Tag Archives: Julia Garner

Night Moves

Weapons

by Hope Madden

I’m not saying that Barbarian was anything less than a creepy, disturbing good time. Writer/director Zach Cregger’s 2022 bizarre, brutal minefield of surprises announced him as a master of misdirection, unsettling humor, and horror of the nastiest sort.

I’m just saying Weapons takes a lot of what worked in that film and sharpens it to a spooky edge. No throw-away laughs, no grotesque b-movie shenanigans, just an elaborate mystery slowly revealing itself, ratcheting tension, and leading to a bloody satisfying climax.

Unspooling as an epilogue followed by character-specific chapters, the film builds around a single event, developing dread as it delivers character studies of a town of hapless, fractured, flawed individuals in over their heads.

Julia Garner anchors the tale as a 3rd grade teacher who arrives to class one fateful morning with only one student in the room. Aside from little Alex (Cary Christopher, heartbreaking), none of Mrs. Gandy’s class made it to school today because every single one of them left their beds at 2:17 that morning to vanish into the night.

Since she’s what the kids have in common, the town suspects that she is to blame. This is especially true of young Matthew’s dad, Archer (Josh Brolin), who also gets a chapter.

As it did in Barbarian, this character-by-character approach allows for new information to bleed into what the audience knows, rather than what the characters know. But as each new tale opens our eyes to the mystery, it also lets this solid cast work with Cregger’s game writing to do some remarkable character work. Brolin’s angry, grieving confusion rings painfully true. And Garner seems to relish the opportunity to explore Mrs. Gandy’s unlikeable side.

Benedict Wong contributes the sweetest, and therefore most unfortunate, performance, but it’s the way Cregger lets each actor breathe and settle into idiosyncrasies and failings that keeps you invested. It’s the dark humor that’s most unsettling.

This is smartly crafted, beautifully acted horror. Those who worry Cregger’s left nasty genre work behind for something more elevated need not fear. As crafty as this film is, there’s not a lot of metaphor or social consciousness afoot. Weapons is just here to work your nerves, make you gasp, and shed some blood. It does it pretty well.

Baby Steps

The Fantastic Four: First Steps

by Hope Madden

Wholesome is the new look in superheroes. Just a couple weeks back, James Gunn and Superman made kindness punk rock. And now, director Matt Shakman hopes to draw on a retro-futuristic vibe to conjure a less skeptical, cynical time.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps owes much of its entertainment value to production design. The 1960s of the future is as quaint as can be, but the vibe is never played for laughs at the expense of its innocence.

And sure, villainy is forever afoot, but for Mr. Fantastic (Pedro Pascal) and Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby), nothing is as scary as new parenting. For the first time, Mr. Fantastic/Reed Richards is facing the fact that he knows nothing about anything (as all new parents must).

But he’d better get over it because world eater Galactus (Ralph Ineson, in great voice) is headed to earth, as heralded by one silver surfer (Julia Garner). Does Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn) have a crush? Sure, but so does The Thing (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), thanks to that kindly teacher over at the neighborhood Hebrew school (Natasha Lyonne, donning her own inimitable retro-future style).

Shakman helms his first feature in over a decade, after slugging it out on a slate of successful TV series, including helming 9 episodes of WandaVision. Though he nails the visual vibe, set pieces and action sequences entertain more than wow.

The wholesome family speechifying gets a little tiresome eventually, as well. But the earnest, heartfelt messaging—no cynicism, no snark, no ironic detachment—feels not only welcome but fearless. Performances are no less sincere, each actor carving out camaraderie and backstory the film refuses to telegraph.

Pascal, as a genius almost enslaved by his calculating brain, effortlessly mines the character for conflicted tenderness, so believably submissive to this new love. Both Moss-Bachrach and Quinn, in supporting roles, craft memorable, vulnerable characters.

Kirby impresses. Saddled heavily by the cinematic tropes of protective motherhood and indefatigable maternal instinct, she edges Sue’s conflict with flashes of rage and ferocity that not only support the plot but give life to the character.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps is no Superman. But it’s fun. It’s wholesome. It’s swell.

Pack Leader

Wolf Man

by Hope Madden

A lot of people will go into Wolf Man with comparisons to the 1941 Lon Chaney Jr. original on the ready. For Leigh Whannell fans, threads common to his 2020 gem The Invisible Man are easier to connect.

That’s partly because his new lycanthropic adventure is not a reboot, remake, or sequel to the original film, and partly because the underlying metaphor bears a little resemblance to his last movie.

Thirty years ago, young Blake (Zac Chandler) and his frighteningly protective, militia-esque father (Sam Jaeger) go hunting in the deep, isolated, picturesque Oregon woods near their property. They find something, and it isn’t a bear.

Flash forward, and adult Blake (Christopher Abbott)—a doting father to young Ginger (Matilda Firth, named no doubt as nod to Ginger Snaps in an applause worthy move)—gets the paperwork. His dad is finally, officially considered dead. He went into the woods some years back and just never came out. Now Blake, Ginger, and Blake’s wife Charlotte (Julia Garner) need to head back to Oregon to take care of the old farm.

Abbott and Garner hold the film’s insistent metaphor in check even when Whannell’s dialog (co-written with Corbett Tuck) veers a little too close to obvious. Blake is a good man, a kind man, a loving father—could he have enough of his old man in him to mean violence to the women in his life?

Whannell’s instinct for horror set pieces and claustrophobic action wring that metaphor for all the tension it’s worth in the second act. But by Act 3, when the tortured love of a monster feels more akin to Cronenberg’s The Fly (due partly to Whannell’s writing, partly to Arjen Tuiten’s monster design), the allegory begins to crumble under its own weight.

Although many viewers may have already checked out due to that creature design.

There is a tidy little gift of thrills here, very traditionally constructed with limited complications, allowing for a bit more depth of character. But it all feels slight, and outside of some nifty bits of action, overwrought.