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The Loneliest Number
Aloners
by Rachel Willis
Writer/director Hong Sung-eun offers a contemplative portrait of solitude and loneliness in her film, Aloners.
Jina (Gong Seung-yeon) wakes up in the morning, goes to work, comes home, has dinner and goes to bed. This is her life on repeat. She eats at the same restaurant each lunch break. Her interactions with other people revolve around chit-chat with her supervisor on smoke breaks, the occasional exchange with a neighbor, and countless callers in the call center where she works.
Otherwise, Jina’s constant companion is a screen. Earbuds in, she walks, rides the bus, eats, and moves through her day connected to a screen. She even sleeps with the TV on.
Several things happen to rattle Jina’s solitary existence. She’s tasked with training a new employee in hopes of keeping the turnover rate down at her job; her father gets in touch with her regarding a lawyer’s visit; and a neighbor in her apartment building dies.
It’s Jina’s father (Park Jeong-hak) who tries hardest to connect, though her new colleague Sujin (Jeong Da-eun) also attempts to engage her. Rather than take her father’s calls, she watches him through a home video camera set up in his living room. When her colleague brings her coffee, she wordlessly accepts.
This is a slow film, but a certain sadness and apathy hangs over Jina. Gong is phenomenal at displaying the anxiety that comes with human interaction, and her expressionless face carries more weight than any dialogue. It’s hard to say what, if anything, Jing feels.
And while there isn’t much action, the film is never boring. The character study is an affecting examination on how being alone can change a person. Was Jing always like this or has she learned to shut down as a result of her isolation? Can she truly be happy on her own so much of her life?
The film takes place before the pandemic, for a post-pandemic audience Aloners is a slow, striking film that resonates deeply.
Evil in Oils
Cracked
by Rachel Willis
Haunted objects are never creepier than when they have eyes that can stare back at you – even follow you as you move around the room. Such is the premise of director Surapong Ploensang’s film, Cracked.
When her father dies, Ruja (Chayanit Chansangavej) travels from the U.S. to Thailand to sell two of his paintings, both of a woman in a red scarf with gold snakes encircling her body. Though it’s clear that Ruja is uncomfortable in her childhood home, she braves the journey to oversee the restoration of the paintings because their sale will pay for a needed eye surgery for her daughter, Rachel (Nutthatcha Padovan).
It’s a reasonable premise for horror, but Cracked never creates the right atmosphere to generate fear. The paintings at the center of the film aren’t very disturbing – although, as cracks begin to appear, they do become a little creepier. The use of snakes and their imagery result in the most success, mostly by playing on phobias. But a wrestling match with a white bed sheet is more humorous than scary. Ploensang’s attempts at jump scares are too heavy handed, and there isn’t enough tension to keep you on edge.
Most disappointing are missed chances for horror when we see through Rachel’s eyes. The camera work in these sequences is blurry, representing her deteriorating vision. Ample opportunity for creepiness, yes? Unfortunately, not in this film.
Cracked shifts between present day and flashbacks. Used more carefully, sequences of Ruja’s childhood could have added to the mystery of terror of her childhood home. Unfortunately, Ploensang flashes back too rarely in the beginning and too often at the climax.
Though supporting performances are uneven, ancillary characters add texture to the solid lead turns. In fact, the acting is the film’s strongest component. Chansangavej convinces, and Ruja’s fear might have been contagious if the surrounding elements had been more believable. And when Rachel is being terrorized, Padovan’s dread is heart wrenching.
It’s not enough, though. Within the subgenre of artwork horror or object-oriented horror, Cracked is one of the less memorable entries.
The Devil You Know
The Thief Collector
by Rachel Willis
There’s an old adage that you can never really know someone. In director Allison Otto’s documentary, The Thief Collector, she puts this at the forefront with a modest couple, Jerry and Rita Alter, from middle-of-nowhere New Mexico, who happened to be art thieves.
Or at least, that’s how it seems.
After an estate sale, three men, Rick, Dave, and Buck discover an unattractive painting placed behind a bedroom door. It isn’t until a local artist recognizes the painting that they look into it further. One Google search later, the men discover the painting in their possession is Willem de Kooning’s Woman-Ochre, stolen from the University of Arizona Museum of Art in 1985.
So, how did Jerry and Rita, two teachers, come to have this painting in their possession?
The Thief Collector wants to answer this question.
There is a lot of reliance on Jerry’s short stories to paint a picture of two people who were “thrill seekers” (also conveniently one of Jerry’s story titles). There is documented evidence that the couple lived a fascinating and exhilarating life – one full of travel and adventure in parts of the world many will never see.
However, any writer of fiction would be appalled to think after their death, their stories would be taken as fact – and as evidence of crimes. While this could be the case for Jerry, it’s all speculation.
There is more compelling evidence to implicate the Alters in the crime, but there is a lot of filler in the documentary. Readings from Jerry’s short stories serve as narration for scripted scenes – with Glenn Howerton as “Jerry” and Sarah Minnich as “Rita”. While these scenes are an over-the-top kind of enjoyable, they’re not evidence of wrongdoing, no matter how much the filmmakers might wish them to be.
By focusing on Jerry’s stories, there is a lot of reaching rather than revelation.
Where the documentary succeeds is in its blend of interviews, in footage of the Alters’ many trips, and the vast collection of art in their home. The reenactments don’t quite fit, but they’re amusing.
Of course, the film would have been better served if it tightened its focus to what is known about the theft and the Alters. The interviews with friends and family give a good back and forth on the film’s theme – that the people you’ve known many years, maybe even your whole life, may have a dark side. It’s definitely something to ponder.
Ole Ole Ole
Gringa
by Rachel Willis
When her mom dies, rather than live with her grandparents, Marge (Jess Gabor) decides to track down her long-lost dad (Steve Zahn) in Mexico in directors Marny Eng and E. J. Foerster’s film, Gringa.
It makes sense that our narrator would choose to find a dad she doesn’t know rather than live with her mother’s parents. The little we see of them shows they’re too critical, nothing like Marge’s supportive mother.
This is one of the film’s strengths – we’re able to glean a lot of information about Marge, her mother, and her grandparents during the film’s first fifteen minutes.
The other strength is the actors. Each is captivating on screen, particularly Gabor. She is a relatable, sympathetic young woman who fails to fit in. She copes with her depression by binging, her bulimia telegraphed early to help us understand this complicated young woman.
Unfortunately, Patrick Hasburgh’s script tries to be too many things at once, and none of the issues raised are given the weight they deserve. If the film had struck the right comedic balance, this could be overlooked, but because there is a seriousness to the tone, these difficult issues come across as shallow.
Alcoholism and bulimia are treated as switches a person can turn on or off at will. Marge’s problems are apparently solved by a month-long trip to Mexico with a near-perfect father. The fact that he left Marge and her mother when Marge was two is too easily forgiven, and when the climax comes, it’s predictable and uninspired.
This is also a sports movie, bringing all the tropes you would expect. Unlike her team at home in California, Marge – the gringa – quickly fits in with her soccer teammates in Mexico. They’re initial reluctance to have her on their team is quickly replaced by appreciation when she helps them win a critical game. Several montages take the place of moments that would have been better represented with honest dialogue.
Yet, the movie has its moments. Zahn is charming, as are several members of the supporting cast. Gabor is easy to root for; you want her and her dad to find their way. But the film is a patchwork of too many ideas and tones to effectively hook the audience. You might be carried along by what works, but it’s more likely you’ll disappointed by what doesn’t.
Talk to Me
The Ants & the Grasshopper
by Rachel Willis
For Anita Chitaya, climate change is devastating. Along with her community, she does what she can to minimize its impacts in Bwabwa, Malawi. However, she knows that for real change to happen, she needs to go to America – and convince those who don’t believe.
Directors Raj Patel and Zak Piper give her that opportunity and film the journey for their documentary, The Ants & the Grasshopper.
The first 20-minutes of the film shows us Anita’s world. Not only does she farm her one acre of land with her husband, Winston, she erases old notions of gender roles. She encourages men to cook and help their wives with necessary chores. Her program is successful, though there is one notable hold out who refuses to do “woman’s work.”
Upon the success of her endeavors in her hometown, she believes she can convince people in America about the reality of climate change if only she could talk to them.
The film picks up steam when Anita, along with her friend Esther, arrives in the United States. Her journey begins in the Midwest, speaking with farmers about the impacts of their practices on Bwabwa.
Though everyone who meets Anita is civil, it’s clear some don’t believe her plight at home is due to climate change. Jordan works on his family’s farm; though he says he will do what he can to help, he blatantly states he doesn’t think it’s an issue. This shocks his parents. That members of the same family have conflicting beliefs speaks to the heart of the problem in America.
It’s humbling and a little shaming to watch Anita travel across America. As she takes in the excess, she points out that we take what we have for granted. Her companion, Esther, points out that it’s not about making anyone feel guilty – “too much time is wasted on guilt.” But when Anita and her community struggle to find water for cooking and cleaning, what we take for granted is damning.
However, there is hope to be found. After Anita returns home, we find the same man who refused to do woman’s work now teaching other men how to cook. Skeptic Jordan wishes he could apologize to his Malawi friends for laughing when “maybe I should have cried.” People can change. Though the sentiment is that it’s never too late to change, the faster we wake up, the better for everyone.
Tell Me Dear
Are You Lonesome Tonight?
by Rachel Willis
A distracted driver makes a series of bad decisions one dark evening, setting the tone for director Shipei Wen’s first feature, Are You Lonesome Tonight (Re dai wang shi).
This is a film you expect to go a certain way, so when it veers off in a different direction, it’s an intriguing but not necessarily satisfying choice. The film follows a predictable pattern even though it might not be the pattern you were initially anticipating.
The movie’s two leads, Xueming (Eddie Peng) and Ma (Sylvia Chang), are what’s most appealing. Though Xueming is a bit too similar to characters we’ve seen many times before, Ma is more complicated. Because Ma has lost both a husband and a son, you might expect her to put Xueming into the role of son – and in some ways, she does, but emotionally, she keeps him at arm’s length.
We don’t spend as much time with Ma as you might want. Instead, we follow Xueming as he makes questionable decision after questionable decision. His motivations are murky, but this works to underscore the darkness of both the film and human nature. He deals with guilt and uncertainty in increasingly violent ways, making the sensitivity he shows Ma especially touching. Though she may be using him to fill certain needs, there’s no doubt there’s something that connects these two.
There’s a lack of linear cohesion to the film that is surprisingly irrelevant to the whole. That we move around in time doesn’t increase tension or even really cause confusion. It simply is, and it’s a curious choice. A scene or two is repeated. One particular scene is shown from multiple perspectives, but the choice to work it into the film in two different spots is unnecessary. It would have worked as well – perhaps better – if we saw both perspectives at the same time.
There isn’t much going on in this film. The ethical dilemmas are overlooked in favor of a paint by numbers mystery. However, as a slice of Xueming and Ma’s lives, it’s worth watching to see how they react to the events unfolding around them.
As a character drama, it’s intriguing. As a languidly paced mystery, Are You Lonesome Tonight is a little underwhelming.
Senior Pictures
Therapy Dogs
by Rachel Willis
Writer/director Ethan Eng (along with co-writer Justin Morrice) crafts a slice-of-life look at adolescence with his debut feature, Therapy Dogs. Eng and Morrice also play fictionalized versions of themselves, two friends seeking to document the truth about high school as they embark on their senior year.
Your enjoyment of Therapy Dogs will likely rest entirely on whether or not you find the antics of adolescent boys annoying. There are the things that seem typical: drinking and parties and pot. Then, perhaps, the not so typical: exploring abandoned buildings and making dumb decisions like jumping off a railroad bridge into the water (which may or may not be deep enough for such a drop).
One thing the film highlights is that boys in 2019 are very much like the boys with whom I went to school in the mid- to late-1990s. And as the 90s have come back around in fashion, if not for the presence of cell phones, I might have thought I was watching something from my own adolescence.
The film runs the gauntlet of found footage style adventuring but at times appears more adept. The naturalism will occasionally give way to something more subtle. These are the moments when it’s unclear who’s behind the camera. Is this still part of the boys’ senior film, or does it represent the presence of an omniscient narrator? Regardless, it works to help hold together the disjointed segments.
The success of the film lies in its accuracy around the portrayal of teenagers, particularly boys, as they ponder the future and wonder what lies ahead. Though the film jumps around and never seems to settle on a plot, you come to realize that there is a commentary on growing up and how baffling it is that so many boys survive such bad choices.
Teenage boys are essentially teenage boys. Though teenagers today have different pressures than those of past generations, they still make stupid decisions, crack each other up with bad jokes, tell “epic” stories, fight, and eventually – if they survive their poor decision making – grow up. Eng captures it all in a way that feels as familiar as it does unique.
There are some filmmaking choices that are just as likely to be off-putting as they are to be engaging, but there’s no denying that the movie’s realism is what makes it relevant. This is an ageless tale of youthful exuberance that brings its own distinct perspective.
Big Fish
Blueblack
by Rachel Willis
An encounter with a wild blue grouper sends 8-year-old Abby on a lifelong mission to understand, and save, the ocean ecosystem in writer/director Robert Connolly’s feature, Blueback.
We follow Abby through three stages of her life. The first – and shortest – at age 8 is precociously played by Ariel Donoghue. Teenage Abby, played by Isla Fogg, is who we spend the most time with as she reconciles her love of the ocean with her mom, Dora’s (Radha Mitchell), overt activism. A contemporary framing story follows the adult Abby (Mia Wasikowska) as a marine biologist who returns home after Dora (the older version portrayed by Elizabeth Alexander) suffers a stroke.
On paper, this seems like a lot to contend with, but Connolly handles each stage well, ping-ponging primarily from adult Abby and teenage Abby with a skillful touch. There’s never any confusion as to where we are in time, as both Fogg and Wasikowska cement us with the character (as do Mitchell and Alexander with Dora). Both depictions are so strong as to convince us that we’re watching the same woman across time.
The movie’s biggest problem is overstuffing the scenes of teenage Abby’s life, leaving too little time for both the framing story, and the fish that gives the film its name. Though Eric Bana is a fine actor, his character Macka feels extraneous. There are other characters with whom our time is better spent.
Because we spend so little time with the grouper, there’s never the sense that we’re connecting with an animal in the way other films showcase the human-animal bond. It’s possible it’s simply hard to make a girl and her fish land the same way as a boy and his dog, though I imagine those who saw My Octopus Teacher might beg to differ.
Despite the film’s tendency to take on a little too much regarding its worldbuilding, it’s still an effective exploration of family and community, and how we relate to the natural world. There are those who seek to exploit it for everything it’s worth, while others wish to preserve it for future generations.
There’s a sense that for each piece of the world we lose, more than we can ever imagine is lost along with it. Abby and Dora hope to preserve that which connects us to something bigger than ourselves. The theme is always one worth repeating, and Blueback adds a unique perspective to the mix.
In the Trenches
The First Fallen
by Rachel Willis
Writer/director Rodrigo de Oliveira shapes a not-so-subtle soldier metaphor for the first victims of the AIDS crisis in his film, The First Fallen.
The film follows biologist Suzano (Johnny Massaro), and his band of friends and family as he navigates the frontlines of a war waged within his body.
The first half of the film is less engaging than the more personal second half. Though we meet several characters over the course of the first hour or so, no one really has much depth – that comes later. Suzano has been away in Paris but has returned to his sister Muriel (Clara Choveaux) and her son Muriel (Alex Bonin) to reconnect. His friend Rose (a transcendent Renata Carvalho) has not only been turned away from the hospital where she seeks care, but they have misgendered her – the indignities of which lend the film its most powerful scene.
Most of the first act is concentrated around boisterous NYE celebrations, ringing in the year 1983. Rose performs for the celebrants at a gay club; Maura and Muriel attend a party. Suzano spends his evening alone.
There is a downheartedness that follows both Suzano and Rose, but it isn’t until the end of the first half that we get confirmation of what causes their sorrow.
A sarcoma on Suzano’s neck is our first hint that several of these characters have fallen victim to the devastating AIDS epidemic. De Oliveira doesn’t spend time catching up those who might not know the history of AIDS and its startling explosion onto the scene in the early 80s, particularly in the gay community. At the time of the film’s events, the medical world didn’t even know the cause of AIDS (HIV would be identified in May of 1983), let alone how to treat it.
Seeking to document how the disease ravages his body, Suzano isolates himself, along with Rose and another afflicted man, Humberto (Victor Camilo). This is where the film excels. We’re privy to an experience not many have witnessed, particularly at a time when fear of the unknown isolated those who suffered most. How Rose, Humberto, and Suzano deal with their illness is at times touching and other times heartbreaking. The film’s home video approach lends authenticity to the experience.
The soldier metaphor is apt. For the first victims of the AIDS epidemic, many became numbers, dehumanized to understand what plagued them. De Oliveria wants us to remember those who fell.
