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Windflower

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Anemone

by Hope Madden

As a young filmmaker, would having arguably the most revered actor of his generation—perhaps of all time—as a father be a blessing or a curse? For Ronan Day-Lewis, directing his first feature with co-writer and lead actor (and dad) Daniel Day-Lewis, it seems to be working out.

Anemone is a tale of fathers and sons, of one generation of men inflicting damage upon the next, and the tenderness that either dies, finds an outlet, or runs to madness.

Sean Bean a is Jem, a good man who strikes out from his dodgy neighborhood in Northern England to the woods, led by the navigational coordinates on the back of a page that reads: Anemone: In Case of Emergency, Break Glass.

The coordinates lead him to his brother, Ray (DDL), a hermit since his time fighting against the IRA. Ray is wanted at home.

Like many of Day-Lewis’s greatest performances, his work here impresses with lengthy stretches of silence punctuated by a couple of brilliantly executed monologues. His lean and scrappy physicality belie the character’s vulnerability in ways that expertly match Ray’s reticent then vulgar speech.

Ray’s a man off the rails, while Bean deftly crafts a character who’s found comfort and strength in structure. Neither actor overplays the brothers’ differences, rather falling into a tenuous if lived-in familiarity.

The great Samantha Morton and an impressive Samuel Bottomley round out the cast, but as usual, all eyes are on Day-Lewis.

RDL knows it, not only providing memorable lines, but crafting an atmosphere that evokes Ray’s troubling inner landscape. Bobby Krlic’s (Eddington, Beau Is Afraid, Midsommar) score conjures an angry melancholy while moments of painterly surrealism deliver flashes of beautiful, hopeful madness. Even when lensing the natural elegance of Ray’s isolated world, RDL and cinematographer Ben Fordesman (Love Lies Bleeding, Saint Maud) evoke a magical splendor.

Anemone feels uncertain of how to resolve itself, to bridge the two worlds it creates. Structure failed Ray, and it nearly fails Anemone. But the film offers more than enough reason to believe in filmmaker Ronan Day-Lewis. And if you needed another reason to believe in actor Daniel Day-Lewis, well, here you go.

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Tall Tales and Fiction

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Killing Faith

by Hope Madden

A raucous opening sequence eventually settles into a classic old Western vibe that keeps you guessing in Ned Crowley’s latest, Killing Faith.

Like Mary Bee Cuddy in The Homesman and Joanna in News of the World, Sarah (DeWanda Wise) is in need of a traveling companion. Her daughter (Emily Ford) needs help that the town doctor (Guy Pearce) can’t offer. Not that the ether-sniffing doc has been much help to his patients of late.

Dr. Steelbender is an ether addict on account of a plague of sorts. Voiceover tells us of a sickness ravaging the countryside almost as savagely as a notorious group of bounty hunters. But Sarah is determined to take her daughter to see Dr. Ross (Bill Pullman) because he deals not just in medicine, but in holy healing.

Crowley’s shot making, particularly in the opening act, is equal parts stunning and unnerving. At his best, he tells the tale like a picture book, images sharing as much of the story as dialog. There’s a grim poetry to the shots that creates an beautifully brutal atmosphere as it delivers information.

Pearce has made a lot of movies, many of them horrible, most mediocre, but he does have a pretty good track record with Westerns. John Hillcoat’s The Proposition is one of the most affecting Westerns of the 21st century. Killing Faith doesn’t nearly reach that high water mark, but it has its moments.

I like the more contemporary Westerns, where no one’s to be trusted and everyone’s a weirdo. Killing Faith is at its most compelling when our little band of travelers finds themselves among unexplained carnage or unexplainable fellow wayfarers. Joanna Cassidy is especially delightful in a macabre way.

But a couple of obvious turns and the general simplicity of the story keep Killing Faith from reaching classic status.

The film loses steam whenever it clings too tightly to its main themes, its hero’s journey. But Crowley elevates that well-worn road with ideas of being haunted by the sight of innocence corrupted, something that connects the Western with dystopian tales, like John Hillcoat’s other Pearce-starring fable, The Road.

All Westerns are about redemption. The best Westerns, new or old, are about hope. Can you allow yourself a flicker of hope? The answer is often what differentiates the classic Western from the contemporary one. Killing Faith toys with those mighty big struggles, sometimes provocatively. The solutions aren’t as interesting as the journey, though.

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Poison Pen

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A Savage Art: The Life & Cartoons of Pat Oliphant

by George Wolf

“If Pat Oliphant couldn’t draw, he’d be an assassin.”

That quote gets your attention, even if you don’t know the name Pat Oliphant. Either way, you’ve probably seen some of his work, and A Savage Art: The Life & Cartoons of Pat Oliphant is a broadly effective intro to a legend of political cartooning.

Oliphant wielded a revolutionary artistic style and the kind of cynical mind that had him rebelling against the very committee that awarded him the Pulitzer Prize in 1967. Aided by his alter ego “Punk” the Penguin, Oliphant skewered the political landscape through five decades and ten U.S. Presidents.

In his feature debut, director Bill Banowsky keeps things pretty standard, rolling out a succession of Oliphant’s best cartoons, and chatting with family members and colleagues to provide some personal details that Oliphant himself seems averse to.

And though today’s political and social climate carries some issues that are very relevant to Oliphant’s legacy, Banowsky doesn’t dig in. We do get mentions of the increased threats to a free press, and to the rise of internet memes as a shallow imitation of cartoon commentary, but those seem to be conversations for another day.

Banowsky’s aim is to give a legend his due and maybe spur some interest in learning more. A Savage Art hits that target square.

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Slippery

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The Ice Tower

by George Wolf

Fifteen-year-old Jeanne doesn’t want to build a snowman. What she wants is an escape, but finds plenty more than she expected in The Ice Tower, Lucile Emina Hadzihalilovic’s dreamlike re-imaging of “The Snow Queen.”

In 1970s France, Jeanne (a wonderful feature debut for Clara Pacini) is among the oldest children in a foster home, where she comforts the younger ones and silently longs for a better life. She finally leaves one evening, taking refuge in an empty warehouse to sleep.

But in the morning, Jeanne finds the warehouse is home to a movie crew, with director Dino (Gaspar Noé, Hadzihalilovic’s husband) filming a new adaptation of the Hans Christian Anderson classic. Mistaken for an extra, Jeanne becomes part of the production and is instantly captivated by the star of the show, Christina (Marion Cotillard).

The Oscar-winning Cotillard is, of course, perfect as the detached and demanding diva who begins to take an equally strong interest in the young Jeanne. But to what end? Hadzihalilovic explores that question with a cold, barren beauty. The aesthetic is tactile and intoxicating, a perfect playground to envelope the film in strange fascination.

The Ice Tower casts an undeniable spell. Despite lingering a bit too long in some dry spots, it crafts an enriching trip to the darker floors of a fairy tale.

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No Wake Zone

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Bone Lake

by George Wolf

Not long after we meet Sage and Diego, they’re talking about his idea for a novel, debating about what qualifies as “gratuitous” and lamenting that cancel culture has neutered artistic expression.

Okay, intriguing. And then you remember that one poster for Bone Lake features the strategically large “R” rating positioned right after the first word in the title.

Alrighty, then, we’re gonna push some limits with both blood and lust, are we? Have some devilish fun with hot button topics and take no prisoners?

No, we are not. We’re going to play it safe and predictable, borrow heavily from better projects and hope some late stage blood splatter stops the questions about why that poster doesn’t read BonePG-13 Lake.

Sage (Maddie Hasson) and Diego (Marco Pigossi) have booked an incredible lakeside mansion for the weekend. Diego’s even brought a ring along to pop the question, but there are two very big complications. Will (Alex Roe) and Cin (Andra Nechita) have also booked the mansion for the weekend! What are four good-lookings gonna do except share the space and really get to know each other?

The character development is rushed but adequate. Will and Cin are openly sexy free spirits, Diego is more buttoned-up and Sage seems to be settling for the comfy life while missing some walks on the wild side. But more than anything, Diego and Sage both seem like a couple of first class idiots.

Writer Joshua Friedlander and director Mercedes Bryce Morgan want to sprinkle some White Lotus sensibilities over a mashup of Funny Games and A Perfect Getaway. But the inspirations are painfully evident, the revelations overly telegraphed, the internal logic gets shaky and the frolicking more silly than sexy.

None of it goes anywhere worth caring about. The marketing angle, an attention-getting prologue and that early art debate make some promises that are never kept, and this trip to the lake is more bore than bone.

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We Rate Dogs

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Good Boy

by Hope Madden

I have a theory that the best way to make a horror film terrifying is to put children in peril. How better to ensure viewers are compelled, hearts in their throats, desperate for the heroes to prevail?

Co-writer/director Ben Leonberg may have discovered a more sure-fire way.

Meet Indy, a Nova Scotia Duck Trolling Retriever and an undeniably Good Boy. The dog is played by Leonberg’s own pet, also named Indy. I am not one to talk to the screen, but there were several times during Good Boy’s mere 72-minute running time that I heard myself saying, “No, no, no, no. Don’t do that, buddy.”

Because Indy and his dude, Todd (Shane Jensen), have just moved into Grandpa’s (Larry Fessenden) old place out in the woods. Todd’s in bad shape, physically. And even though folks say the old place is haunted, and even though Grandpa died here and his dogs all ran away or disappeared, Todd and Indy should be fine. Right?

The film works as well as it does because of Leonberg’s great gimmick. The story is told from Indy’s point of view. We know what he knows, which allows metaphor and supernatural to fold together seamlessly since no real exposition can be given. It also means that we never take our eyes off this beautiful dog, so we never stop worrying about his wellbeing, if he’s sad, is he cold out in the rain, is he scared?

Yes, Leonberg is out to break your heart, and his gorgeous retriever does just that.

There’s something unsettling in real life when your pet stares deeply at nothing and whines. Leonberg contemplates those shadows, the silence, the movement just outside the frame, along with Indy. The atmosphere he creates is deeply creepy and tinged with unendurable tenderness.

But a metaphorical supernatural horror story is tough to resolve satisfactorily when all we have to work with is the communicative abilities of a dog. No matter how darling that dog is.

Good Boy feels longer than its 72 minutes, and the metaphor at the heart of the story leeches away the true fear. It leaves you with heartbreak, which isn’t quite enough. But Leonberg’s film is an audacious feature debut and a worthy experiment.

Outtakes

Slim, Sick and Sorry Looking

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Coyotes

by Hope Madden

Colin Minihan’s a fun filmmaker. Not everything hits, but nothing ever entirely misses. His latest, the horror comedy with heart Coyotes, is one of his more pleasant, less memorable efforts.

Justin Long is a comic book writing dad living in the Hollywood Hills. His wife (real life wife Kate Bosworth), daughter (Mila Harris), and schnauzer Charlie life comfortably enough but they think they hear rats in their walls.

Rats won’t be their biggest problem once a pack of bloodthirsty coyotes stands between Long’s family and escape from the raging wildfire the neighbor inadvertently set after coyotes gnawed through his carcass.

Trip (Norbert Leo Butz), the neighbor, and his girlfriend-for-hire (Brittany Allen, frequent Minihan collaborator) balance the neighbor family’s earnestness with bawdy, slapstick humor. Allen’s comic sensibility is especially strong, her presence creating a consistent sense of random humor that elevates everything.

Allen’s wrongheadedness bounces beautifully off Long’s likeable dufus, leaving Bosworth the somewhat thankless straight man role. But she carries it with the right balance of dignity and impatience to give the character flavor.

The chemistry among the actors goes a long way to strengthen a slight script. The character motivations we’re told about don’t match the footage we see, and coyotes come and go with little rational explanation.

As for horror, nearly every death, even nearly every attack, is off screen. Reaction shots fill in for carnage, each intended more for a laugh than a scare. But there just aren’t that many outright laughs.

Still, it’s hard not to root for Justin Long to survive a horror movie. Here, he’s at his most likeable and goofy, plus he’s rightfully preoccupied with keeping Charlie from coyote clutches. Because screw the neighbors, protect that dog!

Coyotes is not one of Minihan’s strongest, and it certainly doesn’t measure up to Long’s better genre titles. The writing can’t measure up in logic, fun, humor or horror to what the cast deserves. But it’s a pleasant enough waste of time for horror fans.

Shudder Premiere

Bite Size Frights

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V/H/S/Halloween

Screens Sunday, October 19 at noon

by Hope Madden

“Hey, aren’t you a little old for trick or treating?”

If you’re looking for bite sized horror to match your fun size Butterfinger, the long running found footage franchise delivers a grab bag of options with V/H/S/Halloween. The anthology of shorts focuses on tales of Halloween. Expect costumes, pranks, chocolate, and a surprisingly high amount of child carnage.

Director Bryan M. Ferguson’s wraparound tale Diet Phantasma may mean more to me than it will to you. It would be hard for me to articulate how much I love horror movies or diet pop. In both cases, it’s an alarming amount of love. So, a tale of haunted diet soda and, beginning the theme, child slaughter?

Yes.

David Haydn is a particular riot as the exec who really needs to get this beverage on the shelf by Halloween.

Paco Plaza’s Ut Sup Sic Infra (As Above, So Below) follows a traumatized young man and a host of cops to a crime scene. This is an efficient little gem with a mystery to solve. Performances are solid all around, and the climax packs a frightening surprise.

Anna Zlokovic’s Coochic Coochic Coo and Alex Ross Perry’s Kidprint are the weaker episodes in the group. Zlokovic’s film follows two high school seniors who make consistently ridiculous choices leading to a nonsensical finale. Kidprint is a nasty short without the clever writing needed to elevate it.

Casper Kelly’s Fun Size gets off to a rough start—full grown adults who decide to be zany and trick or treat. But as soon as that “take one” bowl makes its presence known, things get weird. The balance between brightly colored confection and human dismemberment is impressive. This one’s wrong-headed in the best way.

Likewise, Micheline Pitt-Norman & R.H. Norman’s Home Haunt is a lot of fun. There’s a wholesome charm to this short that could draw your attention to the, again, sheer number of children being murdered. But the concept is sort of darling, and the performances are equally dear. The Normans strike a comedic tone that’s hard to manage, and the result is equal parts nostalgia, cringe, and terror.

You can’t get a Twix every time you dig into that bulk candy assortment bag. But V/H/S/Halloween’s ratio of choice treats to forgettable-but-edible is strong enough to leave you with a little sugar high.

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Viva la Revolution

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One Battle After Another

by Hope Madden

Paul Thomas Anderson, still batting 1000.

This f’ing guy! He spends four or five years directing obscure music videos, hits us with a masterpiece of modern cinema, then back to the tunes. The Phantom Thread, The Master, Boogie Nights, Punch Drunk Love, Licorice Pizza, Hard Eight, Inherent Vice, Magnolia, There Will Be Blood—you get whiplash from genre and stylistic hopscotch. But in each is a gorgeous pathos, a meticulous cinematic experience, and ensemble piece teeming with dozens of the most stunning performances you’ve ever seen.

So, you know what to expect when you sit down to One Battle After Another.

Anderson based the film on Thomas Pynchon’s Vineland, which contrasted the revolutionary spirit of America of the 1960s with the era of Ronald Reagan’s reelection. Anderson finds parallels in the generational necessity for revolution with Bob (Leonardo DiCaprio).

Years ago, Bob and Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor, owning the screen no matter who she shares it with) were revolutionaries disrupting W.’s ugly border policies, among other things. But everything went to hell, much thanks to Col. Steven J. Lockjaw (great name!). And about 16 years later, Lockjaw comes looking for Bob and the baby he disappeared with off-grid all those years ago (Chase Infiniti).

Sean Penn is Lockjaw, and he hasn’t been anywhere near this compelling or transformed since Milk (although he was a ton of fun in Licorice Pizza).

Though the massive cast is characteristically littered with incredible talents crackling with the electricity of Anderson’s script, Benicio del Toro stands out. He brings a laidback humor to the film that draws out DiCaprio’s silliness. While much of One Battle After Another is a nail-biting political thriller turned action flick, thanks to these two, it’s also one of Anderson’s funniest movies.

It may also be his most relevant. Certainly, the most of-the-moment. A master of the period piece, with this film Anderson reaches back to clarify present. By contrasting Bob’s paranoid, bumbling earnestness with the farcical evil of the Christmastime Adventurer’s Club, he satirizes exactly where we are today and why it looks so much like where we’ve been during every revolution.

But it is the filmmaker’s magical ability to populate each moment of his 2-hour-41-minute run time with authentic, understated, human detail that grounds the film in our lived-in reality and positions it as another masterpiece.

Hope Madden and George Wolf … get it?