Nirvana’s “Something in the Way” has been on my mind a lot recently. This is not only because its lyrics have unique sense of applicability to me but also because of its haunting vocals. The same could be said of Smile 2 that’s lingered with me since seeing it earlier this year. In a year that’s had a strong sense of female identity within the horror genre, Smile 2 has stood out. And I hope my brief discussion of my favourite shot from the film does it justice. Have you seen Smile 2? What was your standout cinematic still from the 2024 sequel? Let me know in the comments below.
One Great Shot
The fixed medium shot of the audience at the end of Smile 2 really gives the viewer a lot to think about. On the one hand, it’s meta insofar as it’s referencing the audience quite directly, making us a part of the concert. It also mirrors and complements the introduction to Skye (Naomi Scott) via a fixed shot of a television where we see the pop star’s interview with Drew Barrymore. In fact, one could argue that the shot critiques reaction culture by emphasizing how it’s less about the event in question than our emotions during it.
At the same time, it caps off a theme of how Skye feels watched as an icon/recovering addict but rarely heard or genuinely seen. At pivotal moments throughout the film, Skye points out that if only people could see what her mind is like. With this in mind, the shot in question illustrates the disconnect between Skye’s reality (aka seeing the parasite) and the audience, who view the pop star in her most idealized state, whom they adore from afar.
Therefore, the ultimate meaning of the shot is a criticism of how we consume media. We view and appreciate it from a distance (be it as a television viewer or a fan at a pop concert). But we don’t stop to think about the artist or our part in their ceaseless striving for perfection. Thus, the disconnect between the artist and the audience is jarring and haunting.
Believe it or not but this early screening of The Monkey has made me quite nostalgic. Despite aspiring for Film Critic status, I don’t get the opportunity to see many movies early. But on a Sunday evening in October 2010, I stumbled into an early screening of The Social Network. And from that point on, I had caught the film reviewing bug. At the time, I aspired to write for the University newspaper and my review of the 2010 film was my way to achieve that goal. Suffice to say, I had succeeded and the rest is history (as they say).
With the indulgent story out of the way, it’s incredible just how omnipresent The Monkey has felt. At the time of Longleg’s release, the teaser trailer played in front of many of my screenings. It’s incredible how much of a counter programming it has felt to Oz Perkins’s serial killer movie. With that said, do you plan to see The Monkey when it hits cinemas this Friday? Let me know in the comments below.
Brief Consideration
Last year, Oz Perkins catapulted to the mainstream with Longlegs. It was a chilly and tense serial killer thriller with supernatural undertones and a creepily manic Nicolas Cage performance. The power of understatement and exacting filmmaking was also effective in immersing and ultimately unnerving me.
Less than a year later, Perkins returns with an adaptation of Stephen King’s short story- The Monkey. The 2025 film is about twin brothers Hal and Bill (Theo James), who have to contend with the reemergence of an antique toy monkey that causes death whenever it bangs its drum.
On the page, King’s narrative is melancholic. It uses its Monkey Paw-inspired premise as a jumping-off point to explore fatherhood, loss of innocence in childhood and generational trauma. Intuitively, it seems like an adaptation that would be ripe for a Steven Spielberg or Frank Darabont. However, Perkins uses the novella to explore how parents try to connect with their kids and cope with tragedy. The former aspect manifests in the film’s sense of humour that comes from its savage and darkly comic candid remarks.
In The Monkey, parents rarely sugarcoat the harsh reality of the world to their kids. Instead, they dryly and sometimes quite bluntly state the truth about sobering topics. The best example comes after the funeral of a babysitter, where Hal and Bill’s Mum, Lois (Tatiana Maslany) expounds upon the nature of death and the many ways it can happen to an individual. Along with a quality of awkward riffing where certain characters trip over on their sentiments, results in humour that feels distinct and fun. This sense of candidness is juxtaposed with Hal’s choice of wanting to keep away from his son and hide the truth of his family from him.
Perkins also emphasizes the sibling relationship between Hal and Bill, whereby the latter becomes so fixated with the title object that he uses it as an obsessive means to kill his brother, who he blames for their mother’s death. This stretch of the film has the best drama, tension and filmmaking. In particular, Bill’s makeshift lair raises the cursed toy to almost deity level and the set design goes a long way to conveying this quality. The same goes for a medium shot of trees that are lit by police sirens that visually embodies the movie in one image, whereby the ordinary can be slightly slanted to become uncanny.
Two posts in two days! You poor unfortunate souls! In all seriousness, I was actually on the fence about seeing this film. The MCU has become so interconnected that even if you miss one aspect (namely Falcon and Winter Soldier), you feel as though you might be missing out. Fortunately, something compelled me to throw caution to the wind and give the movie a whirl. With that said, have you seen Captain America: Brave New World? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
Out of all the MCU solo film franchises, Captain America is the most diverse. The initial trilogy boasted a period-authentic war epic, a 70s-inspired spy thriller and an Avengers 1.5 effort that pitted its various heroes against one another. This strength somewhat remains with the fourth entry- Brave New World. It attempts to harmonize comic book elements from The Incredible Hulk with the grounded paranoia storytelling that pervaded The Winter Soldier. The result is a fun and swift romp that never rises to the thematic depth of its predecessors.
Brave New World is about the newly elected president- Thaddeus Ross (Harrison Ford), who attempts to negotiate a treaty of equal trade of a freshly discovered element called adamantium. However, after facing an assassination attempt by veteran super soldier- Isaiah Bradley (Carl Lumbly), Ross imprisons Bradley. This puts him in conflict with the new Captain America- Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie), who believes that his friend is innocent and is being set up. The pair soon discover a larger conspiracy at work that has implications for the harmony of the global order.
Like many other MCU entries, Brave New World is light on its feet with a quippy sense of humour and a persistently fast pace that fills out its fleet two-hour runtime. However, this fundamentally hurts the film as it favours moment-to-moment gratification as opposed to something that’s inherently impactful or thought-provoking. I’ll admit I enjoyed some of these moments such as an extended scene where Sam and his friends humorously reflect on being invited to the White House in a limo. The same goes for a reveal of a character that’s not been seen since The Incredible Hulk. The shadowy film-noir build-up of the character along with Tim Blake Nelson’s chilling look and vocal performance combine to create an exciting new version of The Leader.
But for much of the running time, I felt the film was not interested in its central protagonist. Sure, there’s lip service given to the fact that Sam has not taken the super-solider serum. However, outside of one action sequence and a quip in the third act, it never feels as though it’s something that he grapples with. The same could be said for the film’s true north star- Ross. There’s a sense that the film wants us to question if he can truly change (given his past and new role as president). But it all feels signposted as opposed to organically seeded through the film. This is a shame as Ford’s performance is excellent, particularly in the touching moments he shares with his daughter, where his gruff exterior gives way to a flawed human being.
Julius Onah’s direction yields mixed results. There’s an inspired action sequence that in its lack of cuts builds organic tension when Sam is attacked in broad daylight without his costume and weapons. However, this is the exception rather than the rule, as many of the set pieces are edited within an inch of their life, which fundamentally disengaged me. Fortunately, Onah makes up for this in his framing whether it’s firmly held close-ups that have the majesty of a comic book splash page or a moment in the tail end, where Red Hulk slowly rises into frame as the presidential podium is captured in a medium shot. It’s a moment that hints at satire, but much like the rest of the movie, it never ceases to feel surface-level.
Well, this is one for the books. Not only do I think I’ve beaten my record of time between posts (nearly 6 weeks), but I have returned with a top-five piece. Will wonders never cease! But in all seriousness, 2025 has come in waves for me, whether it’s personal issues or things I have seemingly lost. The one-two punch of the possible closure of my favourite cinema and the loss of David Lynch has devasted me beyond belief. But in solidarity with the Prince Charles Cinema, I want to share some of my favourite memories from visiting over the years. It’s a place that’s meant a lot to me. And from filmmakers Quentin Tarantino to Robert Eggers, it’s a much-venerated venue for film buffs across the world. If you’re interested, I’ve linked the petition to save the cinema below. Please sign if you have time.
Compared to other memories on this list, this one seems quite humble. Perhaps it was the lack of people at my screening or the fact that the found footage horror effort seemed grander on the cinema’s second screen, but I remember feeling a great amount of comfort in watching this on a lazy Sunday morning. It just goes to show how much time and place can morph or even elevate a seemingly mundane movie-going experience.
4) A packed screening of The Irishman
Netflix films that have a limited-week theatrical release feel like a new form of event cinema. And The Irishman was no exception. Playing to a near sold-out crowd on their downstairs screen, The Irishman was the closest I’ve felt to a moviegoing pantomime experience. There was almost a collective union of gasps and guffaws at any instance of violence or swearing. But it never felt like the crowd was laughing at the film. Instead, their reaction was akin to the same enjoyment that you would expect from a midnight tentpole movie. And that’s frankly quite special.
3) A 35mm screening of Alien
The most quirky detail I can remember from this screening is a notice on the concession stand that warned of the slight damage to the print of Alien. As a result, the first 10 minutes had a slight pink hue that crept into the film’s lighting. But that did not dissuade me. If anything, this screening of Alien reinforced just how much a movie can be special on the big screen. At that point, the film had seeped into my soul based on how much I had watched and studied it. But for those 2 hours in the heart of London’s West End, I felt as though I was seeing the film for the very first time again (pink hue and all).
2) A 70mm screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey
At this point, it feels as though seeing 2001 on the big screen is a rite of passage for any budding film enthusiast. But to see it on 70mm was even more special. For context, this version was the unrestored version before Christopher Nolan supervised a restoration in 2018. Aside from being bawled over by Kubrick’s imagery, my prevailing memory of this screening was a person I had befriended at the screening. They had not seen it and when it came to asking their thoughts at the interval, they seemed dazed and amazed by what they had seen. The only words they could muster in this seemingly spellbound state were “so much to process.” In almost real-time, the screening was a testament to how much 2001 can beguile an entirely new set of audience, which speaks to its power as a showcase for the medium.
1) A screening of Piccadilly
I’ll try not to repeat myself since this movie has been discussed in my top five moviegoing experiences. But suffice to say, Piccadilly had opened my eyes to the sheer power of silent cinema. At that point, I had engaged with that period of film history through German Expressionist pictures. But seeing Piccadilly made me feel as though I had been viewing that period of cinema through a small keyhole. It was alive, vibrant and full of pathos. In reflecting on the screening, I think there was something also heartening in seeing a depiction of a place down the road (Piccadilly) during an earlier point in time.
In that sense, it reminds me of a quote from Babylon when the writer Elinor St. John says to fading actor, Jack Conrad- “A child born in 50 years will stumble across your image flickering on a screen and feel he knows, like…like a friend.” That speech reminds me of the immorality of film and how it can be used as a means to view a certain place in a new light, even if it was from several generations ago.
Happy New Year one and all. I hope all of you fine folks have an excellent 2025. The year has gotten of to a flying start with the release of Robert Eggers’s long awaited remake of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent movie classic- Nosferatu. I’ve been looking forward to seeing this since murmurs of it surrounded Egger’s first movie- The Witch. With that said, have you seen the late 2024/early 2025 horror film? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
There’s something altogether uncanny and chilling about the original Nosferatu (1922). Despite being over a hundred years old, it remains steadfast in its conviction of the existence of its central creature and mythology. The Werner Herzog remake remains a formative picture for me, taking the anguish of the source novel and filtering it through the central creature. It’s as much a humanist response to the silent film’s feral and animalistic portrait of the titular character as much as a poetic depiction of the cursed nature of the vampire. Robert Eggers’s long-gestating remake is an engrossing, rich and at times disturbing film that in its themes harkens back to Bram Stoker’s Dracula novel in fascinating ways.
The 2025 film depicts newly minted estate agent, Thomas Hutter (Nicolas Hoult) travelling to Transylvania to sell a house to longstanding and reclusive, Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård). Despite going with good intentions to provide for his recently wedded wife, Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp), Hutter does not realize that his journey sparks a chain of events that will test his sanity, marriage and grip on reality.
To his credit, Robert Eggers has excelled with a commitment to period accuracy within the films that he makes. In the case of Nosferatu, it proves to be a boon as it allows the Victorian era’s portrait of repression and gender portrayals to bubble to the surface. In the case of the first, this manifests in Ellen. In her younger years, she reached out for a companion to soothe her loneliness. What she found was that Orlok had latched himself onto her soul as he desired a singular union that allowed him to feed on her misery. With her marriage to Hutter, Ellen thought she could keep this shadow relationship at bay.
However, Hutter’s journey to the Count is a planned ritual that will sever Ellen’s and Thomas’s union and marriage. The metaphor of Orlok being a manifestation of Ellen’s repressed sexual desires and source of depression feels in keeping with Dracula in Bram Stoker’s novel due to the creature being a representation of our animalistic desire that we try to counter with science, rationality and Victorian respectability.
Ellen’s vivid outbursts and depression also fuel the gender drama that typifies the film’s soul. Whether its Thomas’s initial rejection of Ellen’s protests about his journey or the female lead’s confrontation with Thomas’s rich friend- Friedrich Harding (Aaron Taylor Johnson), Nosferatu’s true horror comes from how some of the seemingly socially respected men can be monstrous in their dismissal of the women in their lives. In this way, Egger’s period accuracy really soared for me in a way that’s had mixed results in his previous films due to how it comes from an emotionally true place. There were moments during the film where I was moved to tears by Ellen’s accounts of her torment, which resulted in the people who were meant to keep her safe would cast her out instead.
Aside from displaying impressive physicality in her various contortions and facial expressions, Lily-Rose Depp’s authentic portrait of shame, desire and anguish was riveting to watch. Bill Skarsgård is terrifyingly transformative in a portrayal of Orlok that is at once noble and deeply evil. In particular, his voice for the Count is impressive in its sense of sounding like an ancient king. And Willem Dafoe is surprisingly heartfelt and compassionate in his performance as a socially cast out professor who proves to be Ellen’s greatest ally.
Eggers pairs his astute screenplay and themes with a haunting direction that still lingers with me now- whether it’s operatic close-ups where characters express forbidden truths or a dreamlike sequence involving a shadow of Orlok’s hand engulfing the entire central village. Eggers understands the cadence of nightmares in ways few modern directors do. He does this by depicting the sense of randomness from stumbling upon ordinary objects/places and how they can be prophetic in speaking truths to our fears and concerns. Take an early scene where Thomas comes across a coach in the snow. At once, it’s a source of relief as it relives the tail end of his journey. But it also represents how he’s being led down the garden path to torment and pain.
These moments are complimented by Robin Caroline’s serpentine-esque score that gives sub-consciousness voice to its central elements, such as the use of a music box to portray Ellen’s story with fairy tale-esque innocence or brass to grandly proclaim its central antagonist with hypnotic precision.
As it stands, Robert Eggers’ version of Nosferatu really engaged me. While it lacks some of the qualities that makes Herzog’s version so indelible (such as a beguiling portrait of nature and deadpan sense of humour), it’s the most dramatic version of the story. It plays to its period setting with commendable weight as opposed to using it as an ironic and anachronistic means to remake one of horror cinema’s most sublime creations.
I often start my preambles with an off-beat quote from a film. The only one that springs to mind is from Batman Forever when Two-Face says- “No more riddles, no more curtains one and two- just plain curtains.” In the sprit of that line, no preamble this time, just a run of the mill post. This personal post has long been on my mind. It only seems fair to once in a while directly talk to you all, particularly this year, as the blog has been doing well in terms of views etc.
The best place to start is an admission. I have not seen many new films this year, so my reflection on the media I’ve consumed will include video games and perhaps a TV show or two. I know I have to do better, but since 2023, I’ve been trying to chase external gigs (pieces for magazines/websites) that exist outside of the blog. For a time, that made me happy. But I realised in the long run, it was unhealthy and ultimately unhelpful. For one, while I was pushing myself with ambitious pieces that got me out of my comfort zone, this was starting to become a sole metric for success to such a degree that when opportunities ceased or were not picked up, I got a major source of the blues and harshly judged my self-worth.
I’ve always been tough on myself when it comes to writing. I don’t post reviews or brief considerations unless I know I have something to say. I always want any reader of my work to feel as though that piece (however long or short) is considered. I can’t play the casual or concise Letterboxd game whereby the sum total of my consideration of a movie is a snappy one-liner or an arbitrary ranking. That’s a poker game that I leave for better people to indulge in. As a result, it’s been easier to talk myself out of seeing something because I feel a total lack of ignorance. Gladiator II is a good example of this. I’ve kept thinking I have to revisit Ridley Scott’s period pieces as though the new movie is a referendum on them. I know I will have a unique perspective on that film (solely based on my dislike of the original) but I still insist on dragging my feet on seeing it. Perhaps that will change some day soon before it exits UK cinemas.
With this in mind, I’m reminded of a famous quote from the Dune novel. It’s stated by Jamis (Babs Olusanmokun) in Dune: Part One (2021) “The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.” In writing this post, I hope to formally unshackle myself from this doom and gloom cycle of trying to solve where my work went wrong. Sometimes doing something on a whim via indulging in a new experience or piece of media without all the blinders is one of the keys to enjoying life. I can attest to this as some of the times I’ve felt happiest this year are the experiences I have seemingly done on impulse. With that said, let’s get to some of the media that’s spoken to me. I apologize if any sound like I’m repeating myself from written reviews in the past year. Films such as Poor Things and Challengers are notable omissions, but have been covered in other blog posts, if you’re curious.
To no one’s surprise, Dune Part Two is my favourite film of the year. Aside from being an effective and excellently pitched tragedy that adapts Frank Herbert’s seminal novel in unique ways, it also spoke to me in the following way. In the first film, I felt the emotional truth in Paul (Timothée Chalamet) being pulled in so many directions. But once he crosses the Rubicon in Part Two (via consuming The Water of Life and travelling to the South), his perceptions of events become seemingly eternal. His new and different perspectives echoed my internal thoughts about how I feel about my writing. These thoughts have been akin to a constant buzzing of ideas and not quite seeing the forest for the trees for them. By the same token, this feeling of not quite seeing the path forward is given literal weight in Bloober Team’s remake of Silent Hill 2.
I have to preface that I’ve only completed over 60% of the game. Despite this, I’ve found James Sutherland’s persistent search for his wife through the murky and fog-filled town of Silent Hill to be a great metaphor for where I am in life. It’s the acknowledgement of a vague path forward and attempting to follow it despite all reasons to the contrary. Plus, the PS5 title has reinforced for me the power of motion capture/voice acting in video games. The scene with James (Luke Roberts) and Maria in the Paradise Club is powerful in all its subtle notes, particularly when Maria offers James a drink. The way he looks at the partially filled glass and the gauntlet of emotions that he portrays struck a cord with me. Plus the scene’s track- “Lament of Heaven’s Night” (composed by Akira Yamaoka) is notable for its mixture of eerie and erotic tones. So far, the Silent Hill 2 remake is a game that does not feel entrenched in a sub-genre or any horror tradition but instead is a wholly unique creation.
Despite this, horror cinema has been a formidable force in 2024. Two films that rise to the top of the pile are Late Night with the Devil and The Substance. The former is a rich and engrossing depiction of a television’s host descent into hell (via his ambition to keep pushing the envelope for career resurgence). The latter is a lingering body horror film that at once harkens back to the Brian Yuzna body horror of the 80s and David Cronenberg films such as The Fly and Videodrome. In fact, the 1986 film is referenced in a subtle moment where the main character- Elisabeth (Demi Moore) notices a fly buzzing around her boss- Harvey (Dennis Quaid). There’s a quiet intensity to the film that goes a long way in portraying how we see ourselves as we age. This quality is juxtaposed with intrusive fish-eye lensed shots that showcase the horror of objectification in vivid ways. But the filmmaking moments that have stuck with me illustrate beauty standards in almost puckish Terry Gilliam-esque ways. There’s something absurd and alarming at the lengths Sue (Margaret Qualley) goes to preserve herself that reminded me of Jim Broadbent’s plastic surgeon scenes in Gilliam’s 1985 Brazil.
My biggest two surprises of the year come from a pair of films that mirror each other in interesting ways. The first is Joker: Folie à Deux. This film perhaps shocked me the most due to how it compliments and speaks to the first film. In some ways, it’s more fascinating with a meta edge that’s appealing and musical sequences that remove the spectacle of vintage musicals to instead focus on the expressed heartfelt emotions. In revisiting moments from the film, I’m struck by how there’s an arc to Arthur’s delusion in both films. He goes from someone who fantasizes about being on the Murray Franklin Show to someone who is upstaged and killed on his fantasy show when he ultimately tries to take charge of it. It just goes to show that the Joker persona that society has imprinted on him is not a source of salvation. He was always just Arthur, someone who dreamed of being famous and seen. But was discarded at every turn (even by audiences at large based on the public backlash to the film etc). My only problem with the film is the ending. It’s one note in nature. I would prefer if Lee (Lady Gaga) killed Arthur and took on the Joker persona (as Harley Quinn). In turn, this would suggest a cycle, that it does not matter if you are rich or poor, social disenchantment can be like a virus that spreads and causes people to go insane and elevate themselves in heightened ways (albeit in this version of reality etc).
The other film that I allude to in the last paragraph is All of Us Strangers. It’s a ghostly romance film that speaks to the generational disconnect between societal standards (encapsulated as the British stiff upper lip) that results in a cathectic illustration of how writing can be a means for preserving the best version of our loved ones. Like Joker 2, it has an unreliable narrator (for most of the film) and its tragedy comes from how the main character may or may not have been able to find the love and acceptance he was trying to portray throughout the story. It’s also a good illustration of how the UK indie scene is alive and well.
Now onto some mixed bags. It’s funny how the films that I was sure were going to deliver ended up being quite comce com ca efforts. Despite having some excellent filmmaking and myth-making, Furiosa felt like a hodgepodge that went in too many directions and was too ambitious for its own good. This is one of those few times where I thought that it would have worked better as an animated series or anime that had separate episodes to flesh out its various ideas. Likewise, Alien Romulus (despite working a lot more for me on a second viewing) undermines itself by attempting to harmonize franchise elements that fundamentally remove any teeth out of the subtext it could have had. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice may have been a mess on first viewing, but I’m glad it mostly works due to actually having an emotional perspective and satirical eye.
The film that let me down this year was Rebel Moon- Part Two: The Scargiver. I liked the first film as a piece of science fiction world-building that had a compelling central performance from Sofia Boutella. But that goodwill was gone with the second film. It’s exhausting, impersonal and lacks the wonder I experienced with the first film.
Finally, I’ll briefly touch upon some of the TV I caught this year. I got into The Boys and was surprised by its satire and sense of play with the superhero dynamics. I also think there’s a compelling essay about the parallels between Billy Butcher (Karl Urban) and Homelander (Antony Starr) insofar as the abuse they suffer at the hands of society and parental figures. Rings of Power got better for me with a compelling update on its central premise via Annatar’s (Charlie Vickers) and Celebrimbor’s (Charles Edwards) relationship as well as the Adar material. I may comment on House of the Dragon Season 2 and Dune: Prophecy at a later date (due to not fully finishing them yet).
This was an unorthodox way to discuss some of my top films of the year, but I felt compelled to write more and be more reflexive on the themes in media that appealed to me in 2024. Thank you for reading. I wish you all a very happy festive period. I may post something before the New Year.
The path to returning this time around has been noticeably harder. Something perhaps has changed. But that’s a topic and indeed a preamble for another time. For now, my return to blogging could not have been better timed. Luca Guadagnino’s new film- Queer hits UK cinemas soon and casting for his remake of American Psycho has been announced. As a result, I thought it would be timely to catch up with the Italian director’s previous 2024 effort- Challengers. But rather then a One Great Shot, I wanted something a bit more on the bones in terms of covering the film. With that said, have you seen Challengers? Let me know in the comments below.
Brief Consideration
Luca Guadagnino makes sensual pictures, whether it’s the sumptuous European delights of A Bigger Splash or the underhanded sexual tension in his Suspiria remake. The same can be said of his romantic Tennis drama- Challengers, which depicts the brewing tension between two ranked Tennis players- Art Donaldson (Mike Faist) and Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor) over former player turned coach- Tashi (Zendaya). When they were younger, the pair were besotted with the upcoming Tennis star. Whilst Zweig initially dated the young woman, Donaldson went on to marry her. The backdrop of the film is a tense Tennis match between Donaldson and Zweig, who attempt to work out their differences on the court.
Aside from oozing a captivating portrait of sensuality from the trios’ initial twists, the film’s appeal comes from how the game of Tennis has come to define the identities of each of the players. In this way, the sport becomes an extension of each of the characters as opposed to a means to an end. In fact, Guadagnino uses the sport to excellent effect in the filmmaking.
Various strokes serve (pun intended) to illustrate the passage of time as they are used as transitions to the past or future. And handheld camera moves are used to immerse the viewer in the sheer sweat-inducing desperation of its combatants. But the moments in Challengers that moved me were off the court. The sobering reflection on life during the dead of night or coy gestures that only long-standing friendships can yield. These moments are punctuated by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s propulsive and eclectic score that adds intriguing real-world sounds (such as a phone alarm) to its audible canvas.
Much like previous Tennis-based pictures (particularly Match Point), Challengers is less about the game itself than a representation of a state of mind and ambition that its central sport can foster.
For the curious, here’s a little peak behind the curtain. Typically, these days, I don’t write my preambles first. This is due to wanting to get to the review sharpish. But also, I do think the preambles should be off the cuff etc. So, what to say about Joker 2. Well, the first was one of the few films I’ve written about twice for the blog. And despite my great scepticism about a sequel, the casting of Lady Gaga as a reinterpreted Harley Quinn made me raise a curious eyebrow. So, with that said, have you seen Joker: Folie à Deux? If so, what did you think of it? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
During my last viewing of Joker, it struck me as a have your cake and eat it too kind of picture. By this, I mean that it’s delicately able to explore potent topics such as mental anguish, upper-class apathy and societal indifference whilst still having a villainous perspective. It felt like a self-created origin story for the Joker and his greatest arch-nemesis by the character himself, who was framing his story in the form of a twisted joke that appears like a tragedy to audiences. It’s because of this tight-wire act that a sequel seemed unnecessary. However, much to my surprise, Folie à Deux is an engaging sequel that contends with the labels we’re given by people and society at large.
The sequel occurs two years after the original and depicts a downtrodden Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) who lies rotting in Arkham Asylum. His demeanour changes when he meets a woman in musical therapy called Lee (Lady Gaga), who tries to convince Fleck of the virtues of the Joker persona. Their meetings are played amid the backdrop of a court case against Arthur for the crimes he committed in the first film.
If Joker was the dreamlike depiction of someone who finally becomes seen for the first time in their life, then Folie à Deux is the sobering prick of that fantastical balloon. By its very nature, the sequel destroys the ambiguity of the first film. But it’s not all for nought. Taking out the ending and flourishes that homage aspects of the Batman mythos, Arthur Fleck did not have much to say about his Joker persona in the first film. Instead, the omnipresent media attempts to paint the Joker persona in political terms. That fundamental conversation continues in Joker 2, whereby people and society at large project onto Arthur what he is versus the self-perception he has of himself.
In fact, the examination of the Joker persona turns into an amorphous social construct that people wield for their own ends. In a post-social media world, where some people stan celebrities and serious political discourse gets turned into a circus, the courtroom scenes being an inch away from farcical felt refreshing in their satire of something serious becoming entertainment.
At the same time, the fantasy aspect of the original gets retained uniquely. This comes in the form of the musical sequences that act as illustrations of how Arthur is dealing with his evolving relationship with Lee and the Joker persona. There’s something raw and palpable about these sequences that play like heartfelt karaoke on a grand stage. The highlight is “The Joker” in which Arthur vents his frustration and anger with the court proceedings in full Joker costume. It compares favourably with the trippy dance sequence at the tail end of the first film.
Todd Philips is also quite sly in his filmmaking in this sequence. The opening of the song that depicts the Joker in a spotlight evokes the famous live album cover for Johnny Cash’s “At San Quentin” (minus a guitar). This aspect coupled with the casting of Steve Coogan and Arthur Fleck literally saying “stop singing” in the third act makes Folie à Deux feel much more mischievously meta than the original.
The sequel is much more insular due to its central location of Arkham and use of a 16mm academy ratio that makes us feel boxed in with Arthur. But when it does open up, it subverts moments from the first film. The triumphant and meme-worthy Joker open stair dance is replaced by a suffocating use of close-ups as Arthur deals with the end of a relationship (at the same spot). And a chase scene in the middle of the city feels like a terrifying inversion of the opening scene from the original as tension mounts with the use of long shots.
Despite matching the physicality of his Oscar-winning performance in the first picture (via the dance choreography), Joaquin Phoenix’s stark stillness in the early parts of the film captivated me the most. But Lady Gaga steals the show in a grounded interpretation of Harley Quinn, whose vocal work is equal parts charming and dangerous. I would have liked more internal life from this new version of Quinn but her character has the same function as Arthur in the original, which is a conduit for the fantasy and delusion.
Overall, I was enthralled by Joker: Folie à Deux. Its themes and satire appealed to me. But also its musical sequences charmed me. I felt the desperation in Arthur’s last song and my heart beat like a drum before the climatic final event. It’s a bold sequel that asks us to step away from the fantasy and embrace the cold light of day of who we idolize and how we consume media.
Despite being in my top five comfort movies, the original Beetlejuice is actually quite a formative picture for me. Aside from being my introduction to Tim Burton, it also showed me how broad and satirical films can be (along with A Clockwork Orange and the original Dawn of the Dead). With that said, I’ve been equally hesitant and curious about a sequel. Have you seen Beetlejuice Beetlejuice? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
At this point, making a sequel to Beetlejuice would be as absurd as making a follow-up to Young Frankenstein. Sure, you could. But what would you have to say? Tim Burton’s sophomore effort left it on the field with a pointed satire that had the indifference of yuppie culture in its crosshairs. This quality came from moments that juxtaposed attempted hauntings with the complete lack of acknowledgement from its buffoonish rich characters. Instead, they’d react with a single-minded focus on a current trend or observation about decor. Despite being overindulgent and messy in places, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice plays like a fun carnival of surreal antics with occasional shots fired at new-age narcissism.
Burton’s 2024 sequel depicts the coming together of three generations of Deetz. There’s Delia (Catherine O’Hara), who recently lost her husband, her grown-up stepdaughter- Lydia (Winona Ryder) and her daughter- Astrid (Jenna Ortega). Through a recent tragedy, they attempt to navigate and heal their differences with occasional interjections from the undead and titular bio-exorcist- Beetlejuice (Michael Keaton).
Despite being years apart, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice has not lost its wild potency. This comes courtesy of Burton’s direction that’s composed and exciting. Long atmospheric tracking shots that depict an evocative and oppressive autumn combine with boom shots that effortlessly convey the blurred line between the living and the dead. At the same time, there’s also a commitment to the homemade practicality that made the original so charming in its almost Ed Wood esque quaintness (via looming tilting shots). These are punctuated by a claymation sequence and a black-and-white backstory scene that uniquely broadens the cinematic canvas of the first film.
The only bum note in newer elements is the depiction of the “Soul Train.” While it demonstrably wears its influence on its sleeve as much as the Gilliam and Dune-fueled aspects of the afterlife in the original movie, it often comes across as too stereotypical and so obvious a choice that it becomes eye-rolling.
The screenplay by Alfred Gough and Miles Miller attempts to update the themes that permeated the original film by sending up contemporary trends and how they fuel male narcissism. This comes from Lydia’s love interest- Rory (Justin Theroux), who turns empathetic bonding into a form of control and narcissism (such as proposing to Lydia on the day of her father’s funeral). Likewise, an undead detective- Wolf Jackson (Willem Dafoe) makes his public service duty an extension of his living occupation as a stunt actor, complete with a catchphrase- “Make it real.” His character also feels the closest the film comes to being post-modern as his persistent line about being real is a recognition of Burton’s approach to the sequel. For better or worse, the screenplay does contain problems that plague certain Burton movies. Often plot points feel like they’re been chased around or clumsily laid down. Some elements are set up but never fully dealt with, and some sequences are indulgent in their weirdness (such as a second musical sequence that goes from being funny to annoying).
It’s also ironic that Beetlejuice Beetlejuice plays into the new age narcissism that it rakes over the coal via characters and scenes that have this look-at-me energy in attempting to appear meme-worthy. Some of the scenes featuring the titular character’s wife- Delores (Monica Bellucci) have this quality along with an end credit tribute to the character of Bob.
However, just like the strife between the three Deetz women, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice finds synergy and understanding in its satirical and emotional flourishes, which is ultimately why the picture worked for me.
In stark contrast to my last post, which seemed like a never-ending preamble, this one is going to be short and sweet. Suffice it to say, despite the many problems with the industry, there’s something warm and reassuring about the latest Alien film being deemed worthy enough for a theatrical release. So, with that said, have you seen Alien Romulus? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
On the surface, the Alien franchise could be interpreted as an assortment of disparate styles and genres. However, this has always been the series’ greatest strength. Each film has felt like a unique auteurist vision without regard for franchise management. Even the flawed but occasionally impressive Ridley Scott helmed prequels seemed to be in conversation with the ideas that have fueled science fiction films such as 2001 and Blade Runner. With this in mind, it comes as something of a surprise that Alien Romulus flies in the face of this central virtue of the series. It’s the most self-conscious Alien film, but also one of its most thrilling, playing like a breathless horror rollercoaster that doesn’t let up in its intensity.
Set between the events of Alien and Aliens, Romulus is about a surrogate sibling pairing, Raine (Cailee Spaeny) and Android Andy (David Jonsson), who agree to help out on a mission to an abandoned spacecraft. Within it, they hope to find more fuel, so that they can put themselves into cryosleep to escape to the nearest planet (which is years away).
During many instances of Alien Romulus, I was reminded of the following quote from Gene Siskel about David Lynch’s direction for Blue Velvet- affirming that he is “playing the audience like a piano.” To his credit, director Fede Álvarez played me like a piano throughout the film’s two-hour run time. This is courtesy of some solid and tense set pieces. There’s a particularly taut sequence involving three characters who quietly make their way through a room of Facehuggers. Through minimal lighting and sound, I was enraptured and waiting with bated breath to see how the sequence would play out.
In this way, Álvarez draws upon the exact and patient filmmaking that defined his thriller- Don’t Breathe, which made the audience acutely aware of every minuscule sound and utterance. Likewise, Álvarez does the same in Romulus by playfully delivering common sound effects of the franchise as though they’re jump scares. But the filmmaking moments that stuck with me were the subtle and simple ones, whether it’s firmly held insert shots of two characters holding hands or a medium shot depicting a wordless face-to-face bonding moment in the third act. These intimate scenes are enhanced by Benjamin Wallfisch’s majestic score which captures an ethereal beauty in its use of strings that paint a picture of longing.
Cailee Spaney delivers a compelling central performance that walks a tight wire act between being tough and empathetic. But David Jonsson stole the show for me as Andy. In a franchise that’s been preoccupied with its android characters, Jonsson brings a touching sense of fragility and warmth to Andy, which juxtaposes with his cold and calculated demeanour in the film’s second half.
Despite these commendable aspects, Romulus does fall in considerable ways. It’s the sole film in the series that’s acutely aware that it’s an Alien film. Consequently, many lines and situations from previous films are quoted verbatim. It also feels the need to indulge in franchise management by appealing to the mythology laid down by Ridley Scott’s prequels. So, there’s this distracting tug-of-war between two aspects of the franchise that did not require reconciliation. But beyond this franchise homaging, I don’t feel the film adds much to the series. The original was transgressive in its psycho-sexual imagery and subversion of birth by depicting a perverse form of it in a male. In Romulus, the variation on this depicts a similar thing except it plays in front of a woman who is going to give birth.
There’s a twisted irony in this, but it’s not very potent or subtextually engaging. In fact, with instances like this, the film is playing catch up with recent body horror pictures such as The First Omen and Immaculate that played on the idea of perverse births and women’s bodily autonomy with much more meaning and inferred power.
For better or worse, Alien Romulus is in conversation with the franchise. In its direction and some aspects of its screenplay, it takes the pacing, casual dialogue and direction that made the 1979 film, so indelible. However, it’s marred by a persistent sense of reverence for its past. Even a go-for-broke third act and some stunning cinematography (via unique uses of lighting) can’t hope to contain the film’s fundamental issue. It’s the Alien film with the least to say.
SGS On Film 