle the moniker of “the most beautiful boy in the world,” which was bestowed upon Björn Andrésen after his breakout role in Luchino Visconti’s Death in Venice. Andrésen’s life has been full of great triumphs and heartbreaking tragedies, beautifully chronicled in the new documentary that shares its name with his famous moniker.

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World provides a three-dimensional perspective on Andrésen’s life, past and present. There are glimpses of the boy who captivated global audiences in the aged man, fifty years older, hidden beneath his grey hair and deep lines. Andrésen makes for a subtly charming subject, albeit clearly carrying with him plenty of grief that the film gradually begins to unpack.

The tabloids have no shortage of articles on young celebrities who peaked at an early age, a phenomenon that tends to attract the same kind of people who rubberneck through highway accidents. Directors Kristina Linström and Kristian Perri seem acutely aware of this notion, careful to steer their film away from the kind of coverage that these stories seem to attract.

Countless models could only dream of being called “the most beautiful boy in the world.” Reality shows us that such an honorific rarely serves as anything other than a curse. Linström & Perri prove this time and time again, often merely through their prolonged shots of Andrésen, a deeply sad man.

The film presents many different angles to explore Andrésen’s life, a globe-trotting journey that keeps things interesting as the directors continue to basically bang the same drum throughout the narrative. Visconti receives a damning verdict for the irresponsible handling of his young star through his formative years. Death in Venice created Andrésen in his present form, still carrying the aura of superstar in personal interactions.

The directors wisely put Visconti aside after a while, reluctant to rest the burden of antagonist on negligence conducted a half century ago. The film follows Andrésen to places such as Copenhagen and Stockholm in an attempt to learn more about his absentee father, as well as his mother, gruesomely murdered in his early childhood. Perhaps most interesting is Andrésen’s trip to Japan, where he enjoyed superstardom in years following Death in Venice. Linström & Perri do an excellent job explaining the broader cultural dynamics that led to his outstretched popularity in Japan.

The film’s greatest strength is its ability to intimately capture Andrésen while maintaining a healthy degree of distance. It would be easy for a film crafted like this to fall into the trap of essentially playing PR machine, but Linström & Perri aren’t afraid to show their subject acting like a brat at times. Andrésen isn’t a perfect man, nor an angelic martyr whose fate was decided fifty years ago.

At its core, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World provides a great perspective on the humanity that endures even as we face obstacles beyond our natural sense of comprehension. There are very few people on this earth who know what it was like for Andrésen to ascend to that level of fame at an early age. Empathy does not necessarily require anything more than to listen.

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World is a harrowing, deeply moving experience that captures a star as gravity forces it back to earth. Ninety-four minutes is not a lot of time to capture a life, but Linström & Perri provide an immensely thorough perspective of this complicated man. Much of Björn Andrésen’s existence has been defined by considerations beyond his control. The film presents that reality with a sense of compassion that rarely connects through the screen on such a powerful level.

Friday

29

January 2021

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Sundance Review: Strawberry Mansion

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Social media has commoditized our daily lives in a way that no one should be completely comfortable with. Whether you choose to post pictures of your lunch on Instagram every day or not, the world has transformed into a place where that rather mundane action carries the perception of value in our broader consciousness. There is nothing that needs to be private in a world where anything can garner a “like.”

Strawberry Mansion takes place in the not-too-distant future, a world where dreams are recorded on VHS tapes for tax purposes. James Preble (Kentucker Audley, who also co-directed the film with Albert Birney) visits the quiet home of Arabella “Bella” Isadora (Penny Fuller), an elderly artist, to conduct an “audit” of her dreams to render unto Caesar what he’s owed. James quickly finds himself charmed by Bella’s hospitality, sparking romantic feelings between the two that transcends time and space.

Audley & Birney’s worldbuilding works on just about every level, crafting a charming, full-bodied space for their whimsical adventure. The color palette mesmerizes the eyes while the work of composer Dan Deacon supplies a steady stream of electronic beats that help anchor the mood. The retro-futurism is pretty believable for our nostalgia-obsessed timeline.

Audley also excels in the lead role, possessing a subtle sense of confidence and curiosity as the humble tax collector. Loneliness brings James and Bella together, but there’s an organic chemistry driving the two to seek companionship in one another. The world deals its cards, but we all have agency to choose what to do with our hands, a foreign notion to James in his role as a professional observer.

The intergenerational romance is refreshing, demonstrating love’s ability to transcend common stereotypes toward age-gaps that we see both in society and film Audley has great chemistry with Fuller, as well as with Grace Glowicki, who portrays a younger Bella in some of the film’s dreamier sequences. There’s a natural sense to their affection that provides a refreshing contrast to the gloomier reality of the world they inhabit, something undoubtedly relatable to many of the viewers.

The themes that Strawberry Mansion spends much of the second half of its ninety-minute runtime focusing on pretty heavy issues that philosophers have spent centuries grappling with. There aren’t easy answers here. Audley & Birney never try to pretend otherwise, instead celebrating the joys that come about through the pursuit of those nuggets of wisdom we hope to discover along the way.

It’s easy to see dystopia in the film’s commoditized world. The thought of dreams being mined for taxation value is bound to be uncomfortable for many, including the protagonists. Strawberry Mansion never lets itself become consumed in the endless churn that social media produces, spiking anxiety and depression levels in much of the population. It’s a deeply optimistic narrative that finds beauty in life, the idea of a moment that belongs to you and no one else.

Strawberry Mansion offers the perfect antidote to our beleaguered reality. It is both easy and understandable to be depressed by the world, especially the ways we have become intrinsically linked to our devices. The world is a messed up place.

Art doesn’t necessarily have an obligation to bring hope to counter that rather reasonable notion. Audley & Birney made a pretty compelling case for the wonder of life. True connection is rare, a bizarre irony in this age where we can live our entire lives online. Strawberry Mansion gives a glimpse of a world where we can appreciate the fleeting moments, the ones that don’t last forever on your camera roll.

Friday

29

January 2021

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Sundance Review: Mother Schmuckers

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Comedy does not need to achieve more than its obvious primary objective of making people laugh. Seinfeld found global success with its “no hugging, no learning” mantra. As a film, the Belgian-produced Mother Schmuckers delights in crafting a hilarious narrative that’s heavy on laughs and light on anything resembling character growth.

The film follows brothers Issachar (Maxi Delmelle) and Zabulon (Harpo Guit, who also co-directed the film with his brother, Lenny), who live with their mother, Cashmere (Claire Bodson) in a run-down apartment. The brothers are pretty hapless, completely governed by their own primitive instincts. Issachar and Zabulon are the kind of people you’d avoid if you saw them on the street, the kinds of characters that would make one want to move away if you discovered them in your building.

As a narrative, Mother Schmuckers has less of a plot than an organized sequence of events. Issachar and Zabulon are hungry and need to find their dog, January Jack, before their mother gets even angrier with them. The search for January Jack takes them all across their city, meeting a horde of characters as unsavory as the brothers.

Mother Schmuckers offers pretty much non-stop laughs for the entire runtime, an impressive feat for the Guit brothers. There’s an endearing quality to Issachar and Zabulon that makes no sense, two absolute idiots. The humor translates quite well from its French language, aided by Delmelle and Guit’s talent for physical comedy. Perhaps the only drawback is that it can be hard to read the subtitles with so much laughter.

The film’s seventy-minute runtime is one of its best assets. Mother Schmuckers cares nothing for character development or any kind of plot besides the leads being hungry and in search of their dog. That’s a tricky dynamic for a film to tackle, something that the Guit brothers manage masterfully, but part of that skill lies in their ability to know when to call it a day.

Mother Schmuckers is a celebration of laughter as an artform, pure joy from start to finish. One does not necessarily look at toilet humor with the same critical lens as a work of Monet, for obvious reasons, but it would be unwise to discredit the value of the strong emotions that the film manages to evoke. Film exists to make us feel. This film will make you feel really, really good.

The film probably carries the most appeal for fans of films like Jackass or The Hangover. Hardly for the faint of heart, the Guit brothers pieced together an impressive narrative that succeeds solely on the strength of their ability to garner laughs. One of those films that makes you marvel at the form, reminding its audience of the sheer ability for art to inspire such pleasurable emotions for an extended period of time.