Tag Archives: Eva Fraser

Love Taken Too Far

Just the Two of Us

by Eva Fraser

L’amour et les Forêts. Love and the Forests. This title, in the film’s original language, deepens the meaning of the English title “just the two of us,” encompassing the audience in a tale of love so vast, manipulative, and obsessive it becomes suffocating like the sickly sweet air in a watchful forest.

Just the Two of Us, directed by Valérie Donzelli, is a story we’ve seen before. That lessens nothing. These 105 minutes of lust, fear, and desperation center on Blanche Renard (Virginie Efira) and her relationship with Grégoire Lamoreux (Melvil Poupaud)— documenting its toxic development over nearly a decade. 

As soon as the film begins, cinematographer Laurant Tangy gives it life with his close-up shots of micro-movements and facial expressions that tell all. The lighting strengthens every shot, intensifying the emotions of each moment: red for lust, blue for a calculated almost-love, and green for jealousy. Everything teems with vibrancy, then it doesn’t, signaling that something must be wrong, priming us for a closer look.

The performances in this film are phenomenal. Efira, who plays twin sisters Blanche and Rose, conveys everything with her deep, expressive eyes. At one point, she licks a tear from her own face so quickly it seems invisible.

Poupaud terrifies as Grégoire, his sharp-witted duality between tenderness and cruelty giving the film its rightful label as thriller. There are no fantastical monsters or jump scares, only the dramatic irony of a dangerous relationship.

Time feels ambiguous and the pacing variable, but it works with the concept of a disorienting relationship that puts love in a liminal space. A few loose ends don’t taint the film because its main focus is the relationship, not the minute details.

Be warned: this film is very intense and could be triggering for those who’ve been in an abusive situation. Just the Two of Us is beautiful with its realism, but it is also hard to watch. But the stunning performances and technical execution are worth it.

Fight for Democracy

Invisible Nation

by Eva Fraser

Invisible Nation, directed by Vanessa Hope, tells Taiwan’s story through a lens of empathy, courage, and resilience. 

This film details most of Tsai Ing-wen’s presidency, also providing background on Taiwan and its history, specifically its colonial history with other powers— the Qing Dynasty and Japan, for example. The main point of the documentary, however, is to give an inside look into the people and leaders that make Taiwan a nation— one that is very different from the People’s Republic of China. It highlights past and recent struggles for independence, and instills a hope for the future. 

Visually, the doc engages with lovely landscapes pictured in interludes throughout the film, conveying the inherent beauty of Taiwan and its people. Tactful, poignant editing includes clips of protests, cultural celebrations, and many interview shots to deliver a well-rounded window into Taiwanese perspectives. 

Feminism, specifically its acceptance by the public as a means for Taiwanese independence, also plays an integral role. Tsai Ing-wen, president of Taiwan from 2019 to 2024, was the first female president, but she also emphasized that this resulted from people’s desire for the best leader they could have, regardless of gender.

Empathy is a main facet of Invisible Nation, and it is utilized masterfully. Each person we meet in the film, we get to see more over time. We watch them grow, learning of their struggles, their defeats, and their triumphs— specifically Tsai Ing-wen’s. The audience has access to her powerful speeches but also views clips from an interview in her home where her cat terrorizes the shot with its incessant mewing. Relatability is established, and through this, the common struggle for independence is actualized.

Invisible Nation captures the spirit of Taiwan with its emphasis on collective strength and action, as well as its documentation of history and key social movements, both past and present.

Surface Level Scares

Cold Blows the Wind

by Eva Fraser

Husband and wife hit man with car. They think he is dead. He is not. Chaos ensues. 

Cold Blows the Wind, written and directed by Eric Williford, is a zombie movie with notes of possession that does have an interesting premise, but gets overshadowed by lackluster performances. 

The film starts off rather cryptically, with a woman covered in blood singing a song. This chilling excerpt is immediately broken by the main couple, Dean (Danell Leyva) and Tasha (Victoria Vertuga), whose chemistry is nonexistent and whose acting feels robotic. They open the trunk of their car, where a pointedly undead jogger (Brandon Tyler Jones) cowers. From this moment on, the couple immerses themselves in a dangerous world of murder and what comes next when their efforts fail. 

Everything about the film is visually stunning— the lighting, with its cool and warm tones; the sound, with its exacting and disturbing realism; the special effects; the fight scenes; and the cinematography by Marc Martinez, which diversifies the slasher label with complex shots. The main issue is that the tech does all the work.

Cold Blows the Wind loses the plot in its dedication to shock factor and gore above all else. Once the film moves past the exposition and starts living up to its horror label, the acting improves—or maybe the phenomenal tech distracts from it. That being said, Briar (Jamie Bernadette) and Uncle Stevie (Torrey B. Lawrence) play convincing and thrilling roles that hold the film up in its weakest moments. 

Cold Blows the Wind commits to disturbing viewers, but in the process, discards its originality. If a good thrill and some gore are what you’re looking for, this film may be for you. If you want an enticing film whose plot is strengthened by its lead performances, look elsewhere. 

Bloom and Decay

She Watches Blindly

by Eva Fraser

She Watches Blindly, written and directed by Bryan Tan, invites us into a paranoia-tinged world of magical realism. Trapped by her ability to sense people’s thoughts, Beth Abrams (Emily Dunlop) lives surrounded by the lies of others, encased in a floral patterned tomb reminiscent of the Charlotte Perkins Gilman novella, The Yellow Wallpaper. This unsubtle concept of female hysteria medicated by isolation anchors many narratives, fueled by the frequent misunderstanding of women’s issues.

But, in this film, misunderstanding progresses into acceptance through one character: Dr. Abbott (Rick Andosca). Andosca’s conveyance of complex emotion through a grounded and thoughtful performance makes you believe in Beth even when she’s at her worst. She Watches Blindly complicates the narrative around mental illness, stepping outside its “thriller” label to introduce empathy.

There was no slacking in the mise-en-scène of the film. Everything feels intentional: the lighting, the color green, the heart imagery, the cloying floral patterns, the scattered toys that seem just a little creepy, and the clutter that comes with a lived-in house. This film was made to feel real — terrifyingly so— and it pays off. 

Visuals and sound collaborate to create an environment of reflection. In a film about mirroring observed behaviors, this seems pretty appropriate. When Beth is in her head or listening to others, the audience can always tell: a vignette is repeatedly introduced, narrowing the scene with black fuzzy edges; the audio also becomes muffled, echoing the undertones of dialogue. She Watches Blindly allows us to feel what it might be like to be Beth.

Surveillance becomes a cinematic theme, initiated by Beth’s husband Earl (Justin Torrence) and Dr. Abbott, but handled most masterfully by Beth. There are so many empty shots in the film: the vacant hallway outside the nursery, the curtain to Beth’s room, and the stairway in between. These spaces appear frequently, but with slightly different lighting each time. Tan creates suspense through this emptiness and lulling background noise. These little moments of emptiness reveal a more sinister undertone—we are being watched, too. 

Masterful in its presentation and storytelling, She Watches Blindly is a thriller with heart, fostering community out of tragedy.

A Quest for Vengeance

Queen Rising

by Eva Fraser

Sometimes the most intriguing part of a mystery is deciphering the power at play in every interaction. Queen Rising establishes a precedent of this power for the main character, Madison (April Hale), who must relive her past and her memories of the “college slayings” in order to save her family home. 

The film alternates between past and present with flashbacks to Madison’s childhood and collegiate life. These flashbacks boost the film’s emotional intensity, director Princeton James collaborating with the cinematography to create parallels that transcend time. These flashbacks and the formulaic plot structure helped to create a mostly entertaining and suspenseful 90 minutes.

However, many aspects of Queen Rising didn’t quite click. The acting was mediocre. The characters and the film itself lacked depth. Even Madison, who we have to analyze because she is the protagonist, feels superficial. Queen Rising would have benefitted from more character perspectives. 

Madison talks to herself in a few scenes, all that dialogue simply delivering background information to give us some insight into her character. But everything is too straightforward and obvious. 

If the film is supposed to be a mystery, why could I predict the end from the very beginning?

Regardless of its predictability, the plot, although simple, provides a commentary on childhood trauma and the dangers of idolization. Queen Rising does have a point, but it gets muddled in the clichés, loopholes, and corniness of a soapy teen TV show.

James’s film, written by Allison Chaney and Henry E. Reaves III, has the makings of an intriguing film with its gritty premise and flashbacks, but falls short in some of the most basic of areas.

Journey to Found Family

Queen Tut

by Eva Fraser

Raw and full of representation, Queen Tut is a heartwarming film that makes you feel. Directed by Reem Morsi, it centers on Nabil (Ryan Ali), a young man from Egypt who moves to Toronto. After his chance encounter with Malibu (Alexandra Billings) outside her club, a safe haven for the LGBTQIA+ community, Nabil begins a journey to find where he truly belongs, realizing his true self through drag. 

Comfortable being itself, this film feels real. It doesn’t try to perfect life; it is unfiltered in the best way possible. The effortless intricacies present in the lead performances,— the awkward pauses and subsequent misunderstandings, and the gentle moments in between— fully immerse the audience in the story of a queer community fighting for their rights and fully realizing them at the same time.

Additionally, the makeup and costumes for characters both in and out of drag feel instinctually right, mimicking life in a way that doesn’t seek perfection and instead embraces the quirks that make us human.

The use of color creates a visual aid: Nabil’s home is filled with neutral tones and grays, while Malibu’s club is teeming with vibrancy. Fabric also plays a central role in Nabil’s character development, and the film takes such care to make every scrap special and charged with meaning— whether through flashbacks or a simple close-up of shimmering sequins in Nabil’s hands, the audience can feel the significance. Through simple yet effective devices, QueenTut lets us develop a strong sense of empathy for the narratives of many characters.

Religion heavily features in the film, looming in the background as a ceaseless pressure in Nabil’s life. Although overbearing in certain settings, it is also a key to Nabil’s growth and acceptance of himself. Queen Tut shows us that religion doesn’t have to be interpreted in one way— it can be whatever best serves us. 

One aspect of the film that did not quite click was the pacing. At points, time felt unclear and disorienting. This doesn’t detract from the viewing experience too much. Time can be tricky in life, ebbing and flowing with different emotions and situations, and Queen Tut, although perhaps not intentionally, acknowledges it.

All aspects of the film contribute to the central idea of community as a family that you choose— one that is accepting and grounded in the face of change. This film welcomes the audience into its family, leaving viewers with a sense of hope and self-acceptance.