Kelly Reichardt films tell a story, but not in the
traditional Hollywood sense. She draws you into an alien environment, unveils universal
humanity and shows you something about yourself, about us. There’s usually a story
buried in there somewhere. In this case, it’s about two outsiders in 19th
Century Oregon who find friendship.
And a cow.
Cookie (John Magaro) is a gentle soul, not properly built
for the fur trade. (You saw The
Revenant, right?) He’s a baker at heart, not that he gets to do much
baking on a trapping expedition with hungry, volatile, hunt-weary men.
He holds no value for these men, and has nothing in common with them. But somehow he sees a kinship with the naked Chinese man he stumbles upon as he forages for mushrooms in the woods.
It’s sweet and sad the way Cookie and King-Lu (Orion Lee)
fall into a relationship. King-Lu has ambitions. He opens Cookie’s eyes to
opportunities he’d never had the courage to consider. Through these characters
Reichardt demonstrates how fragile, lovely and heartbreaking hope can be.
Working again with regular collaborator Jonathan Raymond,
whose novel the two adapted, Reichardt keeps you pulling for her heroes. The
narrative lulls you with understated conversations and observations while the meticulously
captured natural beauty onscreen beguiles. Within that, we see the potential of
a young country through the eyes of Americans determining the dream.
Reichardt explores loneliness in all her films, the sense
that we are each simply and inevitably alone, though we struggle against it
regardless. This exploration isn’t hurried. It breathes. She emphasizes the longing
for connection in every quiet moment with her characteristic use of lighting,
the way she frames nature and the naturalistic performances she draws from Lee
and Magaro.
William Tyler’s lonesome score offers something both
mournful and tender, which is fitting. Although these men’s very existence in
this place testifies to hardy ambition, Reichardt lingers on moments of gentle
camaraderie.
When Kelly Reichardt tells a story, she breaks your heart. She does it slowly and quietly, but it’s broken nonetheless.
If your experience with Norwegian horror has you expecting Lake of Death to bring on the blondes and the folklore – you’re halfway there. The coifs check out, but writer/director Nini Bull Robsahm trades some homeland roots for flashes of decidedly American inspiration.
It’s a bit curious, since Robsahm (Amnesia) is updating the 1942 novel (and 1958 film) De dødes tjern– which is credited with kickstarting Norway’s interest in the horror genre. Clearly, a cabin in the woods can be creepy in any language.
A distracted Lillian (Iben Akerlie) brings a group of friends and one dog to a remote lakeside cabin for one more getaway before the place is sold. Her gang is ready for a good time, but Lillian is still haunted by the memory of her twin brother Bjorn, who disappeared one year earlier after taking a walk in these very same woods!
One of Lillian’s friends hosts a paranormal podcast, which is Robsahm’s device for filling everyone in on the local legend of the lake. You can get lost in its serene beauty, they say, lose touch with reality, and maybe even get the urge to kill.
Mysterious happenings, paranoia and suspicion ensue, but Robsahm sets the brew on a very slow boil, taking a full hour before we get one well developed visual fright. Lillian’s sleepwalking, hallucinations, and frequent nightmares lay down an overly familiar framework that’s peppered with music stabs and repeated name-dropping of horror classics from Evil Dead to Misery.
As an attempt to bridge generational horror, it’s all very commendable but little more than workmanlike. Robsahm has better success with her commitment to the lake’s spellbinding beauty, and with her repeated trust in cinematographer Axel Mustad.
Shooting in wonderfully earthy 35mm, Mustad creates a gorgeous tableau of woods and water, evoking the dreamy atmosphere required to cash the check written by the lake’s urban legend.
There may be little that surprises you in Lake of Death, but a sterling partnership between director and cameraman makes sure you have a fine souvenir from the visit.
Here’s the thing about horror movies in 2020: they have to one up 2020. This year itself is such a horror show, it’s hard for cinema to keep up.
Writer/director Eric Bress (The Butterfly Effect) does what he can with the supernatural war tale, Ghosts of War.
Five WWII soldiers are ordered to hold tight in a French mansion circa 1944. It’s an isolated estate, once a Nazi stronghold. Terrible things happened there, and even though the surroundings suggest luxury, the mission may be the most dangerous the platoon has ever faced.
It reminds me of that time earlier this year when COVID trapped a Bolivian orchestra inside a haunted German castle surrounded by wolves.
So the film has that to compete with. Of course, the other
thing Ghosts of War has going against it is the surprisingly engaging
and unfortunately underseen Overlord, a
WWII horror show that drops us alongside a handful of soldiers into war torn
France just in time to find zombies.
Very little is more fun than Nazi zombies.
But Bress isn’t interested in zombies. Instead, he explores
the madness that weighs on men who’ve done the unthinkable by trapping them in
a situation where they must face their demons.
Kyle Gallner delivers an appropriately haunted performance
as one of the soldiers—each of whom Bress characterizes with quick, shorthand
ideas: the nut job (Gallner), the smartypants (Pitch Perfect’s Skylar
Astin), the hero (Theo Rossi), the big talker (Alan Ritchson), the leader who’s
in over his head (Brenton Thwaites).
Gallner and Astin are the only cast members given the
opportunity to differentiate themselves from the pack as the platoon stumbles
upon evidence of the haunting. Bress and his ensemble stumble here, rarely
developing any real dread, infrequently even delivering the jumps their quick
cut scares attempt.
Ghosts of War makes an effort to say something meaningful.
That message is waylaid by confused second act plotting and a third act reveal
that feels far more lurid and opportunistic than it does resonant or haunting.
Bress tries to take advantage of the audience’s preconceived notions in order to subvert expectations, but he doesn’t have as much to say as he thinks.
Let’s start with this piece of obviousness: Charlize Theron
can do anything. From indie dramas to bawdy comedies to badass action, Theron
commits and convinces.
In Netflix’s The Old Guard, she plays the leader of a
small but immortal group of soldiers eluding capture while trying to train a
new member. It’s Book One in a series, and that can be a dangerous spot for a
film because that tends to mean a lot of exposition and not enough conflict.
Not here.
Greg Rucka adapts his own source material and director Gina
Prince-Bythewood makes the most of his screenplay and her cast.
She flanks Theron (spectacular, obviously) with actors who
are, first and foremost, talented actors. The fact that they make for
believable mercenaries is a really excellent bonus.
The ever versatile Matthias Schoenaerts gives the film its aching heart while KiKi Layne proves herself to be as convincing here busting heads as she was at drawing tears in If Beale Street Could Talk. Though it’s unfortunate he couldn’t have stolen a little more screen time, the great Chiwetel Ejiofor is a welcome presence, as always.
So what Prince-Bythewood does is surround Theron with other talented actors whose versatility compliments hers. This brilliant move let the filmmaker take a somewhat by-the-numbers superhero tale and tell it with a restraint that takes advantage of her cast’s flexibility and talent.
In Prince-Bythewood’s hands, The Old Guard explores the same universal themes mined in most superhero films, but she tells the tale as a taut and tactical military experience. The understatement makes the action sequences stand out, the filmmaker requesting your close examination of each bout and each battle, whether hand-to-hand, bullet-to-brain or saber-to-throat.
It pays off, delivering a thrilling action movie that doesn’t
disregard your brain. Even better, this is a movie that tugs at your emotions
without the need for swelling strings or sentiment to convince you.
That’s what happens when one formidable women pulls together a group of similarly skilled badasses.
Similar to the hybrid reality it creates, Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets is an oddly compelling cocktail. It’s like a foul odor you step back from quickly, then find perversely comforting once you’ve had time to soak in it.
And no matter how many of the film’s most effecting moments are manufactured, there’s much authenticity to be found in the smoke-filled haze of the Roaring 20’s lounge.
“This is a place you can go when nobody else don’t want your ass.”
Sitting unceremoniously at the edge of Las Vegas, the “20s” is down to its final day. Directors Bill Ross IV and Turner Ross drop us off before noon, when grizzled regular Michael (Michael Martin) is cleaning up in the bathroom and daytime bartender Mark is hanging up some cheap decorations for the farewell party.
“What kind of party is it if an Australian guy doesn’t take his pants off?”
As drinks are poured, ashtrays are emptied and daytime TV gives way to nighttime jukebox singalongs, we get to know the parade of souls that have come to call this dive bar home.
What The Florida Project was to Disney World, Bloody Nose is to Lost Wages, eschewing tourist playgrounds for the world weariness of an existence in exile, and of outsiders no longer bothering to look in.
“You think I’m better than Fireball? I’m not!”
The Turner brothers shot their exteriors outside Vegas, but couldn’t find a suitable bar for filming until they landed in a New Orleans dive. Their cameras don’t always make it out of the frame, but the film’s mood is so encompassing you hardly care. This is a storytelling experiment left to its own ends, which end up being delightfully and desperately character-driven.
“You know how much I love you?”
As the night bartender (Shay Walker) tries to keep her teen son and his friends from smoking weed and stealing beer, we’re reminded how quickly the outside world will move on, scattering these barflies without mercy.
My friend Jason recently remarked that “bars are the only enduring sacred human places,” and these 98 minutes at the Roaring 20s are full of that sacred humanity. There may have been a few strings pulled at setup, but those tears – both theirs and yours – will feel plenty real.
Many a film has used a building—a haunted house, for
instance—to represent the mental state of a character. From Shirley Jackson to
Stephen King to Daniel Kehlmann, writers have lured us into perfectly lovely structures
only to hold us inside, our ugly thoughts manifesting as danger, our madness
creating a labyrinthine, Escher-esque trap.
Such is the case for Relic, a compassionate but clear-eyed look at a different type of hereditary horror.
Edna (Robyn Nevin) has been missing for at least three days.
Her daughter Kay (Emily Mortimer) and her granddaughter Sam (Bella Heathcote)
move into Edna’s place to keep an eye out for her while local police
investigate.
And then, there she is, and it’s entirely likely she never
even left the house.
Well, that can’t be—unless there’s something seriously weird
about this house.
Co-writer/director Natalie Erika James keeps her metaphor right at the surface of the film. That keeps Relic from ever truly terrifying, honestly. There’s no simultaneous pull that something supernatural is afoot. But the sense of dread takes on a whole new tenor, and the film’s horror is honest as it hits on an emotional level.
Nevin does an admirable job with Edna, creating a fully dimensional
character, one who’s tough enough that when she becomes vulnerable, it comes as
a jolt.
Mortimer and Heathcote strike a believable love/disappointment/blame
balance and the emotional tug of war among the three women rings sadly true.
There’s not a lot of depth to this story. Relic isn’t hiding its themes—there are no subplots or red herrings, and the a-ha moments that allow Sam and Kay to piece together the mystery of Gram’s troubles feel almost perfunctory.
But James doesn’t shy away from the ugliness, guilt, anger or grief that fuel relationships tied up in this particularly painful genealogical horror. With its evocative analogy, Relic shows us what we are really afraid of, and it isn’t ghosts.
An entitled young man and his put upon girlfriend head to
his parents’ unused beach house to work some things out. They’re not alone, and
I don’t just mean the lovely older couple who’d already made plans to borrow
the vacation home.
Writer/director Jeffrey A. Brown sets up a situation that could go a lot of horrifying ways. He builds expectations and it’s up to you to wait and see which ones the film decides to indulge. The path Brown takes meshes terror and science fiction, beauty and body horror.
Noah Le Gros’s Randall is burdened with the privilege of
always being wrong, of always making a mess for others to clean up, of always
getting away with a sad-eyed apology but never, ever thinking that maybe he
shouldn’t be the one making the decisions. Le Gros does an excellent job with the
role – Randall isn’t contemptible, he’s just born this way.
Emily (Liana Liberato) is about to start work on an advanced degree in astrochemistry. Lucky thing, that—one of several conveniences The Beach House needs you to accept. But this budget-conscious indie is worth a little suspension of disbelief because, between the performances and the commitment to genre, it delivers a satisfying thrill.
Maryann Nagel provides a fine performance as Jane, the unsuspecting family friend already vacationing at Randall’s parents’ place. Her arc is terrifying because the performance is so compassionate. Likewise, genre favorite Jake Weber offers a heartbreaking turn as Jane’s beloved Mitch, a look-on-the-bright-side kind of guy who is quickly running out of sunshine.
At just about the time Brown digs in with some nasty body horror, he also starts to squander some of the good will he earned in the film’s early going. The action and anxiety of the last half of the picture rely too heavily on trope: a surprise in the basement, a conveniently placed CB, a timely announcement over an AM radio station.
But Brown and Liberato remain true to Emily’s arc, and that creates an intriguing new look at planetary evolution.
We can all agree on one thing: 2020 blows. It hasn’t been
great for movies, either, what with every major film being pushed back until at
least autumn. But, as is always the case, these challenges have created
opportunities for spunky little movies ready to come into our homes, where we
spend so very, very much time now, and help us make it through The Great Pause.
These are our favorite films of the first half of 2020.
10. Capone
You’ve seen Capone on film: films about him, films containing
him, films about gangsters reminiscent of him. A lot of these movies have been
great – some of them classic. But you have never seen Alphonse Capone the
way writer/director Josh Trank sees him.
Wisely, Trank realized Tom Hardy
would be able to translate his vision.
The film focuses on the final year of the
infamous mobster’s life—the adult diapers and dementia year. Hardy finds
the faulty humanity in this character. His depiction of Capone’s confusion is
unerringly human, and in his hands Trank’s macabre humor never feels like
mockery.
Trank’s loose narrative is less concerned with
the scheming, criss-crossing and backstabbing from underlings trying to find
the money than it is with Capone’s deterioration, and that’s what makes this
film so gloriously odd. No doubt some viewers will be disappointed—those who
tuned in to see Hardy play a badass at the top of his game. My guess is that
the reason one of the finest actors working today was drawn to Capone was the
opportunity to do something just this unexpected.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQapVC-mpHo
9. The Lodge
Several Fiala and Veronika Franz follow up
their creepy Goodnight Mommy with this “white death” horror that sees a
future stepmom having a tough time getting to know the kids during a weeklong,
snowbound cabin retreat. Riley Keough is riding an impressive run of
performances and her work here is slippery and wonderful. As the unwanted new
member in the family, she’s sympathetic but also brittle.
Jaeden Martell, a kid who has yet
to deliver a less than impressive turn, is the human heartbeat at the center of
the mystery in the cabin. His tenderness gives the film a quiet, pleading
tragedy. Whether he’s comforting his grieving little sister or begging Grace
(Keough) to come in from the snow, his performance aches and you ache with him.
There’s no denying the mounting dread the filmmakers create, and
the three central performances are uniquely effective. Thanks to the actors’
commitment and the filmmakers’ skill in atmospheric horror, the movie grips
you, makes you cold and uncomfortable, and ends with a memorable slap.
8. Why Don’t You Just Die!
Given that 75% of writer/director Kirill Sokolov’s Why Don’t You Just Die! takes place
in a single apartment—one room of that apartment, really—you might be surprised
to learn that it’s an action film.
It’s pretty heavy on the action,
actually, amplified by inspired framing, kinetic cinematography, sometimes
hilarious but always eye-popping choreography, and blood. Just a ton of blood.
With a spare script, visual wonder and energy to burn, Why Don’t You Just Die! promises
to snatch your attention like a duffle bag of cash and hang on until exactly
enough blood is spilled.
That’s a lot.
7. The True History of the Kelly Gang
Planting its flag unapologetically at the
corner of accuracy and myth, The True History of the Kelly
Gang reintroduces a legendary 1870s folk hero through
consistently bold and compelling strokes.
Director Justin Kurzel and screenwriter Shaun
Grant – the duo behind the true crime shocker The Snowtown Murders nine
years ago – go bigger this time, trading spare intimacy for a tableau of grand
visual and narrative ideas.
With a direct nod to the moment when “the myth
is more profitable than the man,” Kurzel spins an irresistible yarn that
manages to balance the worship of its hero with some condemnation for his sins.
And as the road to Kelly’s guns-blazing capture unfurls, the film incorporates
elements of both a tense crime thriller and a Nightingale-esqe
reminder of savage colonialism.
6. Capital in the 21st Century
New Zealand filmmaker Justin Pemberton has
assembled an array of scholars and historians (including Thomas Piketty, author
of the source book) for a 103-minute presentation that is so informative,
measured and concise it should earn you college credits.
There are graphs, illustrations and pop culture
snippets from film and television that Pemberton weaves throughout the lecture
material to attract the eye and boost the film’s overall entertainment value.
But make no mistake, his mission is about breaking down the 400 years of
history that explain the social and economic precipice we’re teetering on right
now.
And while some of the lessons are not new (i.e.
we need a strong middle class) the context here is so vivid and relevant many
observations may land with an echo of “eureka!” inside your head.
5. Never Rarely Sometimes Always
With her 2013 debut It Felt Like Love, Eliza
Hittman brought a refreshing honesty to the teen drama. At its core, Never Rarely Sometimes Always could be seen as
Hittman’s kindred sequel to her first feature, as two friends (Talia Ryder and
a stunning Sidney Flanagan) navigate a cold, sometimes cruel world that lies
just beyond the hopeful romanticism of first love.
NRSA shows
Hittman in full command of her blunt truth-telling, demanding we accept this
reality of women fighting to control their own bodies amid constant waves of
marginalization.
Just three films in, Hittman has established
herself as a filmmaker of few words, intimate details and searing
perspective. NRSW is a sensitive portrayal
of female friendship and courage, equal parts understated and confrontational
as it speaks truths that remain commonly ignored.
4. The Vast of Night
Opening with vintage Rod Serling welcoming us
to “Paradox Theatre,” director Andrew Patterson unveils an incredibly polished
debut, one that’s full of meticulous craftsmanship, effective pacing and
wonderfully engaging storytelling.
Peterson’s commitment to production
and sound design results in a totally immersive experience. The period details
– from costumes to recording equipment – are more than just historically
correct. Paired with the rapid-fire, comfortably lived-in dialog from
screenwriters James Montague and Craig W. Sanger, they create a throwback
setting that charms without the tell of undue effort.
Peterson also flexes confidently
behind the camera, moving from extended tracks to slow pans to quiet stills,
all in service of the film’s wondrous tone. With Sierra McCormick and Jake Horowitz
leading a stellar ensemble, what could have been a generic sci-fi time filler
becomes a smart parable with an eerie grip.
3. Swallow
Putting a relevant twist on the classic
“horrific mother” trope, writer/director Carlo Mirabella-Davis uses the rare
eating disorder pica to anchor his exploration of gender dynamics and, in
particular, control.
Where Mirabella-Davis’s talent for building tension and framing scenes drive the narrative, it’s Bennett’s performance that elevates this work. Serving as executive producer as well as star, Haley Bennett transforms over the course of the film.
When things finally burst, director and star
shake off the traditional storytelling, the Yellow Wallpaper or Awakening or even Safe.
The filmmaker’s vision and imagery come full circle with a bold conclusion
worthy of Bennett’s performance.
2. Shirley
Director Josephine Decker’s languid style
seduces you, keeps you from pulling away from her films’ underlying tensions,
darkness, sickness. She specializes in that headspace that mixes the story as
it is and the story as it’s told, which makes her a fitting guide for Susan
Scarf Merrell’s fictionalized account of this slice of Shirley Jackson’s life.
Decker manipulates the pacing,
melancholy and sensuality of her tale beautifully, drawing a stirring
performance from Young. But my god, what she gets from Elisabeth Moss and Michael
Stuhlbarg.
Moss and Stuhlbarg play Shirley
Jackson and her husband, Stanley Hyman. To witness two such remarkable talents
sparring like this, aided by a biting script that offers them ample opportunity
to wade into the sickness and dysfunction of this marriage—it’s breathtaking.
The result is dark and unseemly,
appropriately angry and gorgeously told—fitting tribute to the author.
1. Da 5 Bloods
A heist movie on the surface, Da
5 Bloods is clearly about a great deal more than making it rich. Writer/director
Spike Lee has a lot to say about how those in power tell us what we want to
hear so we will do what they want us to do.
As is always the case with Lee’s
films, even the most overtly political, deeply felt performances give the
message meaning. The entire cast is excellent, but Delroy Lindo is
transcendent.
Lindo’s never given a bad performance in his 45
years on screen. As commanding a presence as ever at 68 playing Paul, Lindo
again blends vulnerability into every action, whether funny, menacing or
melancholy. His MAGA hat-wearing, self-loathing, dangerously conflicted
character gives Lee’s themes a pulse. This may finally be the performance to
get Lindo the Oscar he’s deserved for ages.
It should surprise no one that Lee’s latest
happens to hit the exact nerve that throbs so loudly and painfully right now,
given that he’s been telling this exact story in minor variations for 30+
years.
