Ian Thomas Malone

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11

September 2021

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TIFF Review: Attica

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

The 1971 Attica Prison riot represents the bloodiest uprising in the history of the United States penal system, as well as one of the worst atrocities committed by the American government upon its own citizens. 43 people, including ten civilians and correction officers, as well as 33 inmates, lost their lives as state police, acting on orders from Governor Nelson Rockefeller, retook the prison on September 13th. In the subsequent decades, countless people have asked the same question: why did it have to be this way?

Stanley Nelson’s documentary Attica provides an in-depth look at the riot and its root causes. Featuring ample archival footage and dozens of new interviews from eyewitnesses including prisoners, journalists covering the riot, and family members of the hostages, the film thoroughly explores the events of that chilling period from every angle. Few documentaries so effectively transport their audiences through space and time quite like Nelson’s work, a three-dimensional perspective on events that transpired fifty years ago.

The subjects of the interviews are generous with their accounts, clearly the product of decades of introspection. The demands of the inmates were quite benign in nature, desiring basic human necessities like decent food, toilet paper, and medical care. As a maximum security facility where a predominantly white male staff frequently abused the population that was more than 70% black and brown, it’s easy to see how tensions could fester in such an environment rotted to its core with institutional racism. With that in mind, the riot only seemed like a natural reaction to untenable circumstances.

Nelson’s great triumph is the way he manages to cut through the material to present a couple of key points that ultimately could have prevented the carnage of September 13, 1971. Days of negotiations between the inmates, the prison administration, and outside advocates brought in to help mediate, produced a list of demands that could have been reasonably implemented. Whether Rockefeller’s broader political ambitions, in sync with President Nixon’s “law and order” campaign platform, would have followed through on any substantive reform is a different story, but Attica does a fabulous job exploring the riot in real-time.

Though the documentary covers quite a bit of ground over its 116-minute runtime, there are two glaring areas in need of some additional context. Nelson spends little time focusing on the actual taking of the prison grounds, a potential product of the lack of archival footage. The death of correctional officer William Quinn from injuries sustained during the initial takeover of the prison, is described as the tipping point where the inmates’ hopes for clemency were taken off the table. The circumstances of Quinn’s death are a bit unnecessarily confusing, described in the documentary as a hostage when he died of his wounds in hospital. The whole situation could have been presented with more clarity.

Attica is a very impressive documentary that cuts through complex material with relative ease. If anything, Nelson’s work might have benefited from an extended run as a limited series rather than a film. The way the government handled Attica remains a national disgrace. It didn’t have to be this way.

Saturday

11

September 2021

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TIFF Review: The Hill Where Lionesses Roar

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

The notion of feeling claustrophobic by the confines of one’s hometown is a fairly universal sensation across cultural barriers. For a region like Kosovo, whose status as an autonomous country is widely disputed throughout the world, teenage angst reaches a particularly high boiling point. The Hill Where Lionesses Roar (original title Luaneshat e kordrës) explores a group of teenagers fed up with their seemingly predetermined course in life.

Qe (Flaka Latifi), Li (Era Balaj), and Jeta (Uratë Shabani) live in a remote village with little in the way of entertainment or upward mobility. Choices for an evening activity include lying on a hill staring up at the sky, or throwing rocks at beer bottles in a derelict empty swimming pool. Though the film showcases plenty of Kosovo’s natural beauty, it’s understandable how such a quiet landscape might drive a young person insane.

The arrival of newcomers Zem (Andi Bajgora), who quickly forms a relationship with Jeta, and Lena (Luàna Bajrami, who also directed the film and wrote the screenplay), an expatriate visiting from Paris, stirs the cabin fever within the group. Fed up with being rejected for university study, the girls decide to form a gang. Bajrami’s skill as a filmmaker quickly erases any inkling to judge the girls for their haphazard career choices, made in the relative absence of solid alternatives.

The 83-minute runtime absolutely flies by in the blink of an eye. Bajrami crafts a delightfully charming narrative, bolstered by strong lead performances from her trio of lionesses. The remote village is boring enough that it would seem like the kind of place where you’d be friends with just about anyone, but the girls demonstrate a genuine sense of affection for each other that goes a long way toward endearing the film to the audience.

The narrative’s ambitions are a bit too constrained by the brief runtime. While Bajrami is clearly more interested in exploring youthful indiscretions than arriving at conclusions, she does wrap things up a bit too abruptly. There are more than a few plot strands left completely unresolved, leaving her own character Lena to feel a bit superfluous given the limited scope.

The Hill Where Lionesses Roar subverts the very nature of the coming of age narrative, for the village has nothing to offer those who reach maturity. It’s a bleak reality within a film that constantly manages to put a smile on your face. If the kids are going to be alright, it’s because of artists like Bajrami who press on even as their countries let them down at every turn. Films like this remind us all of why art matters.

Saturday

11

September 2021

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TIFF Review: Violet

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

Plenty of people can relate to the idea of having a voice in the back of one’s head spewing self-doubt and crippling negativity. Hollywood, hardly an industry known for its compassionate professionals, is not exactly the greatest environment for those carrying around that kind of baggage. Director/writer Justine Bateman’s Violet presents a unique perspective of a mind in turmoil when faced with nothing but rot.

Violet Calder (Olivia Munn) is a 32-year-old film executive who constantly hears a voice (Justin Theroux) pointing out all of her perceived flaws and deficiencies. Cursive text on the screen purports to share a different side of Violet’s personality, her inner desire to be something more than an awful person. Most of the people around Violet are pretty awful as well, especially her boss (Dennis Boutsikaris), who never misses an opportunity to humiliate her in front of clients or her coworkers.

With regard to Violet as a person, Bateman initially presents the text and Theroux’s voice as a kind of good angel, bad angel dynamic wrestling for control. As the film plays on, it’s clear that Violet is really more of a three headed Hydra, with Munn’s performance acting as a third form of driving force powering the character. The 92-minute runtime comes and goes without leaving any clear impression of the kind of person Violet wants to be.

Munn isn’t really a neutral arbiter between her two unseen voices, but her character never rises above a predictable trope. Other characters constantly talk about what a talented film executive Violet is, but we never see anything resembling genuine passion from her as a character. Even if you accept Violet as someone jaded by years in the business, she never comes across as someone who ever liked making movies. The cursive text designed to present an alternative to the jaded figure never feels like a genuine depiction of Violet’s character.

At times, it’s hard to tell if Bateman is trying to be satirical about the film industry, or if Violet is plagued with a bad supporting cast unable to deliver their lines in a convincing manner. There’s scene after scene of characters spouting generic Hollywood jargon into the abyss. Violet is far too pretentious to be aware of its own insufferable narrative, the worst kind of Hollywood film about Hollywood.

Much of the film’s core problem could have been alleviated if Munn or Bateman managed to give Violet a concrete point of view. Instead, it all plays out like watching an individual who knows that they’re a bad person but can’t do anything about it because they don’t care enough to change. For anyone who feels jaded at the idea that we’ll see a more inclusive, different film industry, Violet provides stark validation that the people in charge certainly won’t do anything to alter the status quo. If those findings felt at all earned as a result of the narrative and not in spite of it, maybe this might have been a worthwhile experience.

Friday

10

September 2021

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TIFF Review: All My Puny Sorrows

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People say that suicide is selfish, not necessarily because that statement is true in every single regard, but rather because that notion undisputedly ranks higher than the alternative. To want to die is the worst feeling in the world, the kind of pervasive outcome that can sometimes feel like one’s only rational recourse. Miriam Toews’ novel All My Puny Sorrows did a beautiful job capturing all the pain that suicide brings, finding humor in unthinkable tragedy.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way that sense of open generosity vanished from the film adaptation of Towes’ work. Fans of the bestselling Canadian book can see the outline that director Michael McGowan attempted to follow. The voice so abounding in humanity just isn’t there.

The film follows Yoli (Alison Pill), a struggling novelist in the midst of a messy divorce. A parent at 18, Yoli finds seemingly no joy in raising her daughter, Nora (Amybeth McNulty), herself quite aware of her mother’s general aura of apathy. Yoli perpetually lives in the shadow of her sister Elf (Sarah Gadon), a successful concert pianist who inherited her suicidal tendencies from their father (Donal Logue), who committed suicide years before the events of the narrative.

Film Yoli is pretty unpleasant to watch. Extremely selfish and a crippling narcissist, listening to her talk about her shell of a career is like a best-of compilation of the cringiest overheard conversations on college campus coffee shops. As the title suggests, this sense of blatant privilege isn’t really lost on anyone, though neither McGowan nor Pill seem to know how to craft Yoli into something resembling a palatable protagonist.

Lacking its source material’s abundant wit, All My Puny Sorrows is a self-indulgent slog seemingly hellbent on guilting its audience into liking it. It feels bad to hate Yoli, a woman dealing with tragic family circumstances. Trouble is, she doesn’t elicit anything other than obligatory pity, making you feel nothing but regret for having made the mistake of listening to her story for too long to back out unnoticed.

The narrative plays fast a loose with mental health. Elf, top of her field, is regarded by Yoli as privileged for having reached a career peak high enough that if she did quit piano, she could coast later on in life as a genius recluse. Knowing the depths of depression’s effects, a simpler reality is that those with fortune rarely consider that at all when consumed with nothing but darkness. The 103-minute runtime feels suffocatingly long, solid acting unable to compensate for an atrocious script.

Annoying people who suffer from mental illness deserve sympathy, a reality that compassionate people can understand even if it doesn’t necessarily feel good to offer any. All My Puny Sorrows is the kind of film that makes you grateful that it is a work of fiction, because it’s okay to dislike its loathsome protagonist. McGowan’s work feels cheap and exploitative, a disappointing adaptation of source material that certainly deserved better.

Thursday

9

September 2021

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TIFF Review: Dug Dug

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

At first glance, the idea of the spirit of a car accident victim inhabiting the motorbike they died driving sounds like a pretty absurd thing to use as the foundation of a religion. Such a story isn’t all that fundamentally different from countless religious narratives. The stories in the Book of Genesis essentially require the same level of suspension of disbelief, the key difference being thousands of years of tradition doing just that.

The film Dug Dug transforms an unsuspecting dirt road in India into a place of religious pilgrimage. When a 40-year-old drunk named Thakur finds himself bisected in a brutal accident, the police confiscate his Dug-Dug branded motorcycle. Miraculously, the bike escapes custody and returns to the scene of the crime. Efforts by the police to detain the bike by chaining it in a jail cell fail to prevent its return the following morning, showcasing its divinity to the townsfolk.

Director Ritwik Pareek crafts a masterful satire that relishes its absurdities without ever feeling like it’s belittling people of faith. The sight of people offering bottles of alcohol to please the spirit of a drunk burnout is ripe with obvious parody, yet Pareek plays his narrative out with a straight face. Taking the story at face value, there is a clear miracle here, the motorcycle being as good a deity to worship as any.

Pareek’s script is absolutely delightful, supplying constant laughs. Perhaps most impressive is the fact that the 107-minute narrative largely operates without a human protagonist. Altaf Khan, Gaurav Soni, and Yogendra Singh show off their acting talents playing the lazy police officers tasked with managing the situation, but the motorcycle is really the driving force of the story. Pareek successfully pulls off the challenging feat of keeping his ideas at the centerpiece of the film without relying on a lead actor to channel the themes through.

A psychedelic billboard overlooking the road essentially acts as a supporting character, along with the fantastic score by Salvage Audio Collective. Pareek’s singular aesthetic helps hone the audience in on his fascination for the absurdity of faith, a gateway to the existential nature of God and religion. Dug Dug is both a farcical satire and a deeply serious contemplation of humanity’s greatest questions.

The narrative does hit some bumps in the third act, which could’ve cut a few scenes without missing a beat. Pareek knows when to ease up on the gags to get his point across, but the transition takes a little longer than it needed to. Dug Dug is a very impressive film, the kind of material you could show a true believer, not to poke fun at their faith, but to seek a deeper understanding of how these stories take such holds on entire cultures. However silly the motorcycle seems, the Bible has plenty of narratives that are no less absurd.