As her camera races down the mountains of Val-d’Isère, writer/director Charlène Favier depicts both thrill and isolation in equal measure.
It’s a tone that fits more than just the competitive Alpine skiing that sits at the center of her latest film Slalom. The breathless and somewhat terrifying imagery is a perfect characterization of wunderkind skier Lyz Lopez’s (Noée Abita) particular coming of age.
At 15, Lyz is in training but on her own. Her mother has
taken work quite a distance away, so Lyz will be looking after herself on
weekends, training at a facility and studying schoolwork on weekdays.
She’s also quite heartbreakingly looking for somebody who
won’t let her down.
Abita’s performance is equally aching and frustrating, which makes her a painfully realistic adolescent. Faviere wisely limits Lyz’s actual dialog, allowing the performance to become more observational. Lyz watches and processes, her awkwardness, stillness, and anger telling us more than words ever could.
There’s a lived-in feel to this film, likely born of the filmmaker’s experience growing up in Val-d’Isère. The training, the experiences of team and competition, the beautiful but frigid landscape create an organic backdrop to the larger drama, a complex and soberingly authentic exploration of abuse.
The sports movie genre is littered with tales of the could-have-been athlete who regains what legitimacy he can by shepherding the next phenom. Jérémie Renier offers nary a false note as charismatic, tough-as-nails trainer Fred, whose moral weaknesses far outweigh any coaching talent.
Faviere’s take on the situation is even-handed. She never stoops to melodrama, never paints Lyz as a faultless innocent. The character’s complexities, particularly given Abita’s assured performance, only ensure that the film leaves more of a mark.
When I was a kid watching the Oscars, I remember always being perplexed by short film categories. How do people manage to see these shorts?
Good news, kids, it’s gotten much easier. In the last several years, all the nominated shorts have been packaged by category for theatrical showings. This year, of course, virtual screenings are available as well, making it more convenient than ever to find great films in smaller packages.
And if there was any doubt that movies are mirrors, check the pervasive theme that runs through this year’s live-action nominees. All are examples of the struggle to retain human dignity, to be seen simply as worthy. And in four of these five films, that struggle directly involves abuses by law enforcement officials.
Feeling Through 18 Mins. Writer/director: Doug Roland
A troubled teen (Steven Prescod) needs a place to stay for the night, but his search is interrupted by a deaf and blind man (Robert Tarango) who needs help crossing the street.
The fact that Tarango is the first deaf and blind actor to be cast in a film is reason enough to seek this out, but Roland has crafted a truly touching ode to the healing power of caring.
Prescod and Tarango are wonderful together, and our short time with both of them is nothing but rewarding.
Two Distant Strangers 32 mins. Writer: Travon Free Directors: Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe
Really? Another Groundhog Day premise? Yes, but get ready, this gripping slice of activism will rock you.
Carter (Joey Bada$$) and Perri (Zaria) are still flirting the morning after their first hookup. Shortly after Carter heads home to check on his dog, an aggressive cop (Andrew Howard) incites a confrontation, and soon Carter is dead on the sidewalk…until he again wakes up in Perri’s bed.
The scenario plays over and over, with Carter trying to come up with some way to change his fate.
Free, a former Daily Show writer making his film debut, lulls you with a comfortable device before lowering the boom. It’s uncomfortable, as it should be, but you’ll want to thank Free for the experience…as soon as you catch your breath.
The Letter Room 33 mins. Writer/director: Elvira Lind
The first thing that catches your eye here is a familiar face. Yes, that is Oscar Isaac, starring as Richard, a corrections officer granted a transfer to the facility’s letter room.
Letters from Rosita (Alia Shawkat) to Death Row inmate Cris (Brain Petsos) captivate Richard’s interest, until he’s tempted to cross some questionable lines.
Lind (Isaac’s wife) mines her powerhouse cast for a beautifully subtle layer of humanity. Everyone here is flawed, in different ways and by varying degrees. But Lind lets us see just how far a little empathy can go – even in the darkest places.
The Present 24 mins. Writers: Farah Nabulsi Directors: Farah Nabulsi and Hind Shoufani
On the morning of his wedding anniversary, Palestinian Yusef (Saleh Bakri) and his young daughter (Mariam Kanj) head out to buy a gift for his wife (Mariam Basha).
But the road to celebration is littered with soldiers and segregation, cages and checkpoints. As Yusef endures humiliation in front of his daughter, rising tensions increase the chance of a deadly altercation.
It feels somewhat surprising to see the Israeli-Palestinian conflict funneled through a Palestine viewpoint. And though Nabulsi’s hand is never overly heavy, a universal power struggle emerges: authority flexes muscle against those trying to remain calm and grasp for options.
The Present offers hope that the children can one day find common ground.
White Eye 20 mins. Writer/director: Tomer Shushan
White Eye‘s search for humanity begins with a bicycle.
An Israeli man named Omer (Daniel Gad) spots his stolen bike locked up on the street. Immigrant Yunes (Dawit Tekelaeb) says he bought the bike fair and square, but Omer doesn’t want to hear it.
Once Omer alerts the police, the situation (you guessed it) escalates, and soon Yunes’s co-workers are in hiding and Omer is staring headfirst into consequences he may not have intended.
Gad carves out a 20-minute arc of awakening for Omer that feels achingly real. It’s a standout performance, and the driving force that makes White Eye linger with lasting resonance.
When I was a kid watching the Oscars, I remember always being perplexed by short film categories. How do people manage to see these shorts?
Good news, kids, it’s gotten much easier. In the last several years, all the nominated shorts have been packaged by category for theatrical showings. This year, of course, virtual screenings are available as well, making it more convenient than ever to find great films in smaller packages.
In these 5 nominated (and three bonus) treats, you’ll find charm, humor, fascination, and devastation – all a tribute to the different ways animation can touch our souls.
An excited bunny has big plans for a new home underground (maybe a disco?). But the more the bunny burrows, the more times she accidentally invades a neighbor’s place!
What to do?
Originally intended as the short subject intro to theatrical showings of Soul, Burrow is a completely charming reminder of the need for friends you can count on. And the beautiful 2D, hand-drawn animation gives it a picture book feel that’s refreshingly retro.
Genius Loci 16 mins. Writer/director: Adrien Merigeau
From France, Genius Loci is a surrealistic trip through “urban chaos, ” as a young loner named Reine (voiced by Nadia Moussa) takes off on a dreamlike tour through the heartbeat of her city.
Unfolding like a watercolored stream of consciousness, Loci is wonderfully stylistic, bursting with contrasts and ambiguities about Reine’s headspace that keep it constantly intriguing.
If Anything Happens, I Love You 12 mins. Writers/directors: Michael Govier, Will McCormack
Oh my, this one is heartbreaking, tender and devastatingly lovely.
A middle-aged couple is living in a fog of despair, completely unable to comfort each other or find any joy in life. A charcoal-type animation style reveals shadows depicting a former life of happiness, then leading eventually to the tragic event that broke them.
Keep the tissues handy for a soft-spoken gut punch that reframes the stakes we know only too well.
Opera 9 mins. Director: Erick Oh
9 minutes? I could watch this for 9 hours.
Billed as a “massive 8K size animation installation project which portrays our society and history,” Opera is a single frame in constant, intoxicating motion.
The eye level creeps in, then out, up and down and around a pyramid filled with scores of small figures co-existing in a constantly evolving community. Even as you fixate on one fascinating section, you’re drawn to others that are equally rewarding.
Oh has created a true animated marvel, and one that should be hard to beat in this category.
Welcome to a tenement building in Iceland, where we follow some 3D Wallace and Grommet-looking Icelanders going about their daily trials and snowy tribulations.
Most of the dialog is a well-placed exclamation of “Yow!” which adds to the goofiness and overall fun factor. With glimpses into work, school and mundane chores around the house, Yes-People becomes a light and breezy take on the small moments that make our lives.
The 2021 animated shorts program will also feature three “highly commended” animated short films
When I was a kid watching the Oscars, I remember always being perplexed by short film categories. How do people manage to see these shorts?
Good news, kids, it’s gotten much easier. In the last several years, all the nominated shorts have been packaged by category for theatrical showings. This year, of course, virtual screenings are available as well, making it more convenient than ever to find great films in smaller packages.
As usual, these nominated documentary shorts are often heart-wrenching, but able to speak necessary truths to power and our collective human experience.
A Concerto Is a Conversation 13 mins. Directors: Kris Bowers and Ben Proudfoot
Pianist and film composer Kris Bowers explains to his 91 year-old grandfather Horace (and to us) that a concerto is a conversation between a soloist and an ensemble.
But the conversation between the Bowers men is a moving work of art itself, as Horace recalls his life’s journey from a poor kid in the Jim Crow south to a successful business owner in Los Angeles.
And as Kris prepares for the premiere of his first concerto, the film becomes a beautiful expression of heritage, love, talent and courage.
Colette 25 mins. Writer/director: Anthony Giacchino
75 years after her stint as a member of the French Resistance, 90 year-old Colette Catherine is preparing to make her first journey to the concentration camp in Germany where her brother Jean-Pierre died.
She’s accompanied by the young Lucie, a history student and docent at France’s WWII museum, who regards Colette as a “national hero.”
As sobering and horrific as the subject matter suggests, Collette – the film and the hero – finds a redemptive power through defiantly shining a spotlight on an evil that still searches for dark places to take root.
Do Not Split 36 mins. Director: Andreas Hammer
Taking us to the front lines of Hong Kong’s pro-democracy protests of 2019, Do Not Split becomes a tense, indelible account of resistance against civil rights abuses that will look pretty familiar to U.S. audiences.
Hammer is blessed with a host of intimate footage, often featuring first person commentary from protesters while they are actively pushing back against tear gas and police escalation.
It’s gripping stuff. Without becoming overbearing, the film never lets you forget you are watching important and heroic history unfold.
Hunger Ward 40 mins. Director: Skye Fitzgerald
Part 3 of Fitzgerald’s Refugee Trilogy (along with 50 Feet From Syria and the Oscar-nominated Lifeboat), Hunger Ward‘s focus is the children – specifically those affected by the ongoing civil war in Yemen.
The images of wounded and starving children carry an understandably tragic weight, while real time footage inside a Yemeni memorial service being actively shelled is unforgettable.
And still, those committed to helping the children exhibit an unwavering and miraculous resolve.
The U.N. has labeled Yemen as home to the world’s “greatest humanitarian crisis,” and Fitzgerald’s unflinching call for action and empathy will leave your heart in your throat.
A Love Song For Latasha 19 mins. Director: Sophia Nahli Allison
A touching tribute to one victim of senseless gun violence, A Love Song…turns the focus away from the aftermath and toward the positive effect Latasha Harlins had on those around her.
In 1992, 15-year-old Latasha was killed by a store clerk in South Central Los Angeles. Framed by Allison (and Executive Producer Ava DuVernay) as a VHS tape memoir with sequences of animation, the film lets the narration from Latasha’s best friend Ty and cousin Shinise craft a warmly intimate profile.
A Love Song For Latasha wants us to know that these victims of racial injustice aren’t just statistics to be glossed over. In a short time, Latasha Harlins made a big impact. So it seems only fitting that a short film makes you glad to meet her.
Seriously, who still thinks camping in the woods is a good
idea?
There’s something about the woods that haunts us, so it’s
the perfect setting for many a horror movie.
In director Bruce Wemple’s latest film, Dawn of the
Beast, it’s the ideal locale for a group of cryptozoology students on the
hunt for Sasquatch.
Wemple likes the creature feature – a look at his past work uncovers another film about Bigfoot (Monstrous), as well as one about the mythological Wendigo. Writer Anna Shields must also enjoy the ‘Squatch, as she not only penned Monstrous, but Dawn of the Beast as well. You’d think with two movies about Sasquatch under their belts, these two would have something new to say about Mr. Foot.
And in a way, they do, but unfortunately, what they have to say about their monster is buried beneath a run-of-the-mill ‘cabin in the woods’ horror trope.
There is some fun in Dawn of the Beast. There are a few jokes, characters you root for, as well as one or two you root against, but there’s also a lot of drudge here. You find yourself sitting through too much filler while you wait for the more interesting moments.
Shields also co-stars in the film as Lilly, but her talents seem better suited to writing. There are some genuinely creepy moments – yellow lights (are those eyes?) drawing you into the woods, one or two effective jump scares, and some funny dialogue. And what Lilly and her classmates find in the woods is a lot more terrifying than the legendary Bigfoot.
However, the film’s best aspect is – far and away – the creature effects. They add a degree of tension and fear that would be otherwise absent without such convincingly scary monsters. In some films, the addition of a monster removes the tension; seeing too much destroys the mystery. But in this case, it really works.
It’s around the film’s third act that Dawn of the Beast begins to hit its stride, embracing the funnier elements and dropping the attempts to inject a seriousness to the film that it largely doesn’t need. A funny horror movie can still be scary, so anything too serious in this movie (a kidnapping, for example) is time wasted for the audience.
Perhaps if Wemple and Shields attempt a third Sasquatch film, it’ll be the charm that lands them a horror film that hits all the right notes.
Good old alien horror doesn’t come around as much as I’d like. Outside of the occasional Alien or Predator sequel, this subgenre is pretty much stagnant or banished to the realm of mico-budget dreck. Embryo might skirt the line of microbudget, but this eerie alien tale is anything but dreck.
The bulk of Embryo follows campers Kevin (Domingo Guzman) and Evelyn (Romina Perazzo) as they venture into the woods of southern Chile. Their camping getaway turns into a nightmare after Evelyn is abducted by extraterrestrials, leaving her in a state of shock. As the effects of her alien abductors take hold, Evelyn becomes increasingly more bloodthirsty, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.
Director Patricio Valladares approaches alien abduction as a blend between Fire in the Sky’s creeping dread and Cronenberg body horror. Evelyn’s descent into other-worldly terror reveals itself in visceral, extreme violence. We’re talking lots of blood and guts here. However, the explanation of her metamorphosis is kept an enigma. The guessing game surrounding the aliens themselves is left to the deepest levels of the audience’s subconsciousness. It’s an act of omission probably born out of budgetary concerns, yet it ends up aiding the film more than the filmmakers could have foreseen.
Valladares throws a curveball when constructing the film’s narrative. There’s an occasional break in Kevin and Evelyn’s story where Embryo attempts to open up the world a bit more. This allows the filmmakers to weave together other tales of close encounters in this small Chilean town. Not only are the stories different, but so is the style of filmmaking. By switching to found footage, Valladares is able to emphasize suspense and dread over the fantastical gore that oozes through the main segment.
Despite telling three individual tales, Embryo clocks in at a scant 72 minutes. Even with the different stories, the film threatens to run out of steam on multiple occasions. There’s a repetitiveness to the Kevin and Evelyn segment especially that starts to detract from its overall effectiveness. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there are only so many times Kevin can lose Evelyn only to find her feasting on a biker, doctor, or other camper.
Embryo doesn’t quite cross the finish line at full speed, but through deft tone management and a willingness to get gross, the film leaves an overall positive impression.
Cathy Allyn and Nick Loeb’s film Roe v. Wade is an unnuanced slog through the events leading up to the landmark 1973 Supreme Court decision.
The directors (who share writing credit with Ken Kushner)
frame the court case with the conversion narrative of Dr. Bernard Nathanson
(Loeb). According to the film, Nathanson, “the Abortion King” aka “the Scraper,”
claims to have been swept up in the wave of 70s women’s liberation and
performed seventy thousand abortions until he was confronted with fetal
development by way of the advent of ultrasound technology. This results in a
breakdown that is unmistakably similar to Charlton Heston’s in Soylent Green—“It’s
a person! God forgive me! What have I done?!”
The choice to cast Loeb, whose dialogue delivery bears an
eerie similarity to an unsure elementary school student asked to read a passage
aloud, in such a pivotal role is but one example of the missteps taken in the
film.
The hammy acting is a trait shared among many of the cast members. Jamie Kennedy (Scream), for example, as Larry Lader (co-founder of NARAL Pro-Choice America) all but twirls an imaginary handlebar mustache as he explains how liberals seed the uncritical news media with statistics conjured from thin air. Stacey Dash (Clueless) as Dr. Mildred Jefferson (president of the National Right to Life Committee) fairly vibrates with indignation when her eyes aren’t filled with tears at the equating of abortion to slavery or in polite reference to her own infertility issues.
Even if the acting was better, all the emotion would seem misplaced given how much time is devoted to characters debating constitutional law. There is not enough room in a two hour movie to detail the establishment of the Pro-Life and Pro-Choice movements plus the evolution of the Roe court case and still deliver the kind of emotional character development that Allyn and Loeb are shooting for.
The political arguments are underdeveloped, the nuances of the court proceedings are difficult to follow, and there are too many characters to keep track of. Joey Lawrence’s (Blossom) character could have easily been cut as his purpose in the film seems to be delivering supporting quotes by founding fathers.
The film’s stated goal is to tell the true story of Roe vs. Wade. However, this is something it cannot really achieve. Missing is any coverage of the personal, economic, social, or medical reasons why a woman might seek an abortion in the first place. It’s a pro-life persuasive essay masquerading as a soap opera/civics lecture and it’s not particularly good at being any of those things.
So, it seems your quick, stealthy exit migrates from Irish to French when excess alcohol is not involved.
Good to know, I had to look it up.
Francis Price (Michelle Pfeiffer) certainly enjoys a good martini, but her exit plan is a bit more serious than just ducking out of the local bar unnoticed.
After years of living high as a Manhattan socialite, Francis’s inheritance is nearly gone. So after selling off what they can, Francis and her son Malcolm (Lucas Hedges) head to Paris to stay in her best friend’s empty apartment. When the last dollar is finally spent, Francis plans to kill herself.
It sounds pretty dramatic, but writer Patrick DeWitt (who also penned the source novel) and director Azazel Jacobs start peppering in the absurdity and black comedy as soon as mother and son are aboard a ship to France.
Malcolm leaves his fiancee Susan (Imogen Poots) behind, and hooks up with Madeleine (Danielle Macdonald) en route. Madeleine is a medium, and she soon becomes Francis’s conduit for summoning the late Mr. Price (Tracy Letts) when his soul returns in a cat.
Pfeiffer is cold, condescending perfection. Francis’s words for nearly everyone she encounters practically drip with contempt, and Pfeiffer is always able to keep the film’s tricky tonal balance from toppling toward either maudlin or silly.
She enjoys a wonderful chemistry with Hedges, who impresses yet again as a young man who is still coming to grips with the lack of affection in his upbringing, his mother’s icy worldview, and how they’ve both affected his ability to relate to other people.
And soon, there are plenty of other people to relate to in the Paris flat. There’s the neighbor who desperately wants to make friends (a scene-stealing Valerie Mahaffey), Madeleine the medium, a detective hunting for the runaway cat (Isaach De Bankole), ex-fiancee Susan and her new man (Daniel di Tomasso), and Joan, who actually owns the apartment (Susan Coyne)!
You’d be quick to label the entire affair a Wes Anderson knockoff if Jacobs (The Lovers, Mozart in the Jungle, Doll & Em) didn’t fill the center with such unabashed heart. The affection between mother and son is never in doubt, and Pfeiffer’s delicious turn makes sure Francis never becomes a villain, just a fascinating and darkly funny mess.
With its self-conscious quirks and surface-level satisfactions, this is a French Exit more obvious than most. But thanks to Pfeiffer and a sharply drawn ensemble, it’s never less than wicked fun.
“You can’t just show up for the after party for a shiva, and like, reap the benefits of the buffet.”
Twentysomething Danielle (Rachel Sennott – irresistible) is definitely guilty of skipping the actual funeral (she doesn’t even know who died!), but if there are benefits to the after party, she isn’t reaping them. It’s awkward enough that her former flame Maya (Molly Gordon) is there, but that’s hardly the worst of it.
To her horror, Danielle sees that Max (Danny Deferarri) is there, too. Max is Danielle’s sugar daddy, and look, he brought his beautiful wife (Dianna Agron) and their cute baby daughter!
With Shiva Baby, Emma Seligman expands her 2018 short film for a feature debut full of observational comedy, mounting anxiety and a strangely appealing sexiness. Imagine the Coen Brothers rebooting Uncut Gems as a coming-of-age sex comedy, and you get an idea of the tonal tightrope Seligman is able to command.
The film’s opening finds Danielle confident and alluring. By the end of the day, she’s an unkempt, sweaty mess of beverages, blood and embarrassment. Almost all of Danielle’s arc takes place inside the home of the bereaved, and Seligman makes sure that is a hilariously uncomfortable place to be.
Danielle’s parents (the ever-reliable Fred Melamed and a scene-stealing Polly Draper) pressure her to work the room for job contacts, family friends inquire about her post-college plans, Molly wonders why Danielle ghosted her, and Max’s wife is getting suspicious.
And through it all, Seligman’s camera draws in closer and closer, making Danielle’s darkly comic claustrophobia almost palpable.
Clearly, much of Seligman’s sharp dialog comes from personal experience, and if it’s one you share this is a film that will feel like part of the family. But you didn’t have to be Greek to get caught up in that Big Fat Wedding, and you don’t have to be Jewish to see the joy in Shiva Baby.
Seligman flashes an insight that disarms you with sex and humor, keeping its hand at a subtle distance. But by the time we’re leaving that buffet, a breakout filmmaker and star have delivered a fresh, funny and intimate take on the indignities of finding yourself.
Though writer/director Tim Sutton’s latest is more a collection
of images and moments than a strictly plotted narrative, the story that unfolds
is kind of a bittersweet wonder.
An isolated youngish man (Cosmo Jarvis) rails against the
impending destruction of his neighborhood, a community he haunts wearing a
happy Halloween mask. An act of kindness at a nearby convenience store, though,
brings about a surprising and really lovely friendship.
Jarvis, who was so good in last year’s Calm
with Horses, convinces again as an outsider with a lot of pent-up anger
but an otherwise sweet heart. There’s a mixture of brutality and vulnerability
in the portrayal that calls to mind Tom Hardy or even Brando – although, given
a particular preoccupation in the film, he may be aiming for James Dean.
Newcomer Dela Meskienyar matches him step for step as another outsider, also angry at circumstances that feel beyond control, also hiding her face. It’s a remarkable and never forced kind of parallelism Sutton develops–a lost quality that he sees in every character. He uses this thread to braid disparate lives together and to create a sense of empathy, even toward the most loathsome among us.
Sutton is no stranger to tales of white male alienation,
bruised masculinity, and an almost childlike struggle with our primal nature.
Both his first feature Dark
Night (which deals with the 2012 Aurora shooting), and his follow up, Donnybook
(about bare knuckle brawls in addiction-riddled Ohio) illustrate his interest.
Funny Face, though, marks a step toward something more
stylish. The film has a retro vibe, like a long-lost Seventies indie set in
Brooklyn. Given the of-the-moment storyline, this offers his film the timeless
quality of a fairy tale—a theme he develops with imagery of equal parts urban realism
and magical whimsy.
A sense of mourning fuels Funny Face. While Sutton’s film is intimately linked to its Brooklyn setting, that exact same mourning informs Lesotho’s beautiful This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection, also releasing this week. Unchecked capitalism is a global cancer, it would seem.
All of Sutton’s films contextualize human struggle within the context of community. This has never been truer than it is with Funny Face, a comment on the way greed destroys history and the sense of place, leaving nothing in that emptiness, even for those who profit.
