There is nothing quite like an Andrea Arnold film. The writer/director sees through the eyes of cast aside adolescent girls like few other filmmakers, and her own eye for color and detail behind the camera creates transcendent cinematic experiences.
Her latest effort, Bird, represents something closer to magical realism than anything she’s done previously (American Honey, Fish Tank), but her generous nature with characters and her impeccable casting are present, as always.
Bailey (newcomer and treasure Nykiya Adams) is a 12-year-old bored and frustrated with life. She lives with her father, Bug (Barry Keoghan, magnificent as ever), who intends to start making real money with the “drug toad” he’s just brought home. (An actual toad. It “slimes” a hallucinogenic when it hears earnest music.) Across town, her mother’s abusive boyfriend is a threat to Bailey’s three younger half siblings.
Somewhere between the two, Bailey meets Bird (Franz Rogowski). Bird is unusual. At first, she quietly follows him out of curiosity, then a kind of protectiveness, and finally friendship.
Rogowski’s enigmatic performance never patronizes, never bends to the noble outsider cliché.
Keoghan—easily among the most fascinating actors working—exudes a childlike charm that makes Bug irresistible.
Bailey’s life with her father—though hardly a safe or comfortable environment—takes on qualities of a fairy tale, or at least the absence of an adult world. In many ways, Bird tells of his coming-of-age even as it follows his daughter’s.
What makes the third act such a standout—whether you can get behind its surreal quality or you cannot—is the unerring authenticity of the first two acts. And what makes that authenticity so magical in itself is the way Arnold and her cast mine it for beauty.
Arnold is forgiving, though never naïve. There’s plenty of ugliness as well, but spray painted eyes and matching purple jumpsuits have rarely seemed so beautiful.
“My pain is unexceptional, and I don’t feel the need to burden everybody with it.”
It’s a revelation articulated by David Kaplan (Jesse Eisenberg), and just one of countless memorable insights in the screenplay Eisenberg penned for his second feature behind the camera, A Real Pain.
David and cousin Benji (Kieran Culkin) are traveling together to Poland to honor their recently deceased Grandmother Dora, who’d survived the Holocaust by “a thousand little miracles” and left her grandsons funds to make the trip.
David’s been busy with work and family. Benji has not. The odd couple—one reserved and polite, the other charming and wild—join a tour group and embark on their adventure.
Culkin is excellent, delivering a masterful performance that oscillates between charming emotional manipulator and hard-core emotional basket case. The relationship between the cousins is lived-in and fraught. Benji plays Dave, plies him with intimate attention, prods him with tenderness then punishes him the next second. But thanks to Culkin’s raw performance, it’s hard to hold anything against Benji.
Eisenberg’s performance meshes with Culkin’s, reflecting the authentic yin to his yang. In Eisenberg’s hands, Dave’s manipulation is quiet but pointed, his sympathy condescending. The two actors—much thanks to an observant script and delicate direction—carve out the recognizable patterns of family.
Screenwriter Eisenberg complicates characters. The enjoyable verbal sparring between two bright, witty buddies keeps the film entertaining, but the tremendous depth of both performances unearths something surprisingly moving.
Eisenberg’s work as a filmmaker here is very sharp, never taking the cheap shot. Both characters are held to account, but there’s a generosity of spirit in the film that’s equally forgiving. The result is a poignant treasure.
As an actor, Eisenberg has never been better, truly, and one of his many strengths (as an actor and a filmmaker) is to just let Culkin steal this movie. Benji is recognizable and unforgettable in a film that wants badly to embrace the uncomfortable complications of family, if only it could.
I Was a Teenage Werewolf. Teen Wolf. The Craft. Even Carrie. Horror moviemakers have long equated coming-of-age with otherness, monstrosity. Sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s tragic, but whatever the result —the witches of The Craft or the mermaid of Blue My Mind, the zombie of Maggie or the werewolf (it’s so often a werewwolf!) of When Animals Dream, it’s a ripe metaphor. Here, recorded live at Gateway Film Center at the heart of The Ohio State University Campus, is our list of the five best teenage monsters in horror movies.
5. Jennifer’s Body (2009)
If Ginger Snaps owes a lot to Carrie (and it does), then Jennifer’s Body finds itself even more indebted to Ginger Snaps.
The central premise: Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them. Better still, lure them to an isolated area and eat them, leaving their carcasses for the crows. This is the surprisingly catchy idea behind this coal-black horror comedy.
In for another surprise? Megan Fox’s performance is spot-on as the high school hottie turned demon. Director Karyn Kusama’s film showcases the actress’s most famous assets, but also mines for comic timing and talent other directors apparently overlooked.
Amanda Seyfried’s performance as the best friend, replete with homely girl glasses and Jan Brady hairstyle, balances Fox’s smolder, and both performers animate Diablo Cody’s screenplay with authority. They take the Snaps conceit and expand it – adolescence sucks for all girls, not just the outcasts.
4. Fright Night (1985)
Fright Night takes that Eighties, Goonies-style adventure (kids on an adult-free quest of life and death) and uses the conceit to create something tense and scary, and a bit giddy as well. The feature debut as both writer and director for Tom Holland, the film has some sly fun with the vampire legend.
Roddy McDowall got much deserved love at the time for his turn as a washed-up actor from horror’s nostalgic past, and Chris Sarandon put his rich baritone to campy, sinister use.
Still, everyone’s favorite character was Evil Ed, the manic, pitiful loser turned bloodsucking minion. Credit Stephen Geoffreys for an electric and, at least in one scene, heartbreaking performance.
3. The Faculty (1998)
The film exaggerates (one hopes) the social order of a typical Ohio high school to propose that it wouldn’t be so terrible if all the teachers and most of the students died violently, or at least underwent such a horrific trauma that a revision of the social order became appealing.
Indeed, in this film, conformity equals a communicable disease. Adults aren’t to be trusted; high school is a sadistic machine grinding us into sausage; outcasts are the only true individuals and, therefore, the only people worth saving. Director Robert Rodriguez pulls the thing off with panache, all the while exploring the terrifying truth that we subject our children to a very real and reinforced helplessness every school day.
Interestingly, the infected teachers and students don’t turn into superficial, Stepford-style versions of themselves. For the most part, they indeed become better, stronger, more self-actualized (ironically enough) versions, which is interestingly creepy. It’s as if humanity – at least the version of it we find in a typical American high school – really isn’t worth saving.
2. Ginger Snaps (2000)
Sisters Ginger and Bridget, outcasts in the wasteland of Canadian suburbia, cling to each other, and reject/loathe high school (a feeling that high school in general returns).
On the evening of Ginger’s first period, she’s bitten by a werewolf. Writer Karen Walton cares not for subtlety: the curse, get it? It turns out, lycanthropy makes for a pretty vivid metaphor for puberty. This turn of events proves especially provocative and appropriate for a film that upends many mainstay female cliches.
Walton’s wickedly humorous script stays in your face with the metaphors, successfully building an entire film on clever turns of phrase, puns and analogies, stirring up the kind of hysteria that surrounds puberty, sex, reputations, body hair and one’s own helplessness to these very elements. It’s as insightful a high school horror film as you’ll find, peppered equally with dark humor and gore.
1. The Transfiguration (2016)
Milo likes vampire movies.
So, it would seem, does writer/director Michael O’Shea, whose confident feature debut shows us the relationship between the folklore and the life of a forlorn high school outcast.
Eric Ruffin plays Milo, a friendless teen who believes he is a vampire. What he is really is a lonely child who finds solace in the romantic idea of this cursed, lone predator. But he’s committed to his misguided belief.
O’Shea’s film borrows ideas from George Romero’s Martin, Tomas Alfredson’s Let the Right One In, and openly gushes over Murnau’s Nosferatu. Inside and out, the film draws on the best in vampire cinema to help Milo deal with a world in which he is a freak no matter what he decides to do.
You can often find ghosts lurking in the plays of August Wilson. His characters work to forge a better future for their families, haunted by the trauma and systemic racism that has beaten them down for generations.
Those themes also define Wilson’s The Piano Lesson, while a vengeful spirit from the past adds a layer of the supernatural to director and co-writer Malcolm Washington’s debut feature.
Malcolm’s brother John David Washington plays Boy Willie, who brings his friend Lymon (Ray Fisher) and a truck full of watermelons to visit his sister Berniece (Danielle Deadwyler) and uncle Doaker (Samuel L. Jackson) in 1936 Pittsburgh.
Boy Willie’s plan is to buy a piece of farm land back home in Mississippi, and all he needs is cash he’ll get from selling all the watermelons…and the family piano sitting in Berniece’s living room.
That second part is going to be a problem.
The piano is an important piece of the family’s history, and we feel its weight thanks to the way these remarkable actors – several of whom also played their roles on Broadway – illuminate Wilson’s wonderful prose. The well-defined living room scenes recall the film’s Pulitzer Prize-winning stage roots, while Malcolm Washington displays understated skill with weaving in more cinematic shades.
Flashbacks to the early 1900s deepen the resonance of what Berniece holds dear, and add to the mystery of the ghost sightings that occur upstairs. Visits from the talented Wining Boy (Michael Potts) spur breaks into song, allowing the musical pieces (and another moving score from Alexandre Desplat) to provide more organic building blocks toward a memorable narrative.
As a strong-but-cautious woman fighting for both her past and her future, Deadwyler is an award-worthy revelation. John David Washington has never been better, managing an impressive balance between Boy Willie’s manic ambition and his sobering reality. Mother and daughter Paulette and Olivia Washington join the ensemble, with Denzel and daughter Katie Washington’s producer credits rounding out the true family affair.
And for a story so deeply rooted in family legacy, that seems only right. The Piano Lesson is played with a committed intensity of feeling, giving a symphony of talent the room to honor its source material with lasting resonance.
My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock isn’t the first Alfred Hitchcock documentary in the last decade. It’s not even the second prominent one. But this unique take on the director’s entire filmography sets out to show why these movies have not only endured, but continue to speak to audiences—and some of our seamiest impulses.
My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock is a welcome companion piece to the other recent documentaries, falling somewhere between the broad interrogation of 2015’s Hitchcock/Truffaut and the technical hyper-focus of 2017’s 78/52. Writer and director Mark Cousins uses Hitchcock’s “voice” and—more importantly—almost exclusively clips from his films to take a fresh look at the legend.
Thankfully for anyone tackling a feature-length video essay, you’re at a huge advantage when the subject is Alfred Hitchcock. Cousins breaks the documentary up into six key themes, some expected (height, escape) but others taking a surprising metaphysical turn.
It’s hard not to want to dive into a full Hitchcock movie after watching the clips. Especially notable is the amount of time that Cousins devotes to the less usual suspects. There are the silent films and early movies pre-Hollywood, but also plenty of love for techniques in his late films that show him fully in command of his craft.
Even the classics that have been analyzed to death show off new themes. If you want more on the shower, well… there’s an entire movie for that. It was novel to sit with some of the other parts of movies like Psycho or North by Northwest without getting caught up on “that scene.”
The documentary’s strict adherence to showing us “what’s on the page” has some limits, though. Hitchcock’s wife, Alma, gets a section of the movie. But it doesn’t do justice to her role, not just as beloved muse, but extremely influential collaborator.
And then there’s the voice. Hitchcock gets a writing and voice credit at the start of the film, and it isn’t a spoiler to point out that Alfred Hitchcock is not writing new scripts in this century. The voice belongs to English impressionist Alistair McGowan, who does a solid job sounding equally plummy and put-upon.
But it’s an affectation that wears across the two-hour runtime, especially when it shouldn’t be a surprise reveal to tell the audience that this was just part of the artifice of film. Cousins’ script, plus the exceptionally deep range of highlights, stand on their own without the gimmick. The shots speak for themselves to reveal even more than the voice of the director himself ever could, if you buy into the psychology behind the movies. And Cousins makes a decent case that you should.
It is surprising that it’s taken this long for The Best Christmas Pageant Ever to come to theaters. Well, it’s here now, courtesy of a release date that brings with it some sad irony.
Barbara Robinson’s 1972 children’s novel did get a TV adaptation in ’83 with Loretta Swit and an 11-year-old Fairuza Balk, but now a team of faith-based filmmaking veterans brings the wholesome Holiday message to the big screen with easily digestible intentions.
Beth Bradley (Lauren Graham) is set to direct the latest production of her church’s Annual Christmas Pageant in the small town of Emmanuel. But before beginning auditions, Beth narrates the uplifting story of the town’s 75th pageant, when some misfit kids taught everyone about loving thy neighbor.
Beth takes us back to when she was a child (played by Molly Belle Wright) watching her mother Grace (the always welcome Judy Greer) volunteer to take over the play when longtime director Mrs. Armstrong (Mariam Bernstein) breaks both her legs. The town busybodies aren’t wild about this, especially when Grace allows the six feral Herdman kids to join the cast.
They smoke, cuss, steal and fight, and are often left on their own thanks to a runaway father and a mother working several jobs to get by. The Herdmans wander in to the church looking for snacks, and end up volunteering for the best roles in the play, including the intense Imogene (Beatrice Schneider, a natural) as Mary and wild little Gladys (Kynlee Heiman) as the Angel of the Lord.
Even if you aren’t familiar with the source material, you can probably guess how things turn out and what lessons are learned. Director Dallas Jenkins (“The Chosen” TV series) wraps everything in a nostalgic picture book presentation that recalls A Christmas Story, making sure all the brushstrokes of character, circumstance and humor are broadly drawn and safely conservative. The congregation is predominately white, with women as the sanctimonious busybodies, and the men as patient, understanding elders. Jenkins and his writing team of Platte Clark, Darin McDaniel and Ryan Swanson do manage to squeeze in one nod to a deeper conversation with a reference to the Herdman clan looking “like refugees.”
But remember, this larger-scale Best Christmas Pageant Ever is still aimed at young viewers, and for that target it is serviceable. For adults, the most compelling aspect here is the glaring hypocrisy of so many who will be recommending it. We in America want the children to know what Jesus taught about compassion, charity, inclusion and judging not, and we’ll spend this Christmas season giving plenty of lip service to peace and goodwill. And then we’ll just keep refusing to practice any of that.
Maybe this film could be a small step toward turning things around?
So, what happens on Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point?
Murder mystery? Love triangle? A miracle of faith?
No, none of that. Director and co-writer Tyler Taormina is more interested in an observational approach, just letting the night play out as members of different generations prepare for some major life changes in the coming new year.
The Balsano family is gathering in their ancestral home in New York. Drinks are flowing, songs are being sung and young cheeks are being pinched by relations wondering how this little one got so big!
But the adult Balsano kids (including Ben Shenkman, Chris Lazzaro and the always wonderful Maria Dizzia) are realizing this may be the last chance to come home for the holidays. It just might be time to finally put Mom in a senior care facility and sell the family house.
This is a big decision, but teens Emily (Matilda Fleming) and Michelle (Francesca Scorsese) are more concerned with sneaking out to meet their friends (including Eighth Grade‘s Elsie Fisher) for some Christmas break hang out time.
And then there’s Officer Gibson (Michael Cera) and Sergeant Brooks (Greg Turkington), two nearly silent partners who observe the socializing while a shameless bagel thief lurks in the shadows.
The are plenty of characters here, but instead of arcs, Taormina (Ham on Rye, Happer’s Comet) serves up some terrific production design, visual mischief (watch for a wandering cardboard standup attached to a Roomba) and plenty of throwback needle drops to keep the mood festive.
And that’s how this film is able to work on you, through its total commitment to a warm, nostalgic tone. Taormina dedicates it to “the lost,” in hopes they “find their way home” for the season. Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point makes you feel like you’re already there.
Divided into four parts, over four summers, writer/director Alessandra Lacorazza Samudio’s debut film, In the Summers, is a touching, sometimes painful, story of a father spending time with his two daughters – carving out a relationship in the few months he has with them each year.
Vicente (René Pérez Joglar) is excited to welcome his two young daughters to his home their first summer together. The girls are wary, but the youngest daughter, Eva, (played at this age by Luciana Quinonez) is more easily enchanted by her father than her older sister, Violeta (Dreya Castillo). An act of rebellion from Violeta reveals Vicente’s temper in a heated phone call with the girls’ mother.
Though Act 1 is short, it establishes the tumultuous relationship between the girls and their father. It’s clear Vicente loves his children, but he is unsure how to form a loving bond.
Joglar excels at bringing this tenuous relationship with his daughters to life. As the one constant across the three acts (as the girls are played by different actors each summer), he establishes himself as someone loving at times, but ferocious at others.
Each of the actors playing Eva and Violeta across the summers are excellent at articulating the relationship between father and daughters. It works that different actress play the girls/young women at different stages, not only due to the passing of time, but because each summer, they’re new people to their father. This wonderfully conveys the struggle of trying to build a foundation for a relationship with so much time apart.
The film excels in its ability to evoke deep, complicated emotions within families. Simple details, such as the state of the house, augment the story. Though we’re only given snippets of time with these characters, each moment adds depth to the overall picture.
The setting of Las Cruces, New Mexico adds atmosphere to the film. The beauty and desolation together mirror the family dynamic.
The movie has a few weaker scenes, but despite this, they still get across what they need to, exemplifying the changing dynamics between the characters. Just like any relationship, the film isn’t perfect, but it comes close in its portrayal of family trying its hardest to survive.
In 1520, Danish King Christian II (aka “Christian the Tyrant”) decided that he just had to have the crown of Sweden and would do anything necessary to snatch it for himself. Up to and including committing a barbaric mass execution that is commonly referred to as the titular “Stockholm Bloodbath”. If that sounds dark, brutal, and deathly serious, it’s because it very much was. Stockholm Bloodbath, however, is anything but serious.
Pitched more in line with bloody historical satires like Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, Jalmari Helander’s Sisu, or even Guy Ritchie’s The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare, Mikael Hafstrom’s Stockholm Bloodbath attempts to take this violent slice of Swedish history and fashion a wild, zany exploitation film around it. Unfortunately, unlike those cinematic gems, Hafstrom’s work here falls short on almost every level. It’s not that Hafstrom lacks the talent to do it. The man has previously given us perfectly entertaining films like 1408 and Escape Plan. But there’s just too much off about these proceedings for that to matter.
To its credit, the film does have a good cast filled with the likes of Sophie Cookson, Claes Bang, Emily Beecham, and Ulrich Thomsen, all of whom do their best with what they are given amidst the cacophony of odd filmmaking decisions. The script is a tonal rollercoaster in the worst of ways, pitching from serious to slap-happy from scene to scene. The pacing of the edit is no better, with some sequences dragging at a snail’s pace and others blazing by faster than needed. Such cinematic hyperactivity can be an asset if you have a pitch-perfect script and a crackerjack edit. The aforementioned Tarantino and Ritchie have fashioned entire careers out of this. This has neither a masterful screenplay nor expert editing and instead feels like The Swedish Chef himself might have been at the helm for some scenes.
One can see the movie that everyone involved wanted to make, but the end result just doesn’t pass muster. Perhaps it might play better in its home country, as despite being an English-language film, it is indeed a Swedish production. For this writer, however, what should be a biting piece of violence-filled historical satire just ends up being a bad history lesson told by a chaotic storyteller who doesn’t quite know who their intended audience is or how they even want to tell their tale.
