The opening minutes of The Outfit give us a master tailor named Leonard (Mark Rylance) describing his process. We see him measuring fabric, cutting and sewing while he outlines his skill in sizing up customers to give them what they most deserve.
Wait..is he still talking about suits?
Maybe, maybe not.
The setting is Chicago in 1956, where Leonard and his dreaming-of-a-better-life secretary Mable (Zoey Deutch) conduct business while local mobsters use Leonard’s shop to retrieve messages from a nationwide crime syndicate known as the Outfit.
One night after a shootout with a rival mob, gangsters Richie (Dylan O’Brien) and Francis (Johnny Flynn) barge into the shop in need of help and refuge. Richie, the son of local boss Roy (Simon Russel Beale) has been shot, and soon most everyone involved will have to fight to survive the long night.
Oscar-winning screenwriter Graham Moore (The Imitation Game) adds directing duties this time as well, for a nifty big screen debut that often homages early Kubrick and classic Hitchcock.
Essentially a two-room chamber piece, the film leans on a terrific ensemble to roll out a steady stream of delicious twists, relishing the nimble noir wordplay and skillfully keeping Moore’s sleight-of-hand from tipping its hand too early.
Fellow Oscar-winner Rylance (Bridge of Spies) is the perfect choice to bring Leonard to life, displaying a seemingly casual excellence right in line with who Leonard seems to be. Will underestimating the quiet shopkeeper prove to be a deadly mistake? Or is it Leonard who will learn a painful lesson tonight?
Rylance peels back the layers slowly, and Moore has good instincts for the pacing that allows for maximum fun. Deutch proves again that she’s a natural, making the most of a more limited role that still boasts an impressive ratio of secrets-to-screen time.
Despite getting a little too cute for the room come finale time, The Outfit is a solid directing debut for an acclaimed screenwriter. And while you can’t help feeling that this salute to the brainy introvert may be a personal one for Moore, it’s artful and engaging enough to rope in anyone who loves untangling a well-fitted suit of clues.
Long after slavery was abolished, Black families were still held against their will in the rural American south, and through lies and isolation were convinced that they belonged — like slaves — to the white families whose land they worked for free.
It was incredibly uncommon, but it was Mae Louise Wall Miller’s life until 1960.
1960!
Miller’s story inspired first-time writer/director Krystin Ver Linden to make Alice, a testament to knowledge, representation, and the power of Pam Grier.
Alice (Keke Palmer, who also produces) has lived her entire life on an isolated Georgia plantation as a “domestic” (code for slave) to Paul Bennett (Johnny Lee Miller). Cruelty, rage and fear finally spur her to run, and she winds up on a highway with no context for the world of 1973.
1973 has very little context to understand Alice, either.
There’s no avoiding comparisons to Gerard Bush and Christopher Renz’s 2020 film Antebellum. Where that uneven Janelle Monáe-led vehicle raged with modern horror, Ver Linden’s film takes a decidedly blaxploitation direction.
Bennet had taught Alice to read, but only so she could read to him for his enjoyment. This one gift is enough to fuel a passion for knowledge. Pair that with the inspiration of Pam Grier in Coffy, plus the encouragement of truck driver and one-time activist Frank (Common) – who nearly ran her down as she escaped to the highway – and Alice is ready to return for her family and some tasty revenge.
Palmer finds a true north for her character, and she never leaves that course. Alice’s grief, pain, confusion, fear, and finally righteous rage are never showy, always authentic. Frank’s arc is a little more superficially drawn, but Common gives the character tenderness that brightens the film.
No psychotic plantation owner will ever live up to the unfathomable evil of Michael Fassbender’s Edwin Epps in 12 Years a Slave. Still, Miller’s brand of cowardly, narcissistic villainy is chilling.
Period detail and visual storytelling are both strengths for Ver Linden and her cinematographer, Alex Disenhof. But the film — this year’s Sundance winner for dramatic feature — has some pacing problems it can’t entirely overcome.
Alice falls into three very distinct acts, none of which move. The story itself is very deliberately built, but the way scenes are stacked offers no sense of momentum or urgency. This meandering quality robs the film’s climax of some of its power. But Alice mainly overcomes this weakness by telling the truth about the power in knowing who you are.
There’s been a lot of talk lately about the “Geezer Teaser” subgenre. What’s a Geezer Teaser you might ask? Well, it’s typically a cheaply made action movie or thriller that has a semi-recognizable young lead (usually Scott Eastwood or Devon Sawa), and a much more famous older actor that shows up for a solid 10 to 15 minutes tops. A lot of action movie heavy-hitters have done these. Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone, John Travola, and Mel Gibson have all done their fair share.
I guess the big question is “Are these movies any good?”
The answer?
No, not really, and Panama, Gibson’s latest in this subgenre, is particularly sleep-inducing.
Ex-marine James Becker (Cole Hauser of 2 Fast 2 Furious) is recruited by Stark (Mel Gibson) to negotiate an arms deal in the country of Panama. As the American invasion of Panama looms over the country, Becker becomes more embroiled with the corrupt government and a shadowy local (Kiara Liz).
From the get-go, Panama is a chore to sit through. Director Mark Neveldine (GameOver, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance) tries hard to craft a sexy, tropics-based thriller, but nearly every beat is a re-heated moment from infinitely better movies. It’s not a matter of budget, as Daniel Adams’s and William Barber’s script fails on even an entertainment level. The twists lack surprise and a coherent story or character motivation seems to have been an afterthought.
That Panama is so inert is a shame as Neveldine and former directing partner Brian Taylor made two of the wildest action movies with their Crank series. Panama – while not trying to be anything that zany – lacks even a tenth of Crank’s macabre sense of humor or electric visual style.
Cast wise, the bulk of the heavy lifting is put on the shoulders of Hauser. Hauser has rarely been a leading man, and his work in Panama does nothing to show that this should change. Supporting turns in Dazed & Confused, Good Will Hunting and Pitch Black allowed the actor to play second, third or even eighth banana in some really good films. For a character that’s supposed to be charismatic and suave, Hauser brings nothing to the role. His constant stoic and dry delivery conveys the opposite every single time.
At this point, Gibson is just doing his traditional thing. He shows up, kicks a little ass, delivers a few cool lines and heads off into the sunset. It’s the kind of role Gibson could do in his sleep, but doesn’t offer anything we will remember even five minutes after the credits begin to roll. As far as Geezer Teasers go, Panama is hardly the worst. Still, with weak action, a “been there, done that” story, and a phoned-in cast, it’s still one to skip.
Filmmaker Mariama Diallo’s episodic and short film work has explored — in comedic and dramatic form — the impact of living within a culture of micro- and not-so-micro-aggression. Her feature debut Master dives deeper, taking themes in more horrific directions.
Regina Hall plays Gail Bishop, the first Black residence hall “master” in the long and storied history of New England’s Ancaster College. In her first year on campus, she’ll meet another newcomer, freshman Jasmine (Zoe Renee), the only Black student in her dorm.
Jasmine has the bad luck of being assigned to the dorm’s spookiest room, where a student haunted by campus’s legendary witch once killed herself. As freshman year progresses, both Jasmine and Gail begin seeing menace around every corner.
Diallo sets up shop at the intersection of racism and misogyny. While her story tells of a history of racism that’s clearly alive and well, the filmmaker’s comment on institutional and historical contempt for women is more sly but ever-present.
The result for this particular position in the crosshairs is a palpable, inescapable sense of loneliness. If there’s one thing Master communicates it’s the isolation and aloneness both Gail and Jasmine face at this institution and, more broadly, in this world. The effect is poignant and sincerely scary.
It’s always great to see Hall at the center of a film. The veteran has provided reliable support, both comedic and dramatic, in films for ages. Her frustrating but sympathetic lead offers the perfect balance to Renee’s vulnerability.
Amber Grey’s turn as confidant Liv Beckman is superbly brittle and narcissistic. Likewise, a sea of white faces (Talia Balsam, Will Hochman, Bruce Altman, D.C. Anderson) hit varying degrees of condescension and hostility to create a drowning pool with little chance of escape.
Diallo struggles at times balancing allegory and horror story. On occasion, genre tropes become too obvious. At other times, the obviousness of political points overtakes cinematic narrative. But the underlying horror of reality ably depicted by Hall and a game cast make sure these minor issues remain minor.
Adrian Lyne hasn’t directed a movie in twenty years. It’s been twice that long since the 1957 source novel by Patricia Highsmith (Strangers on a Train, The Talented Mr. Ripley) has been adapted for the big screen.
They’re both back with a new vision for Deep Water, a sometimes frustrating erotic thriller that can never fully capitalize on all of its possibilities to be either erotic or thrilling.
Vic and Melinda Van Allen (Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas) are living a life of luxury in New Orleans with their young daughter Trixie (the incredibly cute Grace Jenkins). Vic developed a computer chip used for drone warfare, so his days of early retirement are mainly filled with watching Melinda openly flaunt her affairs at parties.
When one of Melinda’s past lovers turns up dead, Vic lets her latest boy toy (Brendan Miller) know that he’s the murderer. But Vic is only trying to scare the kid away, right? Neighbor Don (Tracy Letts with another standout supporting turn) is suspicious early on, and when another of Melinda’s lovers (Euphoria‘s Jacob Elordi) drowns at a pool party, plenty of others are looking at Vic as the prime suspect.
Screenwriters Zach Helm and Sam Levinson provide Lyne with undercurrents of subtext that are never fully explored. We assume Vic doesn’t want to subject Trixie or his finances to a messy divorce, but the deeper we dig, it’s clear this marital arrangement is feeding some need for both parties and fostering a concerning worldview for their child. Lyne showcases the aimless privilege of their daily lives to hint at a lesson on the rot of wealth, then pivots, often to Vic’s creepy but uneventful hobby of raising snails.
And though Lyne has made his name on the steamy sexual politics of 9 1/2 Weeks, Fatal Attraction and Unfaithful, there’s more smoke here than fire. And water, water everywhere.
You won’t notice grand chemistry between Affleck and de Armas, which is a credit to both. This is a marriage of psychological warfare, and it is Vic and Melinda’s contrasting plans of attack that keep us invested, especially in the early going. De Armas embodies the cruelly uninhibited as well as Affleck brings the condescending and calculated, which is a major reason the major twist to Highsmith’s original ending works as well as it does.
For these two, it feels right.
But only for a moment, because strangely, Lyne doesn’t let it linger. Instead, he quickly cuts from the credits to a performance from the adorable Jenkins singing along to a cheery pop ditty from the 1970s.
If it’s an attempt at chilling humor, it falls hard, becoming another anchor weighing down Deep Water just when it starts cruising.
Life imitates art when famous Broadway tragedian, Lillian Cooper’s rock star son and his pregnant girlfriend die of an apparent drug overdose. Or is it murder?
Inspired by intrusive thoughts of revenge that manifest as visions of famous characters Lillian has portrayed on stage, the heartbroken mother stalks the streets of New York searching for those responsible and hatching a plot to make them pay for their misdeeds.
Along the way, Lillian (Melissa Leo) joins forces with young photographer/drug dealer, Taz (Bella Thorne) whose motivations may not be entirely transparent.
Like a stage performance, first-time director Peyfa’s Measure of Revenge can lean a bit toward the histrionic—sudden, jarring discordant tones of the score; dialogue that runs backward when Lillian is having a tough time emotionally; characters literally rending their clothes in grief.
But it’s a clever film, a mystery that isn’t entirely linear with an ending that doesn’t tie itself up in a neat little bow. You gotta work for the resolution and there’s room for debate (and some discussion about how forensic evidence could probably play a greater role in the fate of at least one character).
However, the film may spend too much time on its theatrical gimmick to the detriment of character development. This is especially true of the dead son and those who may have been motivated to do him wrong.
Academy Award-winner Leo (The Fighter) is magnetic, showing an incredible range—from bubbly anticipatory delight at seeing her son return from a successful rehab stint through to wrathful avenging angel. And along the way, we are treated to snippets of some of the greatest tragic characters of all time—Hester Prynne, Hedda Gabler, Lady Macbeth, and Hamlet’s Ghost among them.
We were so inspired by Kier-La Janisse’s documentary Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched that we decided to dive into some of the best films her 3+ hour documentary couldn’t spend much time on. In particular, we wanted to highlight some of the greatest folk horror films not in the English language.
We highly recommend Roh(2019, Malaysia), La Llorona (2019, Guatemala), and Luz, The Flower of Evil(2019, Colombia). But here are our five favorites:
5. Viy (Russia) (1967)
Drunken seminarians, farmhouses, witches – Viy sets you up from its opening moments for a classic folk tale. Three seminarians turned out for break get lost in the woods. They ask an old lady to let them sleep in her barn for the night. She’s not an ordinary old lady.
Konstantin Ershov and Georgiy Kropachyov’s silly, spooky yarn tells of class struggle and superstition. Poor Khoma, our bumbling, drunk hero, is screwed no matter what he does. State/religious authority will beat him, the wealthy will beat him, or supernatural evil will harm him in ways he can’t quite picture.
Even though there’s a clear element of silliness in this film, the core image of a man in over his head gives this Russian folk horror a punch.
4. November (Poland) (2017)
Imagine a world in which Bergman’s Seventh Seal made it with Burton’s Edward Scissorhands and you kinda get a sense of Rainer Sarnet’s November.
At the center of the film lies the unrequited love of two peasants. Liina (Rea Lest) is hopelessly in love with Hans (Jörgen Liik). Hans has the hots for the daughter of the local German baron. Lina and Hans each try to capture the attention of their beloved while communing with ghosts, employing the services of kratts and witches, managing lycanthropy, evading the plague, circumventing arranged marriages, and avoiding starvation during the impending long winter.
The movie is a mishmash of comedy, romance, fantasy, political theory, and philosophy all shot in exquisite black and white. Somehow it comes together, like the kratts, in a way that seems fresh, bizarre, and interesting.
3. Hagazussa (Germany) (2017)
Making a remarkably assured feature debut as director, Lukas Feigelfeld mesmerizes with his German Gothic poetry, Hagazussa: A Heathen’s Curse.
Settled somewhere in the 15th Century Alps, the film shadows lonely, ostracized women struggling against a period where plague, paranoia and superstition reigned.
It would be easy to mistake the story Feigelfeld (who also writes) develops as a take on horror’s common “is she crazy or is there malevolence afoot?” theme. But the filmmaker’s hallucinatory tone and Aleksandra Cwen’s grounded performance allow Hagazussa to straddle that line and perhaps introduce a third option—maybe both are true.
The film lends itself to a reading more lyrical than literal. Feigelfeld’s influences from Murnau to Lynch show themselves in his deliberate pacing and the sheer beauty of his delusional segments. He’s captured this moment in time, this draining and ugly paranoia that caused women such misery, with imagery that is perplexingly beautiful.
2. The Wailing (South Korea) (2016)
“Why are you troubled?” Jesus asked, “And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself. Touch me and see — for a spirit does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.”
Though the true meaning of this quote won’t take hold until the final act, it presents many questions. Is this film supernatural? Demonic? Or, given the corporeal nature of the quote, is it rooted in the human flesh?
Yes.
That’s what makes the quote so perfect. Writer/director Hong-jin Na meshes everything together in this bucolic horror where superstition and religion blend. The film echoes with misery, as the title suggests. The filmmaker throws every grisly thing at you – zombies, pustules, demonic possession, police procedural, multiple homicides – and yet keeps it all slippery with overt comedy.
1. Lamb (Iceland) (2021)
Among the many remarkable elements buoying the horror fable Lamb is filmmaker ValdimarJóhannsson’s ability to tell a complete and riveting tale without a single word of exposition. Rather than devoting dialog to explaining to us what it is we are seeing, Jóhannsson relies on impressive visual storytelling instincts.
His cast of three – well, four, I guess — sells the fairy tale. A childless couple working a sheep farm in Iceland find an unusual newborn lamb and take her in as their own child. As is always the way in old school fables, though, there is much magical happiness but a dire recompense soon to come. It is an absolutely gorgeous, entirely unusual and expertly crafted gem of a film. You should see it.
Writer/director Ivaylo Hristov takes a measured, confident approach in attacking the question at its roots, ultimately arriving at answers that are as universal as they are intimate, as tragic as they are timely.
Svetla (Svetlana Yancheva, terrific) is a widow who lives alone in Bulgaria, very close to the Turkish border. Her sour mood is not improved by the loss of her job at the local school, or by the threat of refugees arriving in her village.
Armed with her hunting rifle when she crosses paths with Bamba (Michael Flemming, warm and wonderful), Svetla takes him prisoner. Bamba is a refugee from Africa, traveling on foot to Germany in search of a peaceful life. Svetla’s plan is to turn Bamba over to the border police, but a recent roundup of several Afghan refugees means they have no room in their modest quarters .
So Svetla takes him home.
The language barrier between them leads to some sweetly humorous moments, and of course Svetla comes to find Bamba is a gentle, intelligent soul who is fleeing a horrific situation, and who poses a threat to no one.
The village full of white faces feels differently.
“We are a hospitable people, but Bulgaria belongs to the Bulgarians.”
And what the village folk fear is more than just people who aren’t like them. Anyone who doesn’t share in their fear is also not to be trusted, and also deserving of whatever provocation it takes to make the villagers feel justified in their bigotry.
You’ll recognize early some of the places Hristov is taking you, but his touch is understated, which always makes the punches land that much harder. And while Fear is a film that doesn’t pretend to have the answers to the global issues on its mind, it does seem to have a firm grip on the basic question at the heart of these matters.
“I’ve always thought it was the dumbest thing… people miss the one party where everybody gets up and says how great they are.”
The debut film for directing pair Machete Bang Bang and Erin Granat, Moon Manor follows the extraordinary life and death of James “Jimmy” Carrozo (played by Carrozo himself).
Centering around his “FUN-eral,” the world orbits Jimmy on his last day alive before taking his life as a final solution to his progressing Alzheimers. Lamenting to bright-eyed reporter Andrew (Lou Taylor Pucci), caretaker Remy (Reshma Gajjar), and death doula Fritti (Debra Wilson), Jimmy recounts his warm and fantastical past in relation to his cold, calculated end.
Thanks to the co-directors’ keen interest in the uncomfortable, the journey takes an unflinching stance toward the absurdity of death. Relishing in disjunct emotions, the directors play between amusing and terrifying drug-inspired hallucinations.
Helming this voyage is Carozzo, with a heroic performance as a man thoroughly finished with life but unsure of death. Carozzo’s semi-autobiographical character subtly asks the audience to consider their own mortality and the morality surrounding it. Through a masterful blend of performance and directing expression, Jimmy’s reality becomes your own.
Within the first few moments, the film leaves no audience member unscathed. However, the interesting perspective gets lost to meandering. Too many tertiary acquaintances are given half-baked plots, which take away from the soul of the story.
Ultimately, the piece finds its power by exploring the tangled emotions of the characters closest to the impending death. When the directors are able to shed the unnecessary weight, they find the beauty in Jimmy’s story and, in turn, his death.
The film ends as most human experiences do: messily, with loose ends unevenly tied. But yet, we feel seen. Through the example of one man’s convoluted final journey, sorrow, joy, terror, humor, and absurdity find a place to flourish harmoniously. While you may not feel comfort by the answers Moon Manor offers, you will feel painfully human.
