SGS On Film

Taika Waititi’s Hunt for the Wilderpeople is a heartening film that captures life in all its wondrous, macabre and awkwardly humorous turns. The picture is a marvellous marvel comprised of small moments that capture a rare sense of authenticity. Moreover, like Waititi’s previous directorial effort- What We Do in the Shadows, the picture has a notable affection for its characters, while also showing them at their most expressive, raw and downtrodden.

Shadows employed a documentary style that relied on natural lighting, lavish set design and stock footage in reinforcing its vampire’s domestic plight. Waititi comfortably widens the scope of his filmmaking canvas for the tale of a pop culture savvy teenager and cantankerous old man’s escape from child services across the New Zealand countryside.

Despite the picture primarily being filmed with the long-standing technique of a single-camera setup, cinematographer Lachlan Milne still manages to craft shots filled with detail and a sense of place. Most of these come from the film being shot on location in the New Zealand bush. As captured on film, the long and unwinding forest is dangerous, magical and picturesque. There is one particular scene where our two central characters look engulfed by the woods, which reinforces Waititi’s wise choice not to utilise soft focus in a lot of the shots in the film.

Finally, Hunt for the Wilderpeople is engaging because its cinematic references imbue the proceedings with a humorous edge and grand weight. For example, there is an exchange at the tail end of the picture when the head child welfare worker Paula (Rachel House) and Ricky (Julian Dennison) equates herself to the Terminator and her target to Sarah Conner from the first James Cameron picture. The moment accentuates her resolve and the stakes of conflict in a wry, amusing manner.

However, the most crucial scene that is indicative of this quality is when Ricky says to Hec (played with great subtlety by Sam Neil) that he wants to be a gangster in the vein of Tony Montana from Scarface. The aged man retorts angrily about the dangerous of the forest, and how the young man could not even survive against the wild elements lest being a gangster. The moment is a beautiful microcosm of the film’s natural ability to make moments feel life-affirming, comical and genuinely touching. Hunt for the Wilderpeople is retroactively my favourite film of 2016, a truly bold film that proves Cinema is still very much alive.

The Last Jedi, which is the title for the upcoming eighth instalment in the Star Wars saga signifies a bold jolt in audience expectation for the December 2017 release. Firstly, it breaks the tradition of the title for second movies in the trilogies referring to military actions- Empire Strikes Back and Attack of the Clones. Instead, the three-word title sharpens its focus on the nearly extinct light side of the force. Grammatically, the word Jedi has been simultaneously used as plural and singular as a quote from Episode II attests “You must realise there aren’t enough Jedi to protect the Republic. We’re keepers of the peace, not soldiers.”

The opening crawl for The Force Awakens and the following dialogue from Yoda in Return of the Jedi (“Luke, when gone am I… the last of the Jedi will you be.”) clearly alludes to The Last Jedi being Luke Skywalker. The notion is a tantalising because the events proceeding Episode VII scared Luke and it will be fascinating to see the burden he carries knowing he is indeed the last of an ancient order. Or perhaps, it could allude to Rey being the Last Jedi that will be under Luke’s tutelage. Finally, the choice of red for the outline of the Star Wars wording accentuates the urgency of the title and represents an homage to the title poster for the Revenge of the Jedi (The original name for the Episode VI before it was changed to Return of the Jedi)

Director Fede Alvarez’s quasi-balletic free roaming camera and forensic tracking shots effortlessly make Don’t Breathe a finely crafted exercise in pulse-pounding tension. However, the real horror of the picture are the revelations of the film that cast retributive justice in a frightening new light. This aspect is particularly accentuated by Stephen Lang’s impressive central performance. He portrays the character with a great feebleness and vulnerability while also imbuing the blind man with a matter of fact rationality and a terrifying, unpredictable nature. The result is a grim and original portrait of female violation that had echoes of the slasher films of yore and the Josef Fritzl case in 2008.

La La Land is a charming and exemplary film that reminds the viewer of the romanticism of Hollywood’s better days as well as the virtues of the cinematic experience. The former is illustrated in a quiet moment when aspiring actress Mia Dolan (Emma Stone) is walking down a street. As she is making her way down a darkened avenue, an elegantly constructed tracking shot reveals an elaborate painting of many actors from the movies’ great past. The latter is encapsulated in a wonderful sequence in which Mia and Sebastian’s (Ryan Gosling) romance blossoms during a revival screening of Rebel Without a Cause.

These series of scenes are wonderfully directed by Damon Chazelle who juxtaposes the magic of the big screen experience with the transformative moments it can establish. He conveys this by showing the flickering light of the projector shine on the characters’ faces and having their hands meet, which culminates in a newfound intimacy.

The picture was shot in CinemaScope- resulting in an exuberant portrait of Los Angeles. The sequence that strengthens this depiction is the opening musical number called “Another Day of Sun.” It showcases an ambitious dance scene in the midst of a frustrating morning traffic jam.

However, the most astounding aspect of La La Land is in its excellent representation of Jazz. If Chazelle’s last film- Whiplash showed the blood, sweat and physical anguish in the pursuit being a Jazz drummer then La La Land is a genial advocation for the virtues of the musical genre. At the same time, the picture also typifies the inherent conflict in the improvisational staple of the iconic style.

The fundamental problem with the film comes from the imbalance of interest in the central characters’ dreams. While Chazelle provides many reasons for Mia wanting to become an actress, I never felt that they were compelling or stirring. The problem is compounded by the elusive nature of Mia’s one-woman play. The audience never gets a sense of its story, purpose or Mia’s reasoning for deciding to do it in the first place.

On the other hand, Sebastian’s dream of opening a Jazz club resonated because it comes from a deep-seated desire of artistic expression. In some early scenes, Sebastian plays a Jazz piece on the piano much to the chagrin of his boss who wants the young musician to play Christmas music. The small section of music that the character plays feels like the last dying breaths of the musical genre as it struggles to find relevance and resonance in modern times.

Interestingly, this thread is explored as Sebastian becomes a keyboardist for a Jazz band called The Messengers who are fronted by his former high school friend Keith (John Legend). Legend’s character represents the contemporary sceptic of Jazz who believes it must change to survive, as opposed to being a pristinely preserved antique attraction. Sebastian’s time in the band also introduces the question of how the practical concerns of life can be at odds with achieving one’s inmost desires.

Finally, Ryan Gosling’s performance as the pianist and Jazz aficionado is remarkable and represents his best one to date. Gosling combines his compelling silent work- exemplified in movies such as Drive and Only God Forgives along with his penchant for physical comedy- combined with an endearing, passionate and driven nature that provides Sebastian with remarkable depth. Moreover, his performance during the solo piano sections (Incidentally, Gosling plays all the piano pieces himself) called to mind the great soul bearing efforts of Ethan Hawke and Oscar Issac in Born to Be Blue and Inside Llewyn Davis respectively.

The final moments of the picture when Mia and Sebastian lock eyes across a crowded room represent the actor’s singularly striking moment in the film. He gives Mia a faint smile before sitting down and playing another song. The expression carries a touching universality because it conveys a tough exterior attempting to bury feelings of regret and sadness even in the face of achieving success. With this in mind, the film’s title and iconic idiom become a bittersweet irony- reinforcing the necessities of life taking precedence over the romanticism of dreaming.

For the much revered and venerated Martin Scorcese, Silence represents the director’s magnum opus. The film is a tremendously soul-stirring odyssey of devotion, persecution and theological struggle with Scorcese’s firm directorial hand at its most contemplative and visceral. The picture charts the journey of two Jesuit priests who travel to Japan to find their mentor and ascertain his apparent apostasy in the wake of a systematic torture of devout native Christians.

The first half of the picture shows Father Sebastião Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Father Francisco Garupe (Adam Driver) visiting two downtrodden villages- who must secretly practice their outlawed faith. In these series of scenes, Scorcese presents an excellent portrait of faux ritual. The exacting patience and minimalism of these languid sequences particularly impress.

For example, in the first village, Rodrigues and Garupe perform sermons, baptisms and confessions in a tiny hut. Consequently, Scorcese’s static camera moves imbue the sequences with a compelling intimacy. Moreover, Scorcese’s longstanding editor, Thelma Schoonmaker makes these scenes resonate through her precise cuts in the religious ceremonies. The result is a sense of majesty and heartening comfort as the awe-struck facial expressions of the villagers are regularly shown in the centre of the frame.

Another small moment that encapsulates Scorcese’s considered approach is when Rodrigues is performing Communion with a small cracker. From the object, the camera pans 180 degrees clockwise. The audience is shown the majority of the villagers and ends with Rodrigues’s earnest face. The scene emboldens Scorcese’s exploration of man’s pride overtaking his conviction and purpose.

In the third act, Rodrigues is confronted by his mentor Father Cristóvão Ferreira (played with subdued enmity by Liam Neeson) who contends that Christianity is a lost cause in Japan. Crucially, he thinks the people who espoused belief in Christianity and died for their faith, in fact, died for Rodrigues. The subtle dramatic revelation casts the first half of the film in a fascinating light. It suggests the folly of Rodrigues’ belief in the face of the heart-wrenching cruelty he has witnessed and proposes that the revelation aspect of Christianity is fundamentally undermining its benevolent intentions.

The interplay between man’s violent nature and his unwavering faith is a theme that has pervaded Scorcese’s oeuvre. In Silence, it takes on a powerful new life because faith and violence are inseparable. Unbeknownst to Rodrigues, his steadfast commitment entails cruelty towards his fellow man despite never physically harming them himself.

During the same conversation, Ferreira makes a compelling case for why Christianity will die out in the country. The most convincing point comes from Japan being an enormous swamp where people worship nature. People inherently espouse the sun rising every day as opposed to the son of God rising after the second day. Rodrigo Prieto’s Cinematography accentuates this idea with these remarkable shots of the sun bathed in twilight. In other regards, Prieto makes Japan feel like an elusive spectre with these foggy, grey shots that engulf the land.

However, it is the last shot of the film in which a black rosary is revealed to be in the midst of Prieto’s burning body that stirs the imagination. It suggests the titular Silence does not necessarily exist between God and his loyal disciple but between the faithful and his devout belief- evoking a fierce internal loyalty that never truly died.

The Lobster is one of those rare films that make you want to climb the highest mountain and express your adoration for it with a fervent joyousness. It is so audacious and masterfully crafted, even a lengthy review could not begin to expound on its unique, singular vision. The picture imagines the world in amusing terms, whereby single people turn into animals if they cannot fall in love with a member of the opposite sex. Conceptually ludicrous to be sure. However, in execution, the absurdist premise is handled with a commendable dry wit. In fact, the humour becomes a constant rhythm that reinforces the absurd dystopian world.

The matter of fact narrator (Rachel Weisz) speaks of the varied people in the contained hotel (where the dating law is enforced) in a manner akin to a perceptive author. Her words paint a picture of an awkward assortment of people, whose smallest traits become defining. One such woman has frequent nose bleeds. She finds kinship with a man, who pretends to have them, by subjecting himself to continual head knocks.

There is a particually amusing scene in which this character discusses his duplicity with a man he has befriended; he asks earnestly, “What’s worse, to die of cold and hunger in the woods, to become an animal that will be killed and eaten by some larger animal or to have a nosebleed from time to time.” The question reveals the film’s exploration of sacrifice. There is a sense that in each of the human relationships, something is at stake and fundamentally lost.

In the hotel system, happiness is sacrificed due to desperation becoming the underlying emotion that motivates the single people to find a mate. In the Loner culture, romantic relationships are sacrificed for a life of solitude. And in the final moments, the idea of sacrifice is potently presented, as a genuine act of faith and love, so that one man can show commitment to the woman he adores.

Finally, The Lobster’s droll portrait of dystopia is accentuated by the filmmaking. One sequence feels like it is channelling the frantic mad capped violence in Battle Royale because of a series of slow motion shots. A particularly striking moment depicts the multiple hotel singletons running into the woods with their guns drawn in the midst of a mildly sunny day.

In keeping with the film’s counter-intuitive premise, the unusual uses of the camera linger. For example, the grizzly opening sequence is seen through a car’s windshield screen as a static camera is employed, and the windscreen wipers remove traces of rain in real time. In the second act, there is a small moment where the camera is focusing on a meeting in the hotel manager’s office. The shot has a refracted distortion, resulting in some of the characters being bathed in a warm heavenly glow.

The directorial choices serve to emphasise the film’s disorientating view of human relationships. To an outsider, they are seemingly ordinary. However, to the perceptive observer, they prove to be far more strange, elusive and amusing.

1) Hell or High Water

Hell or High Water is a layered and textured film that harmonies deft cinematic craft, a fascinating primary thematic exploration and small incidental moments. Consequently, the movie feels authentic, humorous and sharp.

2) Knight of Cups

Knight of Cups, is a wondrously reflective film that at once is about the soul’s attempt to ascend from its earthly bounds and at the same time, a meditation on the frustration of the creative process.

3) The Witch 

Eggers has constructed an intrinsically quiet and introspective film that when watching it strikes one as intruding upon an exceptionally powerful and private prayer.

4) Arrival

8)The Nice Guys 

The Nice Guys is an amusingly made picture with a subversive and witty screenplay. It also benefits from an outstandingly impish and physical comedic performance from Ryan Gosling.

9) Kontributsiya (The Contribution) 

Kontributsiya (The Contribution) is a meticulous and sumptuous period piece, with scenes that are brimming with intensity and stirring dramatic weight.

10) The Jungle Book

The Jungle Book has fundamentally cemented my view that contemporary cinema can still excite and makes us wonder.

The great surprise of the documentary De Palma is that it serves as an insightful document for advocating that a genre filmmaker can be an auteur. The picture simply shows the famed director Brain De Palma sitting down and talking about his life, the movies he made and the various cinematic techniques that have become synonymous with his name. The last aspect particularly fascinates because of the meticulous detail and effect that the stylistic flourishes have on the audience.

Directors Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow wonderfully make this potentially troublesome issue work by allowing the footage from the discussed film to play for a considerable amount of time. Then De Palma’s follow-up commentary is played over a small section of the moving images. With this approach, the viewer can passively admire the technique in its entirety before the famed director provides context for its use.

This aspect is evident when De Palma is talking about the utilisation of split screen for the prom massacre sequence in the third act of Carrie. Initially, he shot the entire scene with the technique. Though, he later realised that is was not visually appealing due to not being suitable for action.

The documentary is at its best when De Palma’s personal recollections from his past harmonies with deft cinematic craft. In one scene, the veteran filmmaker speaks of a time in his youth when he used to take photographs of his adulterous father for his mother. While this is being told, footage from Dressed to Kill is shown, which depicts the main character taking pictures of a woman and looking at them developing in his studio.

The moment serves as a crucial touchstone moment for the director and his much-maligned portrayal of women in his films. The story can be inferred as a dichotomy that on the one hand shows women as indisputable pillars of moral virtue that command absolute loyalty and curiosities that represent temptation and sin. De Palma further defends his portrait of the fairer sex by stating that he has been indulging in staples of the genre that have existed since the beginning of the cinema.

With this in mind, one could look at the director as an legitimate Neo Hitchcockian whose fascination with women were equally murky and wholly captivating. Or perhaps the current reading is a red herring, and a crucial point that De Palma makes at the beginning of the film is fundamental in understanding the thesis of his entire oeuvre. He states that the director creates romantic illusions and in turn makes the audience fall in love with them before demonstrably dispelling them.

Rogue One is the first cinematic attempt to branch out of the episodic storytelling structure that weaved the narrative of the Skywalker lineage. It halfheartedly succeeds in presenting a bold new vision for the near forty-year movie franchise. George Lucas’ mythological heft and silent film sensibility are replaced with a stark, tense and claustrophobic picture that illustrates the severe effects of war, which is primarily demonstrated with director Gareth Edward’s free-roaming handle held camera moves. Moreover, it is also shown in the following two ways.

The first is in an excellent opening sequence that takes place on an ashen barren planet called Lah’mu, which seems stripped of all natural beauty. A young and ambitious imperial officer called Orson Krennic (Ben Mendelsohn) lands on Lah’mu to take the scientist Galen Erso (Mads Mikkelsen) and his family into custody.

The scene has echoes of Sergio Leone’s directorial style with Edwards allowing the scenery to loom large and his understanding of the drama leading up to the gunfight being the most crucial aspect that makes it exciting and meaningful. Moreover, Leone’s reliance on sound is also echoed here in two ways. The first is the Death Troopers, whose indistinct radio chatter is an unnerving reminder of the chaotic nature of war. The second is the sound of a hatch to a minuscule tunnel entrance being used as a source of salvation and later emerging tension as a young Jyn Erso (Beau Gadsdon) attempts to hide from the Empire. Finally, the scene is impressively punctuated by Michael Giacchino’s admirably composed score which was written in the short time span of a month. In the opening scene, his percussive use of drums and a fascinating array of unusual small sounds accentuates the underlying dramatic weight and tension.

The sequence predominantly illustrates that war is not a simple black and white affair with clearly defined notions of good and evil as a father’s loving act can be seen as a traumatic touchstone moment for a child that stays with them and shapes their views for the worse. The scene compounded with another one that happens in the first act serves to explore an idea that has permeated the saga which is of failed father figures. With this in mind, there is also a strong sense of atoning for past sins with a lot of the characters in Rogue One, which on the one hand represents a sense of temporary hope and on the contrary their lives in service of a utilitarian cause that is much larger than themselves.

Rogue One also showcases the brutalising effect of war by exploring the Rebel Alliance and exposes that their practices in conflict are suspect. For example, for any extreme defectors of the cause, they deem it necessary to send someone to kill them which is shown in the first act with the plot involving Jyn Erso (Felicity Jones) and Saw Gerrera. (Forest Whitaker) Ultimately, like the Jedi Council in the Prequel Trilogy, the Alliance is portrayed as a bickering and short-sighted organisation who fail to see the forest for the trees, This idea inherently echoes Lucas’ exploration of the failure of civil institutions in the face of dealing with the problems of evil in society.

In fact, the most powerful reminder of this idea comes towards the middle of the film when an X-Wing squadron is sent to kill Galen Erso. The usual triumphant showcase of the pilots preparing for flight is subverted and replaced with an acute sense of the foreboding as they fly amongst the black, rain-soaked and mountainous terrain of Eadu. In the aftermath, Jyn venomously remarks that the bombers of the squadron might as well have killed her father.

Felicity Jones performance as Erso is captivating because of how the actress effortlessly conveys the subtle change in her worldview through the course of the film. In the beginning, Jones portrays Jyn with a caged steeliness, grumbling reluctance and a relatable cynicism that encapsulates most of the people in the galaxy. Whereas, towards the end of the film, Jones imbues her character with fearlessness and an endearing sense of optimism.

Nevertheless, Rogue One becomes problematic whenever it is relying on its past. At best, the nostalgic tendencies come across as precious virtual museum exhibits that are attention seeking because they ask the audience for a relishing and adoration of technological advancement. At worst, they come across as inept choices that nearly undermine the newfound maturation of the series. The first example that presents this criticism comes from the CGI recreation of Peter Cushing as Grand Moff Tarkin. The ethical and cultural debate can be had another day. However, in the context of the film, the choice is fundamentally troublesome.

The scenes with the effect go beyond the point of evoking the Original Trilogy and moves in the direction of ghoulish recreation that seems pandering and disingenuous of the film’s vision. The picture wants to separate itself from the rest of the saga. With this premise in mind, the producers should have been bolder and recast the part as opposed to carrying out these expensive effects endeavour. Star Wars has always pushed the boundaries of film technology with its use of CGI and Digital, but this intrinsically clashes with the rigorous Guerrilla ascetic of the picture.

In the final battle when a group of X-Wing pilots take on the Empire’s forces, the moments where the new pilots state their call signs are mixed with archive footage from A New Hope and Return of the Jedi where the pilots declare their designations. The tiny moments felt head-scratchingly awful due to the nonsensical evocation of the past.

The real centrepiece of the sobering atrociousness of Rogue One comes in its final moments. The last three to five minutes of the picture infuriated me in a way that no other motion picture did this year. I sincerely detested the concluding two scenes of the film.

The first involves Darth Vader igniting his lightsaber and proceeding to kill a large group of rebel soldiers in a single contained room. The sequence felt like the producers and filmmakers were placating a deeply rooted and ravenous, insatiable adolescent bloodlust of the people who think that Darth Vader is only meaningful or impressive if he utterly destroys a considerable amount of people. Presence, restraint, tone and most importantly sense seemed to have been thrown out of the window when this scene was initially conceived. Instead, it was replaced by several variants of excited squealing and high fives.

The second depicts the Darth Star plans being handed to a character, which turns out to be Princess Leia who is brought to life with CGI which freakishly gives the illusion that Carrie Fisher has not aged a day beyond twenty-one. She proceeds to turn around and directly says to the camera that the plans represent hope. The moment ends with Leia’s ship whizzing into light speed.

The sequence is bothersome because it lessens the primary theme of the film which is disenchanted characters gaining optimism in the face of devastating bleakness and hardship. The whole point of Jyn’s character arc was that she gained some semblance of hope again in the face overwhelming odds. Having Princess Leia express what the film was about made for a terrible souring of the whole experience.

Both scenes ruin the potential ending shot of the film which showed Jyn and Cassian Andor (Diego Luna) holding hands while looking on at the destruction that the Death Star has laid in its wake as it is about to destroy the planet. That moment would have left the audience with a bittersweet feeling of the characters succeeding in their plight which came at the cost of their lives.

For all the criticism that has been levelled at George Lucas over the years, he at least understood the importance of crafting a singular shot. As the films went on, the final visual moments of his pictures never lost their cinematic potency, or encapsulation of the mythical underpinnings of the Star Wars saga, that came from an introspective nature of the scenes in question. They allowed the audience to reflect on the characters’ current emotional state and their future on a grand scale. The ending of Rogue One makes the entire film feel like it’s taking baby steps towards shedding its fanboy skin.