About a decade ago, director Justin Kurzel made one amazing true crime film. Working from a script by Shaun Grant, Kurzel took a notorious crime spree and created the most realistic and unnerving film of 2011 in Snowtown.
The pair reteamed for 2019’s underseen treasure based on true Australian events, True History of the Kelly Gang. They are back, once again digging into the seedier side of Aussie history with another true crime in Nitram.
In 1996, Martin Bryant murdered 35 people, injuring another 23 in Port Arthur, Tasmania. The horror led to immediate gun reform in the nation, but Kurtzel and Grant are more interested in what came before than after.
Playing the unnamed central figure (Nitram is Martin spelled backward), Caleb Landry Jones has never been better, and that’s saying something. He is one of the most versatile actors working today, effortlessly moving from comedy to drama, from terrifying to charming to awkward to ethereal. There is an aching tenderness central to every performance. (OK, maybe not Get Out, but that would have been weird.)
Kurzel surrounds him with veteran talent at the top of their games. Essie Davis matches Landry Jones’s with a fragile, winsome turn as the older misfit who becomes his friend. Anthony LaPaglia creates a believable, gentle presence as Martin’s father, while the formidable Judy Davis nails every nuance as his complicated, hard mother.
She’s mesmerizing and award-worthy.
Looking at the making of the monster is no new concept in film, and it’s often a misfire, either romanticizing or relishing in the lurid. Nitram does neither. Grant’s greatest gift as a writer may be his ability to mine difficult terrain without sentiment. (His script for Cate Shortland’s crushing 2017 thriller Berlin Syndrome is his greatest triumph in this area.)
Nitram looks at how nature and nurture are to blame. Socialization plus parenting plus bad wiring is exacerbated by the isolation and loneliness they demand. Everyone is to blame. It’s a conundrum the film nails.
But it’s Landry Jones you’ll remember. He’s terrifying but endlessly sympathetic in a bleak film that’s a tough but rewarding watch.
We are beyond delighted to have been allowed to screen Jim Jarmusch’s new zombie classic The Dead Don’t Die two days in advance of its national opening. To honor this remarkable film and its amazing cast, we look at the best other horror movies that star these actors.
5. Zombieland (2009) – Bill Murray
Just when Shaun of the Dead convinced me that those Limey Brits had
created the best-ever zombie romantic comedy, it turns out they’d only created
the most British zom-rom-com. Writers Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick take the
tried-and-true zombiepocalypse premise and sprint with it in totally new and
awesome directions.
And the cameo. I cannot imagine a better one. I mean that. I’m not sure a
walk on by Jesus himself could have brought me more joy.
That’s not true. Plus, in zombie movie?! How awesome would that have been?!
Jesse Eisenberg anchors the film with an inspired narration and an endearing
dork characterization. But Woody Harrelson owns this film. His gun-toting,
Twinkie-loving, Willie Nelson-singing, Dale Earnhart-number-wearing redneck
ranks among the greatest horror heroes ever.
I give you, a trip to a loud and well-lit amusement park is not a recommendation Max Brooks would make during the zombiepocalypse. Still, you’ve got to admit it’s a gloriously filmed piece of action horror cinema.
4. Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) – Tilda Swinton
The Dead Don’t Die is not Jim Jarmusch’s first foray into horror. In 2013, the visionary writer/director concocted a delicious black comedy, oozing with sharp wit and hipster attitude.
Great
lead performances don’t hurt, either, and Jarmusch gets them from Tom
Hilddleston and Tilda Swinton as Adam and Eve (perfect!), a vampire couple
rekindling their centuries-old romance against the picturesque backdrop
of…Detroit.
Not
since the David Bowie/Catherine Deneuve pairing in The Hunger has there
been such perfectly vampiric casting. Swinton and Hiddleston, already two of
the most consistently excellent actors around, deliver cooly detached,
underplayed performances, wearing the world- weariness of their characters in
uniquely contrasting ways.
There is substance to accent all the style. The film moseys toward its perfect finale, casually waxing Goth philosophic about soul mates and finding your joy.
3. Suspiria (2018) – Tilda Swinton
It is 1977 in “a divided Berlin,” when American Susie Bannion
(Dakota Johnson, nicely moving the character from naivete to complexity)
arrives for an audition with a world-renowned dance company run by Madame Blanc
(Tilda Swinton, mesmerizing).
This “cover version” (The Tilda’s phrase, and valid) of Argento’s
original lifts the veil on the academy elders early, via the diaries of
Patricia (Chloe Moretz), a dancer who tells psychotherapist Dr. Josef Kiemperer
(also The Tilda, under impressive makeup) wild tales of witches and their
shocking plans.
Guadagnino continues to be a master film craftsman. Much as he draped Call
Me by Your Name in waves of dreamy romance, here he establishes a
consistent mood of nightmarish goth.
But even when this new Suspiria is tipping its hat to Argento, Guadagnino leaves no doubt he is making his own confident statement. Women move in strong solidarity both onstage and off, dancing with a hypnotic power capable of deadly results. In fact, most of the male characters here are mere playthings under the spell of powerful women, which takes a deliciously ironic swipe at witch lore.
2. American Psycho (2000) – Chloe Sevigny
A giddy hatchet to the head of the abiding culture of the Eighties, American
Psycho represents the sleekest, most confident black comedy – perhaps
ever. Director Mary Harron trimmed Bret Easton Ellis’s novel, giving it
unerring focus. More importantly, the film soars due to Christian Bale’s
utterly astonishing performance as narcissist, psychopath, and Huey Lewis fan
Patrick Bateman.
There’s an elegant exaggeration to the satire afoot. Bateman is a slick,
sleek Wall Street toady, pompous one minute because of his smart business cards
and quick entrance into posh NYC eateries, cowed the next when a colleague
whips out better cards and shorter wait times. For all his quest for status and
perfection, he is a cog indistinguishable from everyone who surrounds him. The
more glamour and flash on the outside, the more pronounced the abyss on the
inside. What else can he do but turn to bloody, merciless slaughter? It’s a cry
for help, really.
Harron’s send up of the soulless Reagan era is breathtakingly handled, from
the set decoration to the soundtrack, but the film works as well as a horror
picture as it does a comedy. Whether it’s Chloe Sevigny’s tenderness as
Bateman’s smitten secretary or Cara Seymour’s world wearied vulnerability, the
cast draws a real sense of empathy and dread that complicate the levity. We do
not want to see these people harmed, and as hammy as it seems, you may almost
call out to them: Look behind you!
As solid as this cast is, and top to bottom it is perfect, every performance is eclipsed by the lunatic genius of Bale’s work. Volatile, soulless, misogynistic and insane, yet somehow he also draws some empathy. It is wild, brilliant work that marked a talent preparing for big things.
1. Get Out (2017) – Caleb Landry Jones
Opening with a brilliant prologue that wraps a nice vibe of homage around
the cold realities of “walking while black,” writer/director Jordan
Peele uses tension, humor and a few solid frights to call out blatant
prejudice, casual racism and cultural appropriation.
When white Rose (Alison Williams) takes her black boyfriend Chris (Daniel
Kaluuya) home to meet the fam, she assures him race will not be a problem. How
can she be sure? Because her Dad (Bradley Whitford) would have voted for
Obama’s third term “if he could.” It’s the first of many B.S. alerts
for Peele, and they only get more satisfying.
Rose’s family is overly polite at first, but then mom Missy (Catherine
Keener) starts acting evasive and brother Jeremy (Caleb Landry Jones) gets a
bit threatening, while the gardener and the maid (both black – whaaat?) appear
straight outta Stepford.
Peele is clearly a horror fan, and he gives knowing winks to many genre
cliches (the jump scare, the dream) while anchoring his entire film in the
upending of the “final girl.” This isn’t a young white coed trying to
solve a mystery and save herself, it’s a young man of color, challenging the
audience to enjoy the ride but understand why switching these roles in a horror
film is a social critique in itself.
Get Out is an audacious first feature for Jordan Peele, a film that never stops entertaining as it consistently pays off the bets it is unafraid to make.
Indie god and native Ohioan Jim Jarmusch made a zombie
movie.
If you don’t know the filmmaker (Down by Law, Ghost Dog, Only Lovers Left Alive, Patersonand so many more jewels), you might only have noticed this cast and wondered what would have drawn Bill Murray, Adam Driver, Tilda Swinton, Chloe Sevigny, Steve Buscemi, Rosie Perez, RZA, Caleb Landry Jones, Danny Glover, Tom Waits, Iggy Pop and Selena Gomez to a zombie movie.
It’s because Jim Jarmusch made it.
Jarmusch is an auteur of peculiar vision, and his latest, The Dead Don’t Die, with its insanely magnificent cast and its remarkably marketable concept, is the first ever in his nearly 30 years behind the camera to receive a national release.
Not everybody is going to love it, but it will attain cult
status faster than any other Jarmusch film, and that’s saying something.
He sets his zombie epidemic in Centerville, Pennsylvania (Romero
territory). It’s a small town with just a trio of local police, a gas station/comic
book store, one motel (run by Larry Fassenden, first-time Jarmusch actor,
longtime horror staple), one diner, and one funeral home, the Ever After.
Newscaster Posie Juarez (Rosie Perez – nice!) informs of the unusual animal behavior, discusses the “polar fracking” issue that’s sent the earth off its rotation, and notes that the recent deaths appear to be caused by a wild animal. Maybe multiple wild animals.
The film never loses its deadpan humor or its sleepy, small town
pace, which is one of its greatest charms. Another is the string of in-jokes
that horror fans will revisit with countless re-viewings.
But let’s be honest, the cast is the thing. Murray and
Driver’s onscreen chemistry is a joy. In fact, Murray’s onscreen chemistry with
everyone—Sevigny, Swinton, Glover, even Carol Kane, who’s dead the entire film—delivers
the tender heart of the movie.
Driver out-deadpans everyone in the film with comedic delivery I honestly did not know he could muster. Landry Jones also shines, as does The Tilda. (Why can’t she be in every movie?)
And as the film moseys toward its finale, which Driver’s Officer Ronnie Paterson believes won’t end well, you realize this is probably not the hardest Jim Jarmusch and crew have ever worked. Not that the revelation diminishes the fun one iota.
Though it’s tempting to see this narrative as some kind of metaphor for our current global political dystopia, in fairness, it’s more of a mildly cynical love letter to horror and populist entertainment.
Mainly, it’s a low-key laugh riot, an in-joke that feels inclusive and the most quotable movie of the year.
The subtle discomforts start early in Tyrel, writer/director Sebastian Silva’s perceptive and slyly intense slice of racially tinged mumblecore, a film that benefits greatly from yet another standout turn from Jason Mitchell.
Mitchell stars as Tyler, an African-American man who is grateful to escape a houseful of in-laws by joining his friend John (Christopher Abbott) on a birthday getaway in the Catskills.
But it’s not John’s birthday. It’s John’s friend Pete’s (Caleb Landry Jones) birthday, and it isn’t long before Tyler is meeting plenty of new faces and realizing his is the only one that isn’t white.
Plus, it just happens to be the weekend of Trump’s inauguration. Perfect.
Amid heavy dialog that’s fast and free-flowing with an improvisational feel, the crowded mountain home becomes a nerve-wracking metaphor for the state of race relations. Silva, the unconventional Chilean filmmaker who mined social anxieties effectively in Nasty Baby and The Maid, continues to subvert expectations through intimate, thoughtful characterizations.
After a long stream of memorable supporting roles (Straight Outta Compton, Mudbound, Detroit, Kong: Skull Island), Mitchell carries this film with a performance that is sympathetic from the start, a key factor Silva leans on to turn our insecurities against us. With each slight, appropriation and assurance that “he didn’t mean anything by that,” Tyler’s feelings become more conflicted, raising the level of concern we have for what might happen.
As is his wont, Silva steers clear of expected plot turns and veers in surprising directions, one of them concerning a friendly Catskills neighbor down the road (Ann Dowd).
Though it’s understandably easy to compare this film to Get Out (especially with Jones in the cast), that comparison itself may be one of the scabs Silva is picking. Why did Jordan Peele’s horror story resonate so brilliantly?
With a focus on casual affronts to identity and the privileged confidence that everything is fine, Tyrel‘s Catskills weekend offers some clues.
Seedy neighborhoods, sad sacks and shady characters populate God’s Pocket, an uneven drama that gets a big boost from its strong ensemble cast.
An adaptation of Peter Dexter’s first novel, the film is the big screen directorial debut for veteran actor John Slattery (Mad Men). He does show a confident, generous hand with his performers, but Slattery’s instincts for tone and storytelling aren’t quite as polished.
Dexter (The Paperboy, Deadwood) based the story partly on his own experience as a columnist for the Philadelphia Daily News, when he suffered a severe beating at the hands of a local gang angry over one of his pieces.
Set in a hard knock Philly neighborhood dubbed “God’s Pocket,” the film follows events set in motion by the death of Leon Hubbard (Caleb Landry Jones), a young slacker who is killed while working as a day laborer on a construction site.
Leon’s distraught mother Jeanie (Christina Hendricks) isn’t satisfied with the official version of the accident, and she pressures her husband Mickey Scarpato (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) to call upon his semi-connected associates and dig for more details.
Right off, Jeanie’s suspicions seem desperate. Is there a reason she instantly thinks the death wasn’t accidental, or is it a convenient way to push her unsatisfying husband deeper into dangerous waters?
We never know, and ambiguous motivation is a problem throughout the film. These are interesting characters that beg for insightful backstory, but all we’re given is the neighborhood. Yes, we get that these are tough people who close ranks against outsiders, but this story needs more than vague cliches to truly resonate.
Slattery, who helped adapt the screenplay, also has trouble finding the appropriate tone to incorporate the black humor. It’s no easy feat, even for masters such as the Coens or Jim Jarmusch, and here we’re left unsure about feeling for these people, or laughing at them.
There’s nothing unsure about the cast. Hoffman, who reportedly wanted to move away from these “loser” roles before his tragic death, wears Mickey’s burdens like an old shirt you can’t bear to part with, only reinforcing how badly his talent will be missed.
Hendricks gives Jeanie a smoldering vulnerability, and enough mystery to justify the obsessive attention of Shellburn (Richard Jenkins), the boozing newspaper columnist whose life is awakened by her charms.Jenkins, customarily excellent, cements Shellburn as the differing reference point the film needs.
God’s Pocket ends up resembling a book with too many missing pages. There are some fine moments here, all searching for a foundation strong enough to keep them from drifting away.
