Tag Archives: Madd at the Movies
Hell’s Kitchen
What You Wish For
by Hope Madden
It’s been nearly fifteen years since writer/director Nicholas Tomnay unveiled David Hyde Pierce’s pitch perfect black comic sensibilities in The Perfect Host, a darkly comedic gem of social satire horror.
Tomnay returns to horrific dinner parties, sans humor, with his latest, What You Wish For, a macabre tale of capitalism, mistaken identity, and meat.
Ryan (Nick Stahl) is out of luck. A talented chef lowered to roasting chickens in a hotel kitchen, and in more debt than he can manage to some very bad people, he sets off to an isolated spot in a tiny Latin American country to catch up with his culinary institute roommate, Jack (Brian Groh).
But Jack’s on assignment and soon Ryan finds himself too deep to escape from a seriously demented personal chef situation.
What You Wish For is slow going at first. Both Groh and Stahl deliver lifeless performances, briefly elevated by a splashier presence of Alice (Penelope Mitchell). But if you slog through act 1, a beefier stew awaits.
Tamsin Topolski, Randy Vasquez and Juan Carlos Messier each carve out fascinating oddball characters. Together they bring needed electricity to the film, just in time for Tomnay’s writing to take things up a notch.
Complications, tensions, confusion and controlled mayhem take front stage once Imogen (Topolski) arrives, mistaking Ryan for Jack, the chef who’s supposed to make her guests’ night unforgettable. It looks like the financial opportunity Jack needs, but you’ve seen the title.
The clever plotting buoyed by three sharp supporting turns makes the film suddenly fascinating. Stahl continues to be the weak spot, although his flat affect almost works with the new characters to give the film a bit of levity.
In the end, What You Wish For is a low-cal The Menu. It lacks the purpose and insight—let alone hilarious relatability—but it certainly calls that near-masterpiece to mind. And it looks great. It just won’t leave you very satisfied.
Woke Up Today and Chose Violence
In a Violent Nature
by Hope Madden
When a filmmaker upends slasher tropes, the result often takes a comedic turn. Scream benefitted simultaneously from the audience’s effortless acceptance of genre staples and Wes Craven’s wicked sense of humor. Likewise, the absolute treasure of a meta-slasher Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon zeroes in on slasher cliches to generate fear and horror, laughter and empathy.
Chris Nash is not doing that.
After years making horror shorts, Nash writes and directs his first feature. Though In a Violent Nature builds its unstated plot on your knowledge of slashers, the filmmaker is not in it for laughs.
In a Violent Nature is unapologetically a slasher. A handful of young adults gathers in a secluded national park to camp. They are vaguely horny, annoying, drunk. One mourns some kind of recent tragedy. The fact that we will never get to know these characters by name seems fitting, since slasher characters are one-dimensional by nature. Why do we return to Crystal Lake year after year, sequel after sequel? It’s not for the campers.
We hear their inane chatter, their campfire stories, their bickering and flirtations, but just barely because we’re at a safe distance. We’re far enough from the fire that they can’t see us. In fact, it isn’t until the third act that we finally find ourselves more than a few feet away from the unstoppable killing machine whose point of view defines our story.
And even then, at the end, how far away could he be?
What Nash does with his retake on the slasher—utterly minimalistic except for the carnage, which is generally inspired—is both a deconstruction and loving ode. This movie loves slashers. It does not mock them, doesn’t wink and nod at what we accept when we watch them. Nor does it add any depth to them.
People watch slashers to see characters you don’t care about meet inventive, bloody death in a beautiful landscape. We watch slashers because death is comeuppance, it is coming no matter what, and it’s coming in the form of a hulking, horrifying mass with a tragic backstory.
The practical fx are glorious. The storytelling is clever in that the story tells you nothing, but Nash’s thoughtful direction is enough. If you don’t like slashers, you won’t like In a Violent Nature. If you sincerely do, though, this film is not to be missed.
Nathan’s Inferno
Pandemonium
by Hope Madden
An awful lot of films are preoccupied with what, if anything, comes after death. Pandemonium, the latest feature from French filmmaker Quarxx, takes you there. No guessing.
Nathan (Hugo Dillon) is our journeyman. As the film opens, he picks himself up from the road—a treacherous hillside lane shrouded in fog. Nathan eyes his overturned vehicle and can’t believe his luck, but soon sees the cyclist (Arben Bajraktaraj) he knows is pinned under the wreckage. Except he’s not. He’s fine and standing on the same roadside.
Come to think of it, Nathan feels pretty good, too, considering.
In a lot of tales, we’d work out the details with Nathan until we all come to the obvious conclusion that Nathan didn’t survive that accident. But Quarxx wastes no time. He knows that you know, and quickly he complicates the scene with a third crash victim and two doors. One looks inviting, beautiful even. The other does not.
What’s fascinating about the entire film, and Dillon’s performance, is the polite if reluctant civility, the resigned obedience. Nathan begrudgingly does what he’s told rather than fighting in a narrative move that’s simultaneous cynical and polite.
Nathan’s story is essentially the wraparound tale of an anthology. Early circles of Nathan’s hell involve witnessing the sins of others by way of two separate short horror films. The first, starring a psychotic little princess named Nina (Manon Maindivide, brilliant), is the highlight of Pandemonium. Told with macabre whimsy and no mercy, it’s a welcome dash of color.
The second short within the tale is also solidly told and a bit more desperate. Again, Quarxx’s tone changes as a grieving mother loses her grasp on sanity.
And then, back to hell with Nathan in yet another dramatic tonal shift. Within the span of a barely 90 minutes, Quarxx explores a number of wildly different horror styles, each pretty effectively. The final act is the weakest, and though it has merit as its own short, as a closing chapter for the feature it leaves a bit to be desired.
But Quarxx is bound to hit on at least one tale that will appeal to every horror fan. It’s not a seamless approach, but it’s never less than compelling.
Screening Room: Furiosa, Babes, Atlas, Beach Boys and More
On the Road Again
Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga
by Hope Madden and George Wolf
From the dust and the waste of the Mad Max Saga has sprung many a fascinating supporting player: The Humungus, Auntie Entity, Immortan Joe. Only one commands an origin story. That look. That arm. That name: Furiosa!
George Miller follows up his epic action masterpiece Fury Road with a look at what made our girl tick, what turns of event turned her into the baddest of all badasses.
Writing again with Nick Lathouris, who co-write Fury Road, Miller invests more time in plotting than usual, creating a 15-year odyssey rather than a breathless and breakneck few day adventure.
Young Furiosa (Alyla Browne, Sting) is taken from the storied Green Place by scavengers, eventually landing in the care of vainglorious leader of the marauders, Dr. Dementus (Chris Hemsworth, creating a fascinating mix of loquacious pretension, reckless machismo and prosthetic nose). It’s the first stop of many on the savvy, silent one’s wearying journey toward fulfilling the two promises: the one she made her mother to return, and the sacred oath all in the Green Place make to keep the location forever secret.
Years pass, and Anya-Taylor Joy straps on the arm and the attitude for this prequel, her arc a suitable evolution from scrappy kid to determined adult to the undeniable warrior Charlize Theron perfected in the last go-round.
Miller remains as true to his vision of the wasteland as he was back in ’79’s original Mad Max, but there is a depth to the storytelling here that sets it apart. We’ve had four films to see what turned Max Rockatansky mad, made him what he is. Now Miller lays out a single story that serves as both a thrilling prelude to Fury Road and a rich origin story in its own right.
Plot does not take a front seat to action, though, so strap in for more glorious road wars.
Again wielding his patented punch-in closeups like a heavy metal power chord, Miller keeps a palpable sense of frenzied motion. War rigs take to the barren terrain while all manner of air and ground assaults constantly threaten from every direction. Miller and cinematographer Simon Duggan craft a wonderfully rich visual playground, while Fury Road editors Eliot Knapman and Margaret Sixel (Miller’s wife) return to make sure this trip feels equally immersive.
The very nature of this installment’s origin story removes the chance for the kind of singular narrative mission that helped elevate Fury Road to all-time great action heights. But anyone who took that ride knew there had to be a helluva story behind that buzz cut and metal arm.
There is, and Furiosa brings it right up to where the last journey began, in an often spectacular fashion that demands nothing less than the big screen.
What’s Up, Doc?
Sight
by Hope Madden
Sight, the latest inspirational film from director/co-writer Andrew Hyatt (Paul, The Apostle of Christ; All Those Small Things), leads by example rather than preaching to the choir. It’s still a mishmash of a result, but it is a step in a better direction.
Terry Chen plays Dr. Ming Wang, a real-life eye surgeon whose foundation restores sight to many without the financial means to cover the surgery themselves. But Sight tells the story that leads to this philanthropic action.
The film opens on a press conference. Dr. Wang has just performed another breakthrough surgery, but his humility and stoicism keep him from enjoying the moment. This perplexes his wizened and good-natured colleague, Dr. Misha Bartnovsky (Greg Kinnear).
Kinnear spends the next hour and forty minutes with a perpetual half smirk, half grimace as he nudges Dr. Wang toward a little satisfaction, a little happiness. Maybe a date.
Most of that running time is actually spent with young Ming Wang (Ben Wang), who grew up during China’s Cultural Revolution with a passion to become a doctor. But when those in power start burning books, you know nothing good can come of it. His life becomes a nightmare that still haunts the adult doctor. Maybe if he can save one little girl, it will all be worth it?
That’s the core crisis in Sight, and it feels pretty forced, pretty made-for-TV, as does most of the film. There’s a great deal of exposition, loads of characters, endless flashbacks, all of it skimming the surface of the story. Every character has one note: benevolent, anguished, optimistic, supportive, or evil. No one gets to be human.
Hyatt’s approach is safe, his film superficial and earnest. And though the plot takes an unexpected turn—because life took an unexpected turn for Dr. Wang and his patient—Hyatt seems desperate to tidy up, to make the narrative fit the expected framework rather than embracing its messiness.
Dr. Wang has no doubt led a remarkable and inspirational life, and anyone who’s contributed this much good to the world deserves to be appreciated. Sight does that. It does far less as a film—as a stand-alone piece of art with depth and honesty. But it’s nice and it tells a nice, safe story.
Hot Mamas
Babes
by Hope Madden
Bobby Hill makes a movie. I think we always knew he was a feminist.
Director Pamela Adlon, longtime actor and brilliant voice actor (winning an Emmy for her work on King of the Hill), helms her first feature with Babes, the tale of two of lifelong best friends grappling with the sloppy tensions motherhood can put on a friendship.
Adlon works with a script by co-star Ilana Glazer and Josh Rabinowitz, who wrote together on Glazer’s breakout sitcom Broad City, so you can guess what to expect: raunchy hilarity based in shameless womanhood.
Yes, please.
This is Glazer’s sweet spot. She’s plays Eden, whose free spirit is met with increasingly harried laughs by Michelle Buteau (Survival of the Thickest). Buteau’s Dawn has just given birth to her second child and realizes that it only gets harder. Everything. All things. Harder.
Just when Dawn could use her delightfully odd bestie’s help, Eden finds herself pregnant, quickly becoming just another bottomless source of need.
Applause to Babes for doing more than checking off boxes: premise, catalyst, etc. Dawn’s pregnancy mishap is actually among the most endearing plot points in a surprisingly lovely, if deeply gross, film.
The raucous irresponsibility that fueled Broad City enlivens Babes as well, but there’s more to this story than body fluids and lady parts. Glazer and Buteau share a charming, lived-in chemistry that enriches their sharp comic timing and riotous delivery.
They’re not alone. Delightful supporting turns from Hasan Minhaj, Stephen James and John Carroll Lynch add depth to situations, developing dimensional characters we become invested in.
Childhood best friendship rarely really survives adulthood. Babes wonders whether it can, with the right mix of forgiveness and need, distance and support, breast milk and feces. Glazer’s irreverent humor loses none of its edge, but there’s now more depth and humanity. The laughs come early and often, but Babes delivers a lot of heart as well.
Schoolhouse Rock
House of Screaming Glass
by Hope Madden
A descent into madness when the protagonist is probably already mad makes for a very short trip and not a particularly dramatic arc, but director David R. Williams gives it a go with his latest indie, House of Screaming Glass (which is a great title).
Elizabeth Cadozia (Lani Call) has inherited the old schoolhouse her grandmother has used as a home. It came to Elizabeth on her 27th birthday, upon the death of her mother. We don’t know what happened to Elizabeth’s mother, or anything Elizabeth chooses not to share with us directly. The only dialog in the film is done in voice over, Elizabeth telling us pieces of her story, and she does not seem like the most reliable narrator.
Call, in essentially a one-person show, really is mesmerizing. But she has an awful lot on her shoulders and Williams’s direction is not always on her side.
Having a camera trained on your face as you wordlessly morph from dreamy apathy to dread to horror to tears and back again tests an actor, and Call passes beautifully. It’s the kind of scene that could easily become the watershed moment in any film, horror in particular. In keeping with Williams’s “more is more” direction throughout, Call is put through this about six times during the film’s hour and 45-minute run time.
This is symptomatic of a frustrating lack of focus that mires the entire effort in unfocused, self-indulgent tedium. This is especially disappointing because Call’s performance is genuinely arresting, and because Williams drops a good number of seriously startling, impressive images of horror throughout the film.
A sort of marriage between Lovecraft and Judeo-Christian hauntings, House of Screaming Glass succeeds when it unveils gooey shocks of body horror and practical monster effects. Call’s awkwardly sensuous turn amplifies the horror, but the imagery either gets lost in the unfocused narrative, or the scene in question goes on for such an unnecessary length that you lose interest.
House of Screaming Glass could have been a memorable hypnotic fever dream had Williams pruned at least 30 minutes. It’s still worth watching—Call’s performance, Stephen Rosenthal’s cinematography and many of Williams’s nightmarish visuals are transfixing.
Screening Room: IF, Back to Black, The Strangers: Chapter 1, I Saw the TV Glow, Evil Does Not Exist & More
