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Somewhere in Time

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Timestalker

by Hope Madden

Back in 2016, Alice Lowe wrote, directed and starred in the charmingly dark horror comedy, Prevenge. It’s been a long wait, but her absurd wit, impeccable timing and delightful attention to sight gag detail return with the dark reincarnation rom-com, Timestalker.

Lowe is Agnes. No matter when you catch her—mid-1600s, Napoleonic era, 1980s New York—Agnes is feeling lost. Unmoored. As if something in her very soul is lacking. And then suddenly, over and over and over again throughout the ages, Agnes realizes what she’s missing is Alex (Aneurin Barnard).

Alex never seems to agree.

A handful of souls orbit the star crossed never actually lovers (Nick Frost, Tanya Reynolds, Kate Dickie, Jacob Anderson), but that never really registers with Agnes. She’s too attuned to her longing, and then eventually, her need to change her fate because, in each life, Agnes dies (pretty horribly) so that Alex can live.

What Lowe has penned is a clever subversion of romance tropes—“I have crossed oceans of time to find you”—without entirely mocking that aching sense of longing that fuels an obsession. Lowe’s most clever device is positioning a man as the object of infatuation. Playing that idea off a later introduction of Agnes’s own stalker further pokes holes in a century’s worth of romance cliche.

Timestalker is funny, sometimes brutally so. Anderson shines as a mischief-maker and instigator popping in from age to age with very dark suggestions, and an underused Dickie’s priceless deadpan delivery adds value to each of her scenes.

The look of the film offers endless enjoyment, and Lowe is a hoot in every situation.

Don’t look for much in the way of a plot, though. Where Prevenge unveiled a bit more of its backstory and detail with each new scene, Timestalker feels like a really fun Groundhog Day with no underpinning story. The film is disappointingly slight given the clever points it makes.

Shudder Premiere

Rizz Up

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The Dead Thing

by Hope Madden

The clever, underlying theme in Shaun of the Dead is that every Londoner was already basically a zombie.

Elric Kane, co-writer and director of The Dead Thing, looks at a culture of app hook ups and sterile, fluorescent work spaces and sees something similar. A whole generation of people seems to already be dead.

They’re not exactly alive, anyway.

Beautiful Alex (Blu Hunt) fits that bill. Her job is mindless, she keeps her headphones in and avoids eye contact with her one co-worker, Mark (Joey Millin). After work and another swipe right hookup she sneaks into her apartment to avoid conversation with her longtime best friend (Katherine Hughes). Sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

Then she meets Kyle (Ben Smith-Petersen), and it’s as if she wakes from a trance. It starts off the same as every other meet up, but Kyle is different. They connect. He stays all night, they laugh and draw pictures of each other and hate to say goodbye the next day when her uber for work arrives.

She decides to keep in touch, but he never responds to a text. So, she shows up where he works, and a mystery begins.

Each act in The Dead Thing tells a different story. Hunt anchors the evolving storytelling with an authentic display of ennui, of disconnectedness—partly chosen, partly inevitable. Smith-Petersen’s vacant sweetness gives each change in the narrative an underlying sinister quality that also evolves nicely from one act to the next.

By Act 3, Kane abandons the film’s original metaphor in favor of a different analogy. While this change offers more opportunity for visceral horror, the result is less satisfying than the original, insightful image of modern romance.

Though the more traditional wrap up disappoints after such a stylish and intriguing premise, The Dead Thing—including Iona Vasile’s dreamy camerawork and deceptively creepy performances throughout—keeps your attention and manages to subvert expectations and entertain.

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Real In

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Rounding

by Hope Madden

Filmmaker Alex Thompson has already developed a good track record across multiple genres. His 2020 dramedy Saint Francis was a bold, impressive feature debut. Last year’s Ghostlight won critical acclaim and not an insignificant number of festival awards.

Somewhere between the two he wrote and directed a brooding medical mystery called Rounding that’s just now getting a theatrical release.

The film follows Dr. James Hayman (Namir Smallwood) as he navigates his second year in residency. As the film opens, James has an episode on his rounds in a large, urban hospital. It’s quite an episode, and after taking some time off, he decides he’d rather finish his residency in a more rural location where he can “have a bigger impact.”

There he studies under Dr. Harrison (Michael Potts, who elevates every scene, as is his way) and meets the 19-year-old asthma patient, Helen (Sidney Flanigan, Never Rarely Sometimes Always). James is convinced that there is something very wrong with Helen’s case.

Rounding is a slow build, essentially unraveling two mysteries simultaneously. As James sleuths the ins and outs of Helen’s illness, deteriorating mentally and physically as he does so, his own past trauma begins to take shape in front of our eyes.

That second mystery comes laden with the occasional supernatural imagery. Never once does it suit the film Thompson is making. Each of these scenes of horror feels spliced in from an entirely different movie. Although, these flashes are welcome bits of excitement in an otherwise laborious slog.

Thompson, who co-wrote Rounding with Christopher Thompson, keeps all information very close to the vest. It isn’t possible to unravel either mystery with what’s depicted on the screen, so nothing wraps up satisfactorily. Tidily, yes, and far too late and too quickly and with too little evidence to support it.

A slow burn thriller can work, but the thrill has to be worth the wait, the climax earned. We have to be building to something. Rounding boasts some solid performances, a few unnerving moments, and a oppressively creepy aesthetic. But they don’t amount to much.

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Seattle Was a Riot

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Heart Eyes

by Hope Madden

There is an undeniable goofy sweetness to Josh Ruben’s horror films, no matter the body count or blood flow or number of people with holes so big in their throats that you can see the characters behind them.

Heart Eyes is the latest from the Werewolves Within and Scare Me director. The new film, fit for the holiday, trails a serial killer slicing and dicing through couples every Valentine’s Day. It’s Year 3, and the marauder has moved from Boston to Philly to set up shop for this year’s gore soaked romance in Seattle.

Just as Ally (Olivia Holt)—still stinging from how quickly her ex moved on after their breakup—has to work with advertising fixer Jay (Mason Gooding) to right the marketing campaign she seems to have tanked beyond repair.

But when the Heart Eyes Killer mistakes the colleagues for lovebirds, a cross-city chase begins.

The script penned by Phillip Murphy (Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard), along with Christopher Landon (Freaky, Happy Death Day 2 U) and Michael Kennedy (Freaky, It’s a Wonderful Knife), trots out rom com tropes as often as machetes. From meet cute to grand gesture at the airport to a string of classic romcom titles worked into dialog, Heart Eyes wears its influences on its sleeve.

The glossy “the city is its own character” filming, the amiable chemistry between Holt and Gooding, and their unreasonable good looks center the romance, but Ruben does not go light on the gore. Nor is he skimpy with comedy, although he can’t seem to settle on a tone for the humor. He veers from witty to broadly comedic to gallows and back, leaving the film feeling slightly haphazard.

Heart Eyes is also drawn out a bit too long. The finale, though plenty bloody, feels more forced than satisfying. But it’s a fun, gory, sweetly romantic waste of time, just like Valentine’s Day.

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Family’s Feud

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Bring Them Down

by George Wolf

Just weeks ago, Christopher Abbott was wrestling with wolves. Now it’s sheep, and the bloodlines still get bloody.

In Bring Them Down, Abbott is Michael O’Shea, a sheepherder who lives with his ailing father Ray (Colm Meaney) in the Irish countryside. Their farm shares a grazing hill with the Keelys – Gary (Paul Ready), Caroline (Nora-Jane Noone) and their son Jack (Barry Keoghan), and Irish eyes are seldom smiling.

Michael and Caroline share a past, as well as a painful tragedy that the villagers still whisper about. So relations are already chilly. But when Michael catches the Keely boys trying to sell two O’Shea rams as their own, things escalate quickly.

This is grim stuff, as desolate as the Irish landscape. And much like the bare-fisted feuds that the Irish travelers in 2011’s Knuckle cannot exist without, the Keely and O’Shea men seem held by an enabling bond of generational trauma shattered only occasionally by the more pragmatic Caroline.

In a feature debut that fluctuates between the English and Irish languages, writer/director Chris Andrews crafts a taut family drama fueled by pain, violence and a tight circle of engrossing performances. Abbott’s intensity shows Michael has learned to navigate his guilt and anguish with quiet resolve, while Keoghan again proves adept at fleshing out the vulnerable shades of a dangerous character.

These are deeply committed and affecting turns, consistently elevating a story that’s left searching for that final thread to make its truly memorable. And in the third act, Andrews does introduce a sudden time shift, rewinding to reveal new angles of previous events. The attempt at an added layer of narrative depth is warranted, but this one lands with a curious and negligible effect.

Still, with a solid sense of setting, cast and framing, Bring Them Down heralds Andrews as a filmmaker of great potential. Once his actors get a little more character to chew on, he may start building his own legacy.

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Past Tense

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I’m Still Here

by Hope Madden

Walter Salles’s beautifully understated true story I’m Still Here benefits from a powerful central performance, a poignant naturalism, and the timeless truth that dictatorships offer only cruel injustice.

Salles (The Motorcycle Diaries) adapts friend Marcelo Paiva’s book, written to record the life of his iconic mother as her memories faded due to Alzheimer’s. Paiva’s mother, Eunice Paiva, is brought to life with deeply felt humanity and power by Oscar nominee Fernanda Torres.

As the film opens, Eunice floats in the ocean, her five children on Ipanema beach nearby. A military chopper breaks her peace. Her older daughters play volleyball, her younger daughter plays in the stand, her one son, Marcelo (Guilherme Silveira) nabs a stray puppy and, knowing that his mother would deny him the pet, runs home to convince his sweetly indulgent father, Rubens (Selton Mello).

Many films present a wholesome, loving family unit in Act 1 so that the tragedies of Act 2 hit harder. But for Salles and the onscreen Paivas, the investment in this family time grounds every moment after. There’s genuine joy, bonds between and among family members that ring true and continue to ring until the final credits roll some 137 minutes later.

In 1971, shortly after Christmas, Rubens Paiva was taken from their home by Brazil’s military dictatorship. Like thousands of other Brazilians, he was “disappeared”. The balance of I’m Still Here participates in Eunice’s struggles in his absence.

Salles and Torres sidestep sentimentality at every turn. The graceful direction and formidable central performance pull you through every day—Eunice’s own arrest, fear for her children, her inability to even access the family’s bank accounts without her husband’s signature or a death certificate, and her aching worry and fear for Rubens.

We flash forward twice: once to the day, years after Eunice Paiva’s gotten her law degree and devoted her life to social justice, that Rubens’s death certificate is finally handed to her. When asked by the press whether it made sense to focus on Brazil’s ugly past when there was so much else fighting for attention, Paiva responded clearly that it was imperative. When government criminals go unpunished, they learn that their heinous acts are acceptable.

Parallels to our current climate certainly invest I’m Still Here with a particularly nightmarish urgency.  The timeline spreads the tale too thin, but it’s done to honor Eunice Paiva, whose strength in the face of right wing dictators inspires awe.

The Screening Room

Screening Room: You’re Cordially Invited, Companion, September 5, Hard Truths & More

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You’re Cordially Invited, Companion, September 5, Hard Truths, The Seed of the Sacred Fig, Freelance, Like Father Like Son

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Paranoid Android

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Companion

by Hope Madden

It’s not to say that writer/director Drew Hancock is saying anything new, exactly. Most of the ideas are borrowed, and even the look of Companion feels cribbed from more insightfully stylized films. But the way he puts these ideas and images into play and keeps them playing guarantees a mischievously, wickedly good time.

On the surface is a timely reminder of themes played out on film since Bryan Forbes’s 1975 Stepford Wives and before. But today, as AI and sexual predation become terrifyingly acceptable, the tension feels wildly of-the-moment.

Sophie Thatcher (so good just last year in Heretic) is Iris. She doesn’t know it yet, but Iris is a robot companion, an emotional support robot, a f*ck bot. She and Josh (Jack Quaid) are hanging with Josh’s friends Eli (Harvey Guillén), Patrick (Lukas Gage) and Kat (Megan Suri) at Kat’s boyfriend Serey’s (Rupert Friend) for the weekend.

Things get out of hand.

Lars and the Real Girl meets Revenge meets AI meets maybe twenty other movies, but damn if Hancock and this sharp ensemble doesn’t make it work.

A great deal of the film’s success is in our investment in these themes, the way we recognize and respond to buttons Hancock pushes. But what’s maybe more impressive is the plotting and structure of the thriller underneath. It’s smart, its beats make sense and amplify tension. A couple of reveals are telegraphed, but it’s not nearly enough to sink the fun of the story.

And it’s funny. Guillén can be counted on for hilarity, but the dark sense of humor that flows through this thriller as surely as blood consistently strikes the right chord.

Quaid convinces as entitled “nice guy” Josh, an excellent foil for Thatcher. Her turn in Heretic offered a glimpse of the instincts on display here. Thatcher seems simultaneously aloof and vulnerable, unnatural and human. She gives the film a depth of character, a heartbeat that allows it more punch than your garden variety dark comedy.

Hancock does settle for humor, biting though it may be. The script flirts with darker, edgier but no less honest ideas, but Companion isn’t here to expose all of that. Because that stuff is just not funny, and outright horror films need content too.

Turns out it’s kind of fun to be on the side of AI for a change.

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Sowing Suspicion

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The Seed of the Sacred Fig

by George Wolf

Mohammad Rasoulof’s films have shown him to be an insightful storyteller. His backstory reveals a courageous activist who continues to endanger his own life and freedom in support of artistic expression.

His latest, The Seed of the Sacred Fig, weaves in important details and actual footage from protests that erupted in Iran after the government’s brutal killing of Mahsa Amini in 2022. As the narrative evolves from hushed family drama to frantic thriller, writer/director Rasoulof again shows his skill at turning intimate details into an allegory for oppression from a religious patriarchy in his homeland and beyond.

Iman (Missagh Zareh) has just been promoted to an Inspector’s post in Tehran (on the court that actually sentenced Rasoulof just three years ago). It’s a big moment for the family – Inspector is just one step below a judge – and Iman’s wife Najmeh (Sohelia Golestani) is hoping they’ll soon be awarded an apartment big enough for their teen-age daughters to each have their own bedroom.

Instead, Iman is awarded a gun.

Inspectors are involved in very serious cases. So serious that Iman must watch his back, Najmeh must not ask questions, and daughters Sana (Setareh Maleki) and Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) must choose their friends very carefully and stay off of social media.

Naturally, the girls have trouble adjusting and plead with their father to help when their friend Sadaf (Niousha Akhshi) gets caught up in student protests and is arrested. This is a delicate issue, indeed, but it is when Iman’s gun turns up missing from the home that fear and suspicion completely overtake the household.

The loss of his gun could ultimately send Iman to prison, and the father turns to desperate measures against his own wife and children to root out the culprit.

Often filming in secret, Rasoulof assembles the escalation of events so carefully, and the performances are so achingly real, that nearly every frame of the film’s two hour and forty-five minutes seems necessary. The young daughters ask the defiant questions their parents abandoned long ago, supported with subtlety by an Iranian filmmaker daring to show women without head coverings (even in their homes).

Rasoulof has now fled Iran, while Zareh and Golestani have both been banned from travel. The Seed of the Sacred Fig stands as a testament to their courage, and as a sobering act of revolution.

Hope Madden and George Wolf … get it?