Screening Room: Banshees of Inisherin, Armageddon Time, Enola Holmes 2 and More
Tag Archives: George Wolf
Mourning In America
Armageddon Time
by Hope Madden and George Wolf
One of the reasons Greta Gerwig’s semi-autobiographical coming-of-age film Lady Bird was such a refreshing treasure was the forgiveness that followed every stupid decision made by every single character. Gerwig’s film embraces the necessity of terrible choices in adolescence and it never caves to the easy desire to blame others for teenage misery.
But Gerwig didn’t grow up a Jew in Queens in 1980, which is why James Gray’s Armageddon Time tells quite a different story. To his credit, Gray still reaches toward forgiveness. And both films are mercifully unsentimental.
Young Banks Repeta is terrific as Paul Graff, Gray’s very cute, bratty, privileged stand-in. Like every 12-year-old, Paul is oblivious to his privilege. He may even enjoy becoming the class outcast since the other student spurned by Mr. Turtletaub is fast becoming Paul’s best friend.
But Johnny’s fate and Paul’s will never really gel because Paul is being trained with love to disappear when trouble arises, which means that all eyes fall on Johnny (Jaylin Webb).
Paul’s relationship with his parents (Anne Hathaway and Jeremy Strong, both excellent) can be funny, sassy, and heartbreaking, while his grandfather (Anthony Hopkins) can always be counted on for encouragement, well-earned advice, and a present.
The stellar ensemble infuses the film with warmth, humor and sadness. And aside from a line or two that’s a shade too obvious, there’s a feeling of authenticity here that Gray is able to nurture beyond personal memoir to a grander comment on race and class. The filmmaker may be copping to his own bargains with guilt and privilege, but he’s also highlighting the daily turns of the American wheel that push so many of us toward our dreams, and so many others further away from theirs.
Forgiveness doesn’t come easily, nor should it. Gray tosses aside the rose-colored glasses that usually tint a director’s look back. Armageddon Time doesn’t deliver any easy answers, just more opportunities to question. That’s why it works.
Door Dash
Something in the Dirt
by George Wolf
Five films in, have Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead cornered the market on low-fi sci-fi nerd horror?
It’s a niche, but the directors/actors (both) and writer (Benson) carved it out well with Resolution, Spring, The Endless, and Synchronic. Something in the Dirt continues the winning streak, landing as an offbeat mindbender with even more of their wry humor.
Benson and Moorhead are also back to taking the lead roles. Levi (Benson) has just moved into a new apartment in L.A., where he meets neighbor John (Moorhead). The two hit it off well, especially after they witness some possible supernatural activity in Levi’s new place.
What else can they do but get some cosmic proof on camera, and then ride a paranormal wave to fame and fortune?
But as an apartment doorway begins to resemble a portal to some twilighty zone place, the two men start to learn things about each other – and about their surroundings – that plant a seed of suspicion. The addition of interview footage from after the spectral adventure creates a quasi-documentary (even mockumentary) feel.
Things did not go accordingly to plan, which only piques our interest in finding out why.
A spare number of players in (mainly) one building recalls Resolution, Benson and Moorhead’s stellar debut. But the ten years since then have seen a worldwide pandemic and the rise of conspiracy-laden rabbit holes, and Something in the Dirt shows the guys revisiting the past with the benefit of their own hindsight.
What has made us so susceptible to exploiting and to being exploited, and to eagerly delight in ignorance and foolishness?
The mix of paranoia, nervous excitement and deadpan silliness is the vibe these guys revel in – as writers, directors and actors. 2019’s Synchronic brought a bigger budget and bigger name stars but felt a bit like an ill-fitting suit.
Here, the scale is smaller but the film breathes easier, as if Benson and Moorhead felt free to scratch the creative itches that make them unique. Something in the Dirt digs into all of them, digging up something ready to be filed under “low-budget nerdy sci-fi horror satire.”
Catchy!
Dead Air
On the Line
by George Wolf
About halfway through On the Line, Mel Gibson stops the film’s traffic with a gem of self-awareness.
“What kind of B grade movie bullshit is this?”
Well, “B” grade might be generous, but more of that wink-wink vibe would have been helpful.
Mel is Elvis Cooney, host of an overnight radio talk show in L.A. On one fateful night, a caller reveals that he has broken into Elvis’s home and taken his wife and child hostage. To save their lives, Elvis will have to own up to a few past misdeeds, then play some survival games while trying to piece together clues to the caller’s identity.
Writer/director Romuald Boulanger has a surprise or two in mind, but everything from the film’s forced dialog to the telegraphed shot selection and generic staging screams unsurprising TV drama. Mel and co-star Kevin Dillon ham it up good, while the rest of the ensemble mostly seems self-conscious.
I’ve been lucky enough to work in radio for over thirty years, but there’s no point in nitpicking over the biz details. The bigger problem is that On the Line is a half-hearted mashup of 2 or 3 better films that I won’t mention for fear of spoilers.
But when Elvis’s call screener (Alia Seror-O’Neill) makes a crack about sex with a man his age, you remember the B-movie line and realize this might have been idiotic fun if it just didn’t take itself so seriously.
Now here’s some Supertramp.
Fright Club: Nosferatu’s Influence
Happy Halloween! We’re celebrating the holiday and Nosferatu‘s 100th birthday with a look at the movies most influenced by F.W. Murnau’s masterpiece.
5. Dracula (1992)
Cinematographer Michael Ballhaus called this film Francis Ford Coppola’s last must-watch. It does look amazing. Gary Oldman and Tom Waits are great, too. Everybody else…
Coppola’s inspiration for the film was Murnau’s masterpiece, which is especially obvious in the opening act. Not only is Oldman styled as a goofy older character, but his shadow seems to move on its own. A clear homage to what Murnau did to such startling effect.
At the heart of the film is a glorious Oldman, who is particularly memorable as the almost goofily macabre pre-London Dracula. Butthe film feels more Hammer than Murnau, as the lovely Sadie Frost joins a slew of nubile vampire women to keep the film simmering. It’s a sloppy stew, but it is just so tasty.
4. What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
In the weeks leading up to the Unholy Masquerade – a celebration for Wellington, New Zealand’s surprisingly numerous undead population – a documentary crew begins following four vampire flatmates.
Viago (co-writer/co-director Taika Waititi) – derided by the local werewolf pack as Count Fagula – acts as our guide. He’s joined by Vladislav (co-writer/co-director Jemaine Clement), who describes his look as “dead but delicious.” There’s also Deacon (Jonathan Brugh) – the newbie at only 187 years old – and Petyr. Styled meticulously and delightfully on the old Nosferatu Count Orlock, Petyr is 8000 years old and does whatever he wants.
The filmmakers know how to mine the absurd just as well as they handle the hum drum minutia. The balance generates easily the best mock doc since Christopher Guest.
3. Salem’s Lot (1979)
Tobe Hooper was such an epic choice to direct this made-for-TV event film in 1979. Stephen King’s beloved novel seems an odd fit for network television, especially in Hooper’s delightfully macabre hands.
Though David Soul may have been the draw in ’79, it’s James Mason’s rich and peculiar delivery of every line that kept the film odd and fascinating.
Hooper’s best choice? Going full Orlock with Mr. Barlow!
2. Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979)
Also in 1979, Werner Herzog committed his own take on the Murnau masterpiece to film, and what a glorious endeavor that was! Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre looks hypnotic, and his score feels like a haunting ode to the live accompaniment the original might have boasted.
Klaus Kinski effortlessly revives the ratlike presence of Max Schreck, while Herzog’s script teases out a melancholy the original only hinted at. Isabelle Adjani’s heartbroken central figure is the anchor for the film, but Herzog has a great twist up his sleeve to leave a final scene impression.
1. Shadow of the Vampire (2000)
E. Elias Merhige revisits F. W. Murnau’s masterpiece Nosferatu with smashing results in Shadow of the Vampire. Wickedly funny and just a little catty, ‘Shadow’ entertains with every frame.
This is the fictional tale of the filming of Nosferatu. Egomaniacal artists and vain actors come together to create Murnau’s groundbreaking achievement in nightmarish authenticity. As they make the movie, they discover the obvious: the actor playing Count Orlok, Max Schreck is, in fact, a vampire.
The film is ingenious in the way it’s developed: murder among a pack of paranoid, insecure backstabbers; the mad artistic genius Murnau directing all the while. And it would have been only clever were it not for Willem Dafoe’s perversely brilliant performance as Schreck. There is a goofiness about his Schreck that gives the otherwise deeply horrible character an oddly endearing quality.
Screening Room: Till, Prey for the Devil, Wendell & Wild, Decision to Leave & More
In the Name of the Son
Till
by Hope Madden and George Wolf
Get to know Danielle Deadwyler.
Last year she stole scenes in the super-star-studded Western spectacle The Harder They Fall. In 2019, she seared through the screen in Lane and Ruckus Skye’s woefully underseen (See it! Do it!) Devil to Pay. And now she carries the weight of the world with grace as Mamie Till-Mobley in Chinonye Chukwu’s remarkable Till.
Deadwyler is hypnotic, a formidable presence as a woman who endures the unendurable and then alters history.
And Chukwu wastes no time making this history come alive.
For decades, we’ve mostly been shown the same faded, B&W snapshot of Emmett Till. Chukwu, as director and co-writer, bathes us in color and warmth from the opening minutes.
Mamie and her teenage son Emmett aka “Bo” (Jalyn Hall, charming and heartbreaking) share loving and tender moments as he prepares to leave Chicago and visit family in Mississippi. Deadwyler delivers Mamie’s apprehension with tense stoicism, and her eventual grief with gut-wrenching waves of pain.
Chukwu’s overall approach to the period piece offers hits and misses. The vibrant palette brings urgency to the past while fluid camerawork puts you in the parlors, courtrooms, streets and churches, making you part of the history you’re watching. It’s a beautiful film.
At the same time, much of the plotting, score and script fall back on tropes of the period drama. This comes as a particular disappointment given the filmmaker’s fresh and resonant approach to her 2019 drama, Clemency.
And yet, Chukwu mines these familiar beats for organic moments that create bridges to today. Victim blaming, character assassination, trial acquittals and the intimate helplessness of systemic oppression are all integral parts of this story, and ours. Those are ugly truths, but Till never loses its sense of beauty. There’s a remarkable grace to the film, even as it is reminding us that this American history is far from ancient.
There’s no denying Deadwyler, whose aching, breathtaking turn is certain to be remembered this awards season. In her hands, Mamie’s hesitant move to activism is genuine and inspiring, but it is always grounded in loss.
That loss is the soul of Till, a film that paints history with intelligence and anger as it honors one mother’s grief-stricken journey of commitment.
Found in Translation
Decision to Leave
by George Wolf
“Congrats, it’s a murder case!”
Or maybe more than one. But does detective Jang Hae-joon (Park Hae-il, Memories of Murder and The Host) really want to bring the killer to justice?
Decision to Leave (Heojil kyolshim) unveils a playful, seductive mystery of longing and obsession, masterfully layered and gorgeously framed by acclaimed director and co-writer Park Chan-wook (Oldboy, The Handmaiden, Thirst).
Jang is an insomniac, often plagued by memories of unsolved cases and so driven by his work that he keeps a separate residence closer to the precinct, only seeing his wife on weekends.
The distance between them becomes greater once Jang meets the mysterious Song Seo-rae (Tang Wei from Lust, Caution), a smoldering beauty who doesn’t seem very sorry that her husband is dead. His fall from a mountaintop appears to be a suicide, but Jang is compelled to dig deeper.
Song is quick to point out that she is Chinese, and conversing in Korean can leave her confused in translation. But is this just a ploy so Jang will underestimate her, or is she truly the sympathetic victim she claims to be?
Both Wei and Hae-il are wonderful, wrapping themselves around the delicious dialog and intertwining threads of murder and romance in totally engaging fashion. We hang on the hushed potential of the relationship along with each character, and their choices often alternate between compelling, confounding, and darkly funny.
As the time setting shifts ahead to when Song has remarried and yet another twist is introduced, the narrative air becomes even thicker with neo-noir style. Park (Best Director at Cannes this year) and cinematographer Kim Ji-young create a sumptuous visual palette, full of modern innovation and classic homages in equal measure.
It is a truly intoxicating atmosphere that rarely lets up, and a perfect compliment to the yearning that erodes boundaries between detective and suspect. Decision to Leave attack those barriers with tantalizing precision, leaving a breathless trail of crime and passion that is guaranteed to linger.
Fright Club 233: Social Progress Through Horror
Join us for a great panel discussion, recorded live at this year’s Nightmares Film Festival!
Bittersweet Symphony
Tár
by Hope Madden and George Wolf
During production of writer/director Todd Field’s terrific 2001 feature debut In the Bedroom, Harvey Weinstein reportedly made life so miserable, Field considered leaving the movie business altogether. He did return in 2006 with the equally impressive Little Children, but Field has been quiet since then.
All these years later, it’s not hard to imagine the Weinstein experience as an inspiration for Tár, a searing character study of art, arrogance, obsession and power that’s propelled by the towering presence of (surprised face) Cate Blanchett.
She is Lydia Tár, the first female music director of the Berlin orchestra. A nicely organic interview introduction runs down Lydia’s impressive resume, immediately cementing the character as one of the greatest living composer-conductors in the world.
And, as is her way, Blanchett (who prepped by learning several instruments and studying conducting) needs mere moments to define Lydia with sharp, unforgettable edges.
Tár is a control master who will converse and condescend with excess pleasantries, all the while keeping antenna up for anyone in her orbit who might contradict her careful plotting. And Field’s use of precise sound design and only diagetic music is a brilliant way to reinforce the maestro’s level of influence on everything around her.
Lydia is in rehearsals for a triumphant performance of Mahler’s 5th symphony, and also has a new book prepping for release. So while there’s much going on professionally, it’s the detailed, yet unassuming way Field narrows his focus to Lydia’s personal cruelty that brings the film to such a resonant point.
She humiliates a young student for daring to question a status quo power structure, takes advantage of her dutiful assistant’s (Noémie Merlant from the exquisite Portrait of a Lady on Fire) ambitions, works to remove an Assistant Conductor (Julian Glover) who dares to criticize, and is routinely dismissive of her wife (Nina Hoss).
The way Lydia handles a child bullying her young daughter is our first glimpse at true sociopathic tendencies, but Field – with moments of both sly humor and biting sarcasm – gradually unveils a familiar culture of predatory behavior.
To say the portrayal is perfection feels almost dismissive or perfunctory considering Blanchett’s mastery of her own art, but maybe that’s why this role stands apart. Maybe it’s her own experience, so unlike nearly anyone else’s, that shapes the organic and human performance. You want to feel for Lydia, or at least recognize how a genius with power begins to believe they are entitled to something. Or someone.
It’s in moments when Lydia dismisses ideas of gender inequality or coyly celebrates the history of patriarchy in her own profession that Field and Blanchett best expose the insidious nature of power. The storytelling is striking in its intimacy, gripping in its universal scope.
Tár is a showcase for two maestros working at the top of their game.
Bravo.
