Tag Archives: Hope Madden

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Send In the Clowns

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Joker: Folie à Deux

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

Five years ago, Todd Philips made a dangerous film, a comic book movie through a fractured Scorsese viewfinder that cried with the clown the world said was not funny. Cleverly bitter, it was an excellent retooling of Scorsese’s violently alienated loner. But mainly it was a stage for the unerring brilliance of Joaquin Phoenix.

Phillips’s sequel, Joker: Folie à Deux (which means “delusion or mental illness shared by two people”) revisits poor Arthur Fleck shortly before he stands trial for murdering five people, including late night talk show host Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro).

Fleck is a shell of his former self. No jokes, no laughter. Until prison guard Jackie Sullivan (Brendan Gleeson) gets Arthur included in a singing class over in the minimum-security ward, where Arthur meets Lee Quinzel (Lady Gaga).

And suddenly, Arthur has a song in his heart.

Phoenix continues to be so good he’s worrisome. Gaga delivers on nearly the same level—which is unheard of—and her spark is sorely missed when she’s not onscreen. Philips flanks the couple with two of the business’s best, Catherine Keener as Arthur’s lawyer and Gleeson, whose brutish jocularity is alarmingly authentic.

Where Phillips found the tone for his alienated white man in Scorsese, his love story takes on the fantastical theatricality of a musical. It’s a choice that works better in theory than execution, mainly because the sequel is almost entirely confined to prison and courtroom drama. The pace is leaden, the grim brutality repetitive. Where the first film used a half dozen or so profoundly human scenes to break your heart, the sequel fetishizes Arthur’s misery to the point of sadism.

Phillips surrounds the terrific ensemble (which includes another memorable turn from Leigh Gill) with several well-staged set pieces, but the ambition of this new vision soon finds itself battling curiosity and tedium.

Phoenix and Gaga make a truly electric pair, but as the courtroom scenes drag on its not hard to side with Lee’s impatience at the strategy in play. What begins as a relevant comment on the blurring of realities descends into a self indulgence that seems to find Phillips still taking on critics of his first Joker film.

The clear Scorsese moments amid all the musical numbers are an appropriate reminder of how the film can’t quite bring its ambitions of mold-breaking to fruition. And as it leaves behind a slightly open door, Folie à Deux exits the stage as a dark, frustrating exercise, as capable of painful beauty as it is of clowning around.

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Time After Time

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Thing Will Be Different

by Hope Madden

Writer/director Michael Felker has never made a feature film. What he has done is work alongside Justin Benson and Aaron Moorehead as editor on every feature they’ve made since 2014’s Spring. It shows.

With Felker’s heady brother-sister time loop twister Things Will Be Different, the filmmaker revisits many of the themes that have marked each of Benson and Moorehead’s features (the duo produces and Moorehead has a cameo). But this film carves out its own identity.

We meet Sidney (Riley Dandy) and Joe (Adam David Thompson) not long after some kind of robbery. We know nothing of the crime itself, just that they’d gotten separated and have reunited at a little diner. From there they’ll head to a house. A house where they’ll be safe.

Sid has a daughter she needs to get back to. Joe doesn’t have much, but he looks forward to making up lost time with his kid sister while they hide out for two weeks. It’s not that the house itself is hidden—hell, they walked to it through a cornfield. It’s that it takes them to a place outside of time.

But the thing is, they’re not supposed to be there, and that complicates things when they want to go back home.

Among the film’s many qualities is the lo-fi time travel. The isolated farmhouse the pair flees to is anything but fantastical. Neither is the combination safe, or the hand-held cassette recorder for communicating across time. It’s all as clever and satisfying as it is budget friendly.

Felker’s writing is consistently compelling, his script offering both leads everything they need to build a lived-in, fractured relationship full of longing and bitterness. The clues concerning the time loop itself are just as clever and satisfying, every element fitting the retro vibe that itself feels delightfully out of time.

Felker’s film is certainly reminiscent of much of Benson and Moorehead’s work, although it also calls to mind a handful of other time benders, from Tenet to Timecrimes. But it never feels borrowed.

Felker uses time travel as an understated and poignant metaphor for the harmful cycles you find in relationships, especially in families. Thanks to sharp writing, stylish direction and a couple of well-crafted performances, he further separates his time travel fantasy from the scores of others and keeps you guessing until the last, powerful frame.

Shudder Premiere

4th Kind’s the Charm

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V/H/S/Beyond

by Hope Madden

It’s that time again. Time to blow into the cassette basket, ignore the blinking 12:00 and press play on another found footage anthology, V/H/S/Beyond.

The seventh installment in the series focuses (mainly) on left-behind evidence of alien encounters, plus one really weird but entirely unconnected doggy daycare nightmare.

This installment’s wraparound story comes not from a horror filmmaker but from award-winning documentarian Jay Cheel. He invites viewers to investigate the “evidence”—videotapes that may or may not tell of visitors—by way of the documentary “Alien Encounters: Fact or Fiction.” The primary story under the experts’ eye is of an Ontario home and a missing man.

In between talking head evaluations of that footage, we’re treated to a smattering of other “evidence.”  The most fun is Jordan Downey’s Stork. Downey enlists a first person shooter style to follow a police standoff at a home where missing babies may be stashed. Funhouse gimmicks keep it lively, but the short’s main success is its particular spin on the alien itself.

Virat Pal’s Dream Girl, an interstellar twist on Bollywood stardom, is inventive fun, although the concept of found footage (unretouched or edited footage) is most betrayed in this short.

This brings us to the three most common problems in found footage. 1) How did the found footage get edited together from multiple cameras and angles? 2) Why didn’t the camera operator put the camera down to save themselves and others? 3) How and where was the footage left to be found? To a certain degree, you need to let go of at least one of these details or you can’t enjoy the film. But it gets tough.

Life and Let Dive from Justin Martinez (longtime friend of the franchise) takes us on a 30th birthday skydiving party gone wrong. Shot GoPro style, the short is consistently entertaining, delivers carnage aplenty and one really solid jump scare, plus good-looking aliens. Also, no egregious rule breaking.

The weirdest and possibly most disturbing belongs to directors Christian and Justin Long (the actor, who does not appear). Their short, Fur Babies, has absolutely nothing to do with aliens. Instead, it tails a delightfully unhinged doggy daycare professional (Libby Letlow). There’s also zero integrity in the footage—where it came from and how it was assembled—but there is some wonderfully unseemly stuff happening in the basement.

Kate Siegel’s Stow Away delivers a one-person documentary on recent desert sightings. The segment is strangely fascinating, and Alanah Pearce offers a compelling central performance. Solid creature effects and a logical arc of horror also elevate this one, but you can’t finish it without wondering: how did the world discover this tape?

Found footage horror still manages to strike a chord for a lot of people, and the V/H/S franchise routinely collects an intriguing assortment of films and filmmakers celebrating the form. Beyond is neither the best nor the worst in the series. It does hold some impressive scares and imaginative takes on the old encounter notion.

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Dust to Dust

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Hold Your Breath

by Hope Madden

Among the least examined perspectives in Westerns is the woman’s. In the rare instance that a filmmaker looks closely at what it was like for a woman on the wild frontier, the tale isn’t happy.

Earlier this year, writer/director/co-star Viggo Mortensen’s Western The Dead Don’t Hurt reexamined masculine nobility as abandonment. A decade ago, Tommy Lee Jones’s underseen The Homesman mined a very real phenomenon that befell many brides of the West. But Karrie Crouse and William Joines’s Hold Your Breath—actually set in the 1930s Oklahoma Dust Bowl rather than being a strict Western—feels more akin with Emma Tammi’s 2018 horror, The Wind.

The always magnificent Sarah Paulson is Margaret Bellum, mother to Rose (Amiah Miller) and Ollie (Alona Jane Robbins), left to keep the family together while her husband travels to build bridges until the rain returns and their little farm can flourish again. In the meantime, Margaret and the girls are surrounded on all sides, as far as the eye can see and even farther, by dry, useless dirt.

Like Tammi’s horror, Hold Your Breath weaves maternal tragedy with societal pressures and supernatural legend to create a sometimes-hypnotic descent into madness.

Paulson’s brittle sensibility never entirely loses its humanity thanks to her layered performance. Deepening the characterization with genuine tenderness for the girls elevates the “is she crazy or is this really happening” trope.

Supporting turns from Miller, Annaleigh Ashford and Ebon Moss-Bachrach (The Bear) heighten tensions and call to mind the chill of an effective campfire tale. The filmmakers also capture a fear that permeates the God forsaken region with effective visual moments, often with Margaret and her needlework or a little boy and his makeshift mask. These moments are stark and eerie, but the film can’t seem to hold onto that feeling.

Paulson’s performance aches with a pain that is particular to a mother, and it’s this broken heartbeat that keeps Hold Your Breath compelling to its conclusion. Its horror is touched with a melancholy suited to the genre. The tension comes and goes, leaving you with less than promised, but the film has enough going for it to make it worth your time.

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Get the Party Started

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Frankie Freako

by Hope Madden

Fans of the old Canadian collective Astron 6, whose output combined a love of 80s VHS with delightfully offensive imagery and an incredible mastery of silliness and tone, rejoice. Though no longer an official organization, the braintrust behind the brand have reassembled for the sloppy new horror comedy, Frankie Freako.

Connor (Connor Sweeney) is bland. His boss (Adam Brooks, flawless as always) knows it. His wife (Kristy Wordsworth) knows it. Connor isn’t convinced, although he is drawn to those late-night TV ads. You know, with the 1-900 numbers? And the partying goblins?

Connor caves and calls Frankie Freako. And before you can say “shabadoo” (a line delivered with hilariously tedious repetition by one of the freakos), the house is a wreck, Conor’s wife’s sculptures are in pieces, and someone’s spray painted “butt” on the wall!

And his wife will be home soon! What’s a fella to do?

Frankie and his two freako pals show Connor what raising heck can really do for a guy in this puppets-and-practical-effects flick.

Aside from Office Space and “quick, clean up this mess” films like Risky Business, Frankie Freako lovingly evokes all those Gremlins derivatives: Ghoulies (especially the sequels), Critters, Troll, as well as the Puppet Master series. Writer/director Steven Kostanski simultaneously mocks and embraces the inanity of each of those movies and delivers a spirited bit of comedy fun.

The film can’t touch the inspired Saturday Morning TV lunacy of  his last feature, 2021’s Psycho Goreman, but Frankie Freako fits reasonably well into the full stash of oddities made by Kostanski and his buddies Brooks, Sweeney, and Matthew Kennedy (here voicing Frankie). Along with Psycho Goreman, their combined output includes The Editor (2014), Father’s Day (2011), and uncharacteristically but impressively, The Void (2016), among others.

Frankie Freako does not perch at—or honestly, near—the top of that list of lunatic cinematic gems. But the group has its misses as well, and this film fits better with its hits.

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Metal Mama

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The Wild Robot

by Hope Madden

With wry, almost gallows humor, visual panache and an impressive voice cast, co-writer/director Chris (How to Train Your Dragon, Lilo & Stitch) Sanders’s The Wild Robot nails the aching beauty of parenthood like few other films have.

Adapted from Peter Brown’s gorgeously illustrated middle grades novel, the film drops us and ROZZUM unit 7134 on an island uninhabited by humans. This makes it tough for “Roz” (Lupita Nyong’o) to fulfill her mission of completing a task, any task. But then an undersized gosling (Kit Connor) imprints on her, allowing Sanders to have some fun with the unending complications associated with Roz’s new task: parenting.

The writing and the delicately lovely animation work together to hypnotic effect, each unveiling something more human with every scene, regardless of the fact that there’s nary a human in the movie. Sanders’s script reflects the human experience, both the timeless (the thankless heartbreak of investing your whole heart and soul into the process of successfully losing your child to their own future) and the immediate (AI, corporate greed, tech overlords).

A talented cast deepens the film’s effect. Nyong’o effortlessly treads the line between logic and longing with so graceful a character arc that you can feel Roz blossoming. Pedro Pascal joins her as Fink, the fox who hates to admit that he wants to be part of this little family unit more than anything.

Catherine O’Hara—always a treasure—delivers dry wisdom in hilarious doses. Meanwhile, Ving Rhames, Mark Hamill, Matt Berry and Bill Nighy bring endearing personalities to their furry and feathered characters, while Stephanie Hsu injects Act 3 with a little wicked humor.

The film’s delight is only deepened by its sadness, and you may find yourself bawling repeatedly during this film. I know I did.

Sanders’s career is marked with the vulnerable optimism that defines an outsider’s longing for connection. In his worlds, a parent and their sort-of child—Lilo and Stitch, Hiccup and Toothless, Roz and Brightbill—flail and flounder until they find the strength of an extended family.

It’s a story he’s apparently not done telling. But he tells it so very well.

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Silence Is Golden

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Azrael

by Hope Madden

Last year, Brian Duffield’s No One Will Save You told a fully developed alien invasion story with a single line of dialogue. In 2013, J.C. Chandor created a breathless, satisfying adventure yarn without one word with All Is Lost.

A little more than midway through the post-apocalyptic horror Azrael, director E. L. Katz (working from a script by Simon Barrett) introduces the first speaking character. It’s a cagey move, and one that solidifies the filmmakers’ ability to clarify not just an immediate situation but an entire mythology without a single comprehensible syllable spoken.

Our signposts are three separate cryptic prophesies scrawled across the screen. Other than that, we witness a world left behind. Our tale is set many years after the Rapture. Alone in a woods, one woman (Samara Weaving, Ready or Not) finds beauty in nature. As she brings a gift to her lover (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, Femme), they recognize a bird call and flee.

Because that was definitely not a bird.

Anyone who’s followed Weaving’s career knows she’s up for some relentless, bloody action. She has her fill of it here, battling a left-behind cult as well as bloody thirsty, flesh bound demons. She’s so expressive that the character never feels limited without lines.

The balance of the ensemble is also up to the task at hand—Katariina Unt and Eero Milonoff (of the amazing Border) leave a particular impression.

So do the demons, which come across like char broiled crawlers from The Descent. Nice!

Katz hit out-the-gate with his feature debut, Cheap Thrills. Barrett has been hit or miss, but his hits have soared, You’re Next and The Guest among them. What they fully understand is how to develop tension, how to direct your attention, and how to use the camera to tell attentive audiences all they need to know.

There’s nuance and depth for those who invest, but at 85 minutes and boasting almost constant action and bloodshed, Azrael is a solid choice for even those with a limited attention span.

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You’ve Got a Friend in Me

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Will & Harper

by Hope Madden

Harper Steele loved traveling America and spent years upon years hitchhiking and driving from town to town, dive bar to dive bar, stock car race to pool hall to backwater, savoring every minute of it. But since she transitioned a couple of years ago, she’s afraid to do it anymore. She’s afraid to travel these roads in the same way any woman would be, and she’s afraid to travel them in the way that only a trans woman would be.

Her friend thinks maybe she can reexplore the country she loves as her true self if she has a man with her. Preferably a big, lumbering, lovable, friendly, famous friend willing to shift attention away from her whenever she might want him to. All she has to do is agree to go to stop at least once so Will Ferrell can get a traditional glazed at Dunkin Donuts.

There are so many reasons to watch Will & Harper, not the least of which is to see two of the smartest comedic minds (the two met on SNL when Steele was head writer for the show) riff.

And it’s not just the two of them. Their trip leads to run ins with some great SNL alum and a reminder that Kristin Wiig is insanely talented.

Another great reason to watch Will & Harper is that this film fits so beautifully into that American cinematic tradition of emotional, thrilling, deeply human road picture: one relationship changes and deepens with the landscape as America itself is more clearly revealed.

Because Steele’s America is not what anyone would consider a safe space for trans people—but where, really, is that space?

The friends begin in NYC with an SNL reunion and an awkward-at-best hug from Lorne Michaels. At a Pacers game, Indiana governor Eric Holcomb is eager to meet Ferrell, and it isn’t until a little googling after the photo op that he and Harper learn about the Republican politician’s aggressively anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ2+ policies. The scene leads to the first of many brazenly honest and emotional moments between the friends.

Ferrell’s tenderness and endearingly bumbling protectiveness is deeply lovely, even when—maybe especially when—it’s almost desperate. The deeper into red state territory the two travel, the more attention seeking Ferrell seems, almost certainly to try to create a protective shield around his friend. It doesn’t always work, and his own grief at his shortcomings as her friend are heartbreakingly lovely.

But it’s Steele whose openness and forthrightness breaks any but the coldest and most ignorant heart. And what she does—she and her buddy—that’s so important is to show how utterly and undeniably normal it all is: hating the way you look in a bathing suit, wanting and failing to love the sound of your own voice, wondering what it’s like to have boobs for the first time.

Will & Harper just makes you wonder how it can be possible for anyone to be upset by another person’s transition. It also makes you hope those who feel too stigmatized to do it realize that there is a better life.

“From the moment I transitioned, all I wanted to do was live.”

God I hope people see this movie.

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Photo Sensitive

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Lee

by Hope Madden

Kate Winslet can hold her breath for 7 minutes and 15 seconds. That’s just one of many astonishing things about the 7-time Oscar nominee (and one-time winner), and it speaks to something she appears to seek in characters: badassedness.

And with her latest character, there’s no denying those bona fides. Winslet plays WWII photojournalist and all-around badass Lee Miller in Ellen Kuras’s biopic, Lee.

The film opens and closes on an interview between an aged Miller and a young man (Josh O’Connor, Challengers). This allows Winslet to provide a bit of voiceover as the film meanders through just a slice of Miller’s remarkable life, beginning with the day she met her husband, Roland Penrose (Alexander Skarsgård) at a garden party full of poets and painters in 1937—just two years shy of the beginning of WWII.

And though Miller’s life had already contained more than enough intrigue, adventure and invention for at least one film, there’s a reason Kuras (working from Liz Hannah, Marion Hume and John Collee’s adaption of Antony Penrose’s biography) began the story here. Miller’s work as a war correspondent and photographer is as breathtaking and heroic as anything you’re likely to see.

Kuras spent most of her career behind the camera in the role of cinematographer, collaborating with the likes of Michel Gondry, Spike Lee and Jim Jarmusch. Appropriately, you see every ounce of that experience with her first feature length narrative as director, working with DP Pawel Edelman. Kuras’s admiration for Miller’s work clearly influences her own shot making, just as a respect for Miller’s unapologetic confidence colors her approach to the storytelling.

Winslet’s wonderful, obviously—full of bravado and rage, vulnerability and impatience. The ensemble around her, mostly in fairly small roles, impresses as well. Andrea Riseborough and Andy Samberg are particular standouts.

Where Lee falls short is in its too-traditional execution, which feels out of step with the way Kuras elsewhere embraces Miller’s renegade spirit. The cinematic interview bookends, exposition-heavy narration, glossy look and conventional score feel at odds with the protagonist’s character.

Lee Miller deserved a gustier film. Lee is not a bad movie. It’s a very competently made, beautifully shot picture boasting very solid performances. It’s worth seeing. It’s just not as memorable as it ought to be.