Tag Archives: Brandon Thomas

Tainted Love

Kill Your Lover

by Brandon Thomas

To say that relationships are ripe for mining when it comes to horror movie material might be the king of all understatements. The complex nature of romantic human relationships involves the entire spectrum of emotions and said emotions tend to burn at their brightest during a courtship’s beginning and at the perilous end. With Kill Your Lover, filmmakers Alix Austin and Keir Siewert have crafted an intimate analogy about what happens when the person you’ve loved for so long changes into something darker. 

Through flashes back and forth from the past to the present, Kill Your Lover tells the story of Dakota (Paige Gilmour) and Axel (Shane Quigley-Murphy). The most passionate portions of their relationship are juxtaposed with the present and Dakota’s feelings that the relationship has run its course. It’s not that simple though, and Axel’s changes have less to do with his personality (or do they?) and more with the sickness overtaking him. 

Austin and Siewert wisely spend the majority of Kill Your Lover’s scant 77 minutes just spending time with Dakota and Axel. It’s easy to see why these two characters would’ve fallen so hard for one another. It’s equally easy to see why Dakota wants to break things off. However, with clever plotting, the film also peels back layers and floats the idea that maybe things weren’t so great in the past either. Gilmour and Quigley-Murphy’s fiery chemistry gives the film a sense of life it might not have with lesser performers. 

Kill Your Lover gets a lot of mileage out of essentially being a single-location film. The isolation of the small apartment only increases the anxiety and tension around the situation Dakota finds herself in. From a character standpoint, the awfulness of Axel’s transformation is mirrored by Dakota’s memories of the good times they shared in the same space. 

Despite being a very character-centric bit of horror filmmaking, Kill Your Lover doesn’t skimp on the carnage. The “creature” (if you will) make-up is icky and gruesome and has an outstanding originality to how it behaves and spreads. Still deeply rooted in story and character, when the battle of wills between Dakota and Axel turns into a physical one, the gooeyness of the film increases tenfold.

By leaning heavily into character and the sometimes claustrophobic nature of spiraling relationships, Kill Your Lover offers an exciting and emotional bit of genre filmmaking.

Go Wester(ern)

The Dead Don’t Hurt

by Brandon Thomas

Leave it to Viggo Mortensen to deliver a western that both cherishes and upends western tropes. Mortensen has made a career of surprising his fans and critics. Even his casting as Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings trilogy was seen as a major surprise and curveball at the time. So it really should come as no surprise that when he directs his first western, it doesn’t quite follow the typical trajectory. 

In The Dead Don’t Hurt (what a great western title, huh?) Mortensen plays Holger Olsen, a stoic cowboy and immigrant from Northern Europe. On a trip to San Francisco, Holger meets Vivienne (Vickey Krieps of Phantom Thread) and the two form an instant connection. Vivienne leaves San Francisco with Holger for his home outside of a ragged desert town. As the Civil War breaks out in the east, Holger leaves his home and Vivienne to assist the Union in the New Mexico and Texas territories. With Holger gone, Vivienne finds herself alone in an alien environment and surrounded by many unscrupulous individuals. 

Westerns have always focused on the extremes of masculinity. Mortensen seems especially interested in tackling the mixture of manhood, dignity, and misplaced duty. As the “good guy”, it’s interesting to see Holger make decisions that on paper seem noble or righteous, but to his family – especially Vivienne – is seen as complete abandonment. It’s a not-so subtle comment that during this time, even the most well-intentioned men were willing to put the women in their life at risk if there was an even greater risk to their manhood. 

Mortensen surrounds himself and Krieps with an excellent supporting cast that includes Garret Dillahunt (No Country for Old Men, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford), Danny Huston (Children of Men, 30 Days of Night), and W. Earl Brown (Scream, TV’s Deadwood). This isn’t an overly action-filled western, and so much of the excitement from the film comes from these fine actors bouncing off of one another. 

Visually the film feels right at home in the genre. While not reaching the heights of say The Searchers or Once Upon a Time in the West, Mortensen and his cinematographer Marcel Zyskind have clearly set their sights on something “bigger” than the budget would suggest. There’s a classical look to the shot design and staging that doesn’t scream “modern digitally shot low-budget film!”. 

The Dead Don’t Hurt does lose steam as the story reaches its conclusion. While the performances and technical prowess don’t suffer, Mortensen’s script loses focus and instead of ending with a definitive period, the story ends with more of a confused question mark. The disappointment at the finish line is made stronger by how successful the film is up until those final 10 to 15 minutes.

Viggo Mortensen has crafted an interesting and original take on the great American western with The Dead Don’t Hurt. While it doesn’t quite reach the heights of even modern takes on the genre such as the Coens’ True Grit, it is a fascinating film from an exciting and hard to pin down artist.

Grindhouse Grandma

Queen of the Deuce

by Brandon Thomas

New York City in the 1960s and 1970s occupies its own special corner of film history. Films like Taxi Driver, The French Connection, and The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3 paint a vivid picture of Manhattan at the time. Long before chain restaurants, toy stores, and Disney actors lined the streets near Times Square, X-rated theaters, peep shows, and violent crime reigned supreme. Despite the roughness of the area, it was still home to a lot of people. Queen of the Deuce focuses on one such family, and specifically the matriarch who also just happened to run a mini porn empire. 

Director Valerie Kontakos’s documentary delves into the rich history of one Chelly Wilson as told in the present day by her children, grandchildren, and various other family members. Originally from a small Jewish community in Greece, Chelly left Europe for America before the start of World War II. After marrying, having children, and working a modest job, Chelly found herself the owner of property throughout New York City. By the time the early 1970s rolled around, many of these properties were X-rated theaters (one of which Chelly lived above).

Larger than life individuals often make the best subjects of this kind of documentary and Chelly Wilson is no exception. From the start, it’s easy to see why people were so drawn to her. She was magnetic, feisty, testy, and loving sometimes all in the span of a single interaction. Chelly’s family lovingly talk about how she held court in her apartment with friends, neighbors, and family. Everyone would be under her spell. Sometimes this may have even included members of the local mafia. 

Kontakos skillfully weaves tales of Chelly’s history and her present in the 1970s and 80s into the fabric of Manhattan of the time. Chelly was a woman who faced adversity from an early age, and the mean streets of New York weren’t about to intimidate her. There are low points in her story for sure, but much of The Queen of the Deuce is filled with stories of how loved and admired she was. 

Much of the film is filled with family videos and photographs that help to amplify the stories. This visual history is an enormous asset to Kontakos, who doesn’t have to completely fall back on standard talking head footage.

Queen of the Deuce does an admirable job of touching on the history of New York City of the time, but even better is how the film showcases the love and respect a family can share throughout the ages.

Life’s a Stage

Earlybird

by Brandon Thomas

Artistic risks are hard. Conventional wisdom states that the safest artistic endeavors tend to be the most successful. This is true for movies, music, writing, and theater. Why else would we be gifted with theatrical productions of Mrs. Doubtfire or have ten Fast & Furious movies?

Michael (Joshua Koopman) is the owner of a struggling independent theater company. The theater’s go-to has always been tried-and-true classics like Romeo & Juliet or Julius Caesar, and even those aren’t getting many butts into seats. After his landlord informs him that the rent is going up, Joshua decides to call it quits with the theater. At the urging of his wife, Sarah (Julie Pope), Michael dusts off an old oddball script of his own in an effort to be more creative during the theater’s remaining weeks. When the show is a surprise hit, Michael and his staff begin looking for even odder shows to produce.

On the periphery, Earlybird seems like the kind of movie we’ve seen a thousand times before. You know, the one where the scrappy crew of lovable losers has to overcome insurmountable odds and always comes out on top. Except, that’s not exactly what Earlybird is. No, while Earlybird does contain said lovable losers, the path to “coming out on top” isn’t as predictable.

The key to Earlybird’s freshness is the lack of devotion to plot. The real conflict doesn’t come from whether or not the theater company will actually close. Instead, the drama and driving force throughout the film are the relationships between the characters. Joshua’s transition from burned out and uninspired to all-consumed and flippant takes center stage (ahem).

Koopman and Pope lead the cast with a natural and charming chemistry. Theirs is a relationship that feels lived in and supportive. As Joshua’s behavior begins to strain their relationship, writer/director Martin Kaszubowski never goes for the easy sitcom-level drama. The honesty of their predicament is all the drama Earlybird needs.

There are so many times that Earlybird feels like it’s going to play it safe. However, the cleverness of the script and the scrappiness of the overall production helps to keep the film on its toes. While a comedy, belly laughs aren’t exactly the target of the film. There’s an overall sweetness to Earlybird that shows itself early and never quite goes away. 

The film seemingly wraps up a little too nicely, but it ultimately feels earned given the strength of the previous 1 hour and 45 minutes. Sometimes a little extra sweetness at the end isn’t such a bad thing.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

The Animal Kingdom

by Brandon Thomas

The relationship between Francois (Roman Duris) and his son Emile (Paul Kircher) isn’t just strained, it’s virtually broken. A mutation has swept the planet causing some people to transform into human-animal hybrids and Emile’s mother sits in a hospital as one of those affected. As Francois obsesses over treatment for his wife, he fails to notice the significant transformations occurring in his own son.

The Animal Kingdom surprises from the start with a focus squarely on the characters and their relationships, not the genre elements. What easily could have been typical genre fodder (and there’s nothing wrong with that from time to time) instead grapples with complex emotions and real-world metaphors. While the elements surrounding the mutations are visually impressive and interesting, Francois and Emile’s relationship anchors the film.

Speaking of the visuals, the make-up and added CG effects on the mutated are outstanding. The emphasis is placed more on the practical work, but the almost seamless blending of the two styles makes for an incredible final product. Not only do the character designs have an intriguing originality to them, but they also allow the characters’ humanity to bleed through. It’s an approach to visual effects that is unfortunately not the norm for these types of films. 

The Animal Kingdom’s commentary on real-world events is presented front and center, but not in an overly heavy-handed way.

Writer/Director Thomas Cailley and co-writer Pauline Munier have crafted a story that works on an emotional and visceral level, but also as a broader comment on newer diseases and the fear that it brings to the surface. It never feels like Cailley is preaching to the audience even when the film’s point is hard to miss. 

Audiences looking for more emotional genre fare will be quite pleased with The Animal Kingdom and its emphasis on character.

Screening Room: Kung Fu Panda 4, Imaginary, Ricky Stanicky, Damsel & More

Can You See What I See?

Totem

by Brandon Thomas

By definition, a totem is “a natural object or animal that is believed by a particular society to have spiritual significance and that is adopted by it as an emblem.” With Totem, her second feature-film, director Lila Aviles approaches the esoteric idea of totems through the eyes of a curious 7-year-old girl who is trying to understand the familial chaos surrounding her. 

Having been dropped off at her grandfather’s house, Sol (Naima Senties) spends the day wandering from room to room, conversation to conversation, as the adults around her rush to set up a birthday party for Sol’s ailing father. As night falls and the party inches closer, Sol tries to make sense of the mixture of emotions, reactions, and actions coming from each member of her family.

The bulk of Totem is told solely through Sol’s eyes. It’s not a candy-coated depiction of a child’s viewpoint but it’s still an honest one. There’s a feeling of wonderment in even the most mundane things Sol observes. As children, many of us focused on the tiniest of details and differences around us. It’s something the camera captures expertly as is floats through the scene – making the audience feel less like an observer and more a part of the family. Visually, the use of the 1.33:1 aspect ratio – while probably overused in many modern movies – feels at home in the story Totem is telling. This tighter ratio that makes the image look cramped is a perfect visual metaphor for Sol’s large extended family crammed together in her grandfather’s modest home. 

Despite the melancholy backdrop of the party, Totem never succumbs to heaviness or melodrama.  Each member of Sol’s family is trying to make sense of their own fear and impending grief surrounding her father’s illness. For Sol, this difference is confusing and somewhat alienating. For us, the audience, it’s honest and all too relatable. 

It’s never made clear how much Sol knows about her father’s condition. However, despite his circumstances, Sol’s love for her father is undeniable as are his reciprocated feelings, even though they are shared through pain and suffering. For Sol, the most important thing is seeing her father and feeling his embrace.

And for us that becomes the most important thing too.

Brick by Brick

Monolith

by Brandon Thomas

Having already made a strong impression in last year’s Evil Dead Rise, Lily Sullivan delivers an even more impressive performance – and one where she’s the only actor on screen – in Monolith. Sullivan’s command of the screen for the entire 94 minute running time is a testament to her understanding of the material, and how that allows us, the audience, to recognize her character’s (known only as The Interviewer) complex motivations. 

Monolith begins with Sullivan’s former journalist holed up in her parents’ luxury vacation home. Nursing an enormously bruised ego after having been fired from her previous job for not fully vetting a source, the Interviewer is desperately hoping for that next big thing that will find her career redemption. The answer is an anonymous email that leads the Interviewer to a woman who once had in her possession a mysterious black brick. As the Interviewer digs deeper, she finds that multiple people in various parts of the world also have these bricks. The more the Interviewer reveals about the bricks and their owners, the more she also starts to succumb to a mysterious force. Is it the influence of the bricks or is the Interviewer’s own hubris and vanity causing her to spiral?

Director Matt Vesely and writer Lucy Campbell are able to wring so much tension out of a single location and a lot of phone interviews. As already noted, much of Monolith’s success rests in Sullivan’s hands. Her isolation as an actress informs the same isolation that the Interviewer is feeling. The audience begins to slowly match the Interviewer’s paranoia and discomfort with the bricks and the strange influence that they seem to have over people. Vesely’s command of tone and mood syncs up perfectly with Sullivan’s captivating performance.

Monolith is the kind of film that teases that it might show its cards but never actually does. For movies that are high on plot this might be a problem, but Monolith is character-centric through and through and the ambiguity only serves the Interviewer as she sinks further and further into obsession with the bricks. In fact, while the finale itself retains that overall ambiguity, it also reveals just how deeply personal the Interviewer’s journey ends up being. It’s a satisfying reveal that isn’t treated as some sort of Shyamalan “surprise,” but instead acts as the final piece to understanding Sullivan’s character and her true motivations. 

Monolith is the best kind of slow burn: one that trusts the audience to come along for a satisfying ride, but also delivers enough twists and unsettling scares that even the tiniest amount of boredom never sets in.

Island Vibes

Ghostwritten

by Brandon Thomas

Guy Laury (Jay Duplass of TV’s Transparent) is eight years removed from the release of his successful first novel. Drowning in self-doubt and a healthy dose of writer’s block, Guy accepts an offer to travel to Nantucket Island for an isolated writing retreat. As Guy’s artistic inspiration remains elusive, he begins to wonder if there’s something sinister occurring in the house he’s staying in or maybe even with the entire island community itself. 

So much of Ghostwritten’s success is found in mood and atmosphere. The gorgeous black & white cinematography brings the remote coldness of Nantucket Island to life in a way that chills to the bone. Bursts of color appear randomly to signify Guy’s splintering state of mind–whether it be hallucinations or vivid dreams. It’s an interesting approach to highlight the lack of cohesion surrounding Guy’s perception of what’s real and what isn’t. The abstract weirdness of the film helps keep the audience on its toes and continually asking if Guy is an unreliable narrator or is something kooky really going on.

Duplass plays Guy as a man constantly at war with his own desires. One can almost see Guy’s ego swell on screen when an Island’s residents tells him that they loved his first book. He loves the idea of being a writer and the praise it brings him, but actually putting the work in to write seems almost insurmountable to Guy. That the supposed haunting and other strange occurrences might be an elaborate way for Guy to put off writing is both depressing and mischievously funny. 

Given Duplass’s non-acting work (he co-wrote Jeff, Who Lives At Home, Cyrus, and Baghead with his brother Mark), the abundance of comedy in Ghostwritten shouldn’t come as a surprise. Yes, there are legitimate attempts at scares and an unnerving tone, but the charming quirkiness of the film is undeniable and ultimately what makes the film stand out from this type of isolated genre fare. 

Ghostwritten wades into a lot of familiar territory (The Wicker Man being an easy homage), but it does so with a quirky lead performance and an oddball approach to mood an atmosphere.