Apologies for not posting in September. But between work and my attention being pulled in other directions, the motivation for blogging has been practically non existent. However, I’m glad to be back and could not think of a better film to mark my return then Asteroid City. It’s no secret round here that Rushmore is my favourite film of all time. And the notion of watching/briefly considering a new Wes Anderson film raises more then a curious eyebrow. In fact, with the release of his recent short film “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” (part of a collection of four short films that adapt Roald Dahl’s work), it seems that 2023 is the year for the acclaimed American auteur. Have you seen Asteroid City? Let me know in the comments below.
Brief Consideration
In Wes Anderson’s films, theatre plays an important part, whether initially being an extension of Max Fischer’s ego in Rushmore or the lightning rod for the childhood romance in Moonrise Kingdom. But in Asteroid City, it’s the metatextual engine that drives the film. The title location refers to a production written by a playwright, Conrad Earp (Edward Norton), which has a live broadcast presented by Bryan Cranston’s Rod Sterling-esque television host. Much like The Grand Budapest Hotel, which had an inception-styled wrapping in how it presented its narrative, City equally gets mileage out of its illusion-breaking interjections.
By showing the various ways in which the central play is conceived, Anderson is showing the humbleness of the artistic process and how people (or in this case, players) attempt to find meaning in their process. In one of the scenes where the play itself references the process, Midge Campbell (Scarlett Johansson) asks her scene partner, Augie Steinbeck (Jason Schwartzman), to use his grief when they’re running lines together. The emotional truth that emerges out of their connection is the numbness of their pain. They both attempt to soothe this with their persistently busy and ultimately fleeting occupations (actor and war photographer respectively).
While Rushmore had a positive perspective on how art can transform from being a tool of ego to a vehicle for bringing people together from vastly different walks of life, City’s ruminations on it are inherently melancholic. Anderson contends it can’t hope to repair the wounds of despair, but instead be a temporary reprieve for them. An early line from Steinbeck says this best, “Time can heal all wounds. No. Maybe it can be a Band-Aid.”
Similarly to Budapest, Asteroid City feels mournful for an era and the type of people that emerged from that point in time. Campbell’s no-nonsense and forthright actress is a homage to Hepburn as much as the inherent abusive plight of 1950s women. The attempt to create a production and help find meaning and emotional truth within that art form appeals to Anderson. The same could be said with the director’s liberal juggling of Academy ratio scenes and intricate set design, splitting the difference between stunning and schlocky that feels in keeping with the era. But in the various panning camera moves and instances of dual-like split screen shots, Anderson depicts the ceaseless toiling towards the connection that we all strive for.
I know. I know. Even by my standards, this is an embarrassing instance of turning up very late to the party. It’s genuinely been quite something to see the rousing success of Barbie in the weeks since its release. And now it’s time for me to briefly engage with side b of the Barbenheimer phenomenon. At this point, it feels more natural to ask, how many times have you seen Barbie? However, for the sake of continuity, have you seen Barbie? Let me know in the comments below.
Brief Consideration
Barbie should not work. It’s at once a sincere and plucky throwback to the grand Hollywood musicals of the 50s. It also has a sardonic post-modern voice that runs the gamut from 2001: A Space Odyssey to the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. And yet, it somehow manages to navigate the tightrope walk of cheery and biting satire with effortless ease. The 2023 film is about Stereotypical Barbie (Margot Robbie) having to travel to the real world to find the girl, who plays with her, so she can alleviate some recent stark feelings and physical symptoms. She’s joined by Beach Ken (Ryan Gosling), who wishes to impress Barbie and find affirmation.
Barbie is ablaze with ideas. Aside from using the central Barbieland as a jumping of point for a perception of the Mattel brand having a positive effect on women in the real world, it’s also concerned with the negative effects of humanity (via the creation of the patriarchy) and a dialogue between creator and creation. Part of the reason why the satire worked for me is how it uses the sunny trappings of the brand to show the genuine horror and melancholy that can come from being a Barbie and Ken respectively. Both of the central incarnations of those characters have to contend with their place outside their programmed roles. And the epiphanies and dialogue about one’s place in society kept me engaged.
Greta Gerwig’s direction is also impressive, with wide angle and long shots depicting the colourful imagination of the almost toyetic Barbieland. These instances are punctuated with a mixture of seemingly stop motion photography to make the cartoony nature of Barbie and Ken feel credible and Wes Anderson-esque. Whilst Robbie and Gosling will get the acting plaudits (with the former portraying subtle emotion with ease and the latter creating an amusing and fragile comic foil), the supporting players around the margins of the narrative impressed me the most. Kate McKinnon delivers a proper Lynchian-inspired performance that, in her various odd comedic notes, points to a self-assurance that juxtaposes with the rest of the characters that populate the idealised alternative reality of Barbieland.
And Rhea Perlman subverts her usual salty New York persona (borne out of the characters she’s played in Cheers and Matilda) to deliver a warm performance. Her character (Ruth Handler aka the inventor of the Barbie doll and co-creator of Mattel) is akin to a fading smile that still manages to move and educate. Her handful of scenes, along with near-silent moments where Barbie sees the beauty in growing old, turn the film from a corporate satire into an effort that has the weighty poignancy that defined the Toy Story and Lego movies.
Not for the first time this year, I’ve felt daunted about returning to blog. This is mostly down to feeling like I had hit my peak. However, I’ve come to realize that not every brick that you use to build a house is perfect. The same could be said for the blog posts that I put up here. In fact, it’s often funny the difference in self perception of what’s your best post versus what readers and onlookers think etc. Anyway, I could not think of a better way to return then my brief thoughts on James Gunn’s final Guardians of the Galaxy movie. Have you seen it? Or did you just catch up with it via Disney Plus. Let me know in the comments below.
Brief Consideration
With its mixture of sentimentality and irreverence, the Guardians of the Galaxy corner of the MCU has often left me at arm’s length (emotionally speaking). However, James Gunn’s third entry mostly breaks the spell for me due to its touching poignancy. The Search for Spock-inspired threequel depicts the Guardians attempting to save their fallen friend, Rocket Raccoon (performed by Sean Gunn and voiced by Bradley Cooper), by breaking into Orgocorp to retrieve the override code for his inbuilt kill switch. Their journey results in them crossing paths with Rocket’s creator, The High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji).
For better or worse, Vol 3 feels like the most uncompromised film of Gunn’s Guardians trilogy. This is mostly due to the film being earnest in exploring the elements that the writer/director has previously tiptoed around. This comes in the form of the expanded storyline for Rocket Raccoon, whose origin is shown via piecemeal flashbacks throughout. The brutal depiction and exploration of animal cruelty that calls back to H.G. Wells’s “The Island of Dr Moreau” is a raw illustration of the self-loathing that Rocket develops about his species (built upon the foundation of guilt for failing to save his friends). It also neatly juxtaposes the messy nature of the faux family unit the Guardians created with the High Evolutionary’s pursuit of forming the perfect society based on traits he can harvest from many animals.
Vol 3 is at its best when it depicts its characters gaining perspective on their plights, whether it’s an alternative universe Gamora (Zoe Saldana) acknowledging a version of herself who was happy with Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) or Mantis (Pom Klementieff) realizing how she can grow as a person (when not in service to others). These moments have an emotional weight and truth in how they illustrate how we can never truly get over our baggage, but only seek to gain perspective on them in the fullness of time, so they become easier to live with. It was a refreshing emotional maturity from Gunn’s screenplay.
Although the screenplay’s constant one-note jokes about various characters’ intelligence felt obnoxious at best and oddly reactionary at worst. The fact that Gunn (after two movies and a Holiday Special) goes to great lengths to justify the existence of characters like Drax (Dave Bautista) and Mantis ends up highlighting a problem that’s plagued his Guardians films, namely that some of the crew members end up sounding the same in their world views and senses of humour.
At this point, a Christopher Nolan film comes with enough fanfare that it’s not hyperbolic to call them event cinema. Aside from the Barbenheimer factor, which is amusing as a piece of social media marketing and counter-programming, Oppenheimer comes to audiences at the height of the writer’s and actor’s strikes. Much like Tenet was touted to hold up cinema (strangely during a pandemic), Nolan’s latest effort could very well be the last major motion picture release we see for a while. Given that there are whispers of Aquaman 2 and my beloved Dune Part 2 shifting release dates, this may be the case. But time will tell.
I stand in solidarity with the writers and actors who are on strike. They should be given fair pay for their hard work that greatly contributes to the cinematic experience that we collectively enjoy.
With that said, I’ve been greatly looking forward to Oppenheimer. This is not only from the vantage point of seeing what Nolan would do with the biopic genre, but also because my esteem for his last period film (Dunkirk) has risen considerably. With that said, have you seen Oppenheimer? Are you planning to indulge in the full Barbenheimer experience? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
By and large, biopics are a tricky genre to crack. On the one hand, there’s the impossible task of distilling the sum total of a person’s life into a commercially viable 2-hour movie. And on the other hand, you can shoot for the moon with a unique perspective that could alienate audiences and the people associated with the historical figure. With this in mind, Oppenheimer is a scintillating and harrowing historical epic.
The 2023 film is about a young physicist called Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy) who yearns for quantum physics to be on the research agenda in his native country of America. After the impossible discovery of splitting the atom (aka Nuclear Fission) and the breakout of the Second World War, Oppenheimer is tasked with overseeing the Manhattan Project. The government-funded venture seeks to create the world’s first Atomic Bomb.
Oppenheimer’s greatest trick is that it attempts to dramatise everyday concepts that we almost take for granted. When we hear phrases such as “Nuclear Bomb” or “Mutually assured destruction”, we have a pretty fixed idea of their meaning and purpose as words. However, Nolan takes them and puts them as prominent fixtures in the drama. In the instance of the first, Oppenheimer is depicted almost like a nuclear bomb that’s counting down until it explodes. The ensuing effect is someone who causes great destruction in their personal life, whether it’s the effect he has on his on/off-again lover, Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh), or an attempt to poison his professor’s apple with cyanide early in the movie.
Part of the movie does examine where Oppenheimer’s loyalties lie, not only to the ideology of Communism (through early affiliations) but also how he feels about the bomb and the implications of its use (after the defeat of the Nazis). This undiscerning depiction of the title character does create a lot of the film’s power as Oppenheimer becomes one with his creation and the effect it brings forth upon the world.
Nolan’s fusing of character and creation reminded me a lot of the depiction of Jim Garrison in Oliver Stone’s 1991 film JFK. At once, he’s a man whose crusade is patriotic and divine (expressed via the heavenly lighting throughout the film) in bringing truth to power via the state’s cover up of Kennedy’s assassination. Oppenheimer’s initial rationale for the creation of the bomb as a tool of retribution for his community and people (the Jews) is as potent as Garrison’s righteous indignation about the state covering up truth and documents that the American people are entitled to view and examine.
At the same time, much of the film’s latter stretch is devoted to fleshing out of the second concept. This comes by way of the use of black and white. Nolan has stated that the scenes in colour represent the subjectivity of the title character’s experiences whilst the use of black and white denote a more objective perspective. Part of the excitement of this section comes from the ensuing political games that Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jnr) plays with the committee that’s questioning him. The fallout of which is not only a dramatic illustration of mutually assured destruction but also Nolan’s most subtle use of time. In fact, it’s almost Rashomon esque in showing us the same situation from a different perspective and context. In its own way, it also carries the rip roaring tension of a Cold War thriller in its shifting perspectives to find out who was the instigator of the hearings that the audience is currently watching.
Between his subdued creepy presence as Dr Johnathan Crane/Scarecrow and his supporting turns in Dunkirk and Inception; Cillian Murphy has been a pivotal emotional anchor for various Christopher Nolan films. In Oppenheimer, he takes the spotlight in a commendably delicate performance. This is most apparent in moments where the character is in reflection. The blurred line between intellect and emotion warring for supremacy on Murphy’s face is what makes his central performance so effective. Downey Jnr is also excellent in his supporting performance as Strauss due to the humbleness he displays as a facilitator and defender of Oppenheimer. And Josh Harnett is a fun and pragmatic presence as Oppenheimer’s constant colleague, Ernest Lawrence.
Aside from his depiction of time, Nolan’s direction reinforces how much of a talented horror director he is. This comes from the imagery and sounds he chooses to juxtapose with Oppenheimer’s various moments. These vary from dreamlike scorching atomic imagery to the see-saw of cheers and screams when the character is addressing a room of celebrating colleagues. In the various cutaways that almost stand in for Oppenheimer’s warring mind and conscience, Nolan subverts Terrence Malick-esque imagery to horrific effect. In the same way, his long shots where characters often occupy large empty spaces carry the same uneasiness and isolation that have graced Paul Thomas Anderson films such as The Master.
Ludwig Göransson delivers a surprisingly tranquil and melodic score. The signature instrument at play is the violin, and it’s a pleasure to hear its more reflective and frantic tempos to express the title character’s mind and ambition.
Despite my problems with Oppenheimer, namely Nolan still not getting his female characters quite right (although there’s a sex scene that feels very female gaze in its approach) and a laborious middle stretch, I’ve been surprised by the film. It marks his wittiest screenplay to date, with sardonic dress-downs and black humour being frequent staples. It also addresses the paradigm of biopics with a shifting focus and juggling of genres. Above all, it’s about how history is defined by the collective as opposed to the individual. This matches how Nolan constructed his Batman movies insofar as illustrating the persona as a social construct that’s borne out of a response to a flawed society where the rich are apathetic and the public institutions are corrupt.
In the same way, Oppenheimer depicts the projections and shadows others cast on his character and creation. In turn, Nolan creates a canvas to project our thoughts on Nuclear weapons through the prism of the various players. There’s as much to say about the creation of the bomb as its subsequent uses. And in its best moments, the same could be said about Oppenheimer himself.
Perhaps more then any other week this year, typing this preamble in preparation for my review of the latest Mission: Impossible has been therapeutic. Without going into it all, some elements in my personal life have gone “all pear shaped” as some of us Brits like to say sometimes, and the result has left me feeling quite tired. But the desire to write a blog post that’s hopefully engaging and informative is one of my few constants, like seeing the sun everyday. It fundamentally keeps me going and makes me strive to do better (even if the path can seem endless and rocky). All I can say is thank you for indulging me.
So, Mission Impossible. Like with a few things, I’ve been writing about lately, this is a franchise that’s had little to no bandwidth. Aside from briefly writing positively about the last entry, Fallout, I’ve not written much about the series (if at all). But that changes today. Before we get to the jump, have you seen Mission: Impossible- Dead Reckoning Part One (try saying that 3 times)? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
Mission: Impossible is a curious action franchise. Initially, it felt like a tug of war between the auteurist vision of its celebrated directors (Brian De Palma and John Woo) and a star vehicle for its main star, Tom Cruise, whose purpose seems to be performing death-defying stunts with boyish enthusiasm. The best films in the series have been the ones that have paired a director’s stylistic flourishes and Cruise’s appeal as a movie star. In the grand scheme of the franchise, Dead Reckoning- Part One is overwrought and preposterous, but it captures enough of the indelible Neo-Hitchcockian spirit that initially defined the series.
The first in the two-parter story is about Ethan Hunt’s (Tom Cruise) search for a McGuffin that holds the key to an experimental artificial intelligence known as the “Entity.” As time goes on, the program becomes more and more sentient by being able to predict the moves of Hunt and his team. The longstanding agent crosses paths with a thief known as Grace (Hayley Atwell), who may be his ticket to succeeding in his mission.
On the page, Dead Reckoning- Part One is ambitious. At once, it’s filled with an unexplored backstory for Ethan Hunt, discussions about AI and asking a fundamental question that’s never been asked in the series, which is what it takes for someone to become an IMF agent. On the whole, one of these elements succeeds.
This comes in the introduction of Grace, who challenges Ethan as an equal and player in the overarching plot. In fact, it can be greatly argued that the film is about how she comes to accept the proverbial “Your mission, should you choose to accept it” phrase that’s defined the series. In this regard, the screenplay is excellent at laying down the tracks of circumstances and potent emotions that get someone from a place of criminality to being part of a team. Hayley Atwell is also excellent in portraying the changing emotions and loyalties of a character, who is supposed to keep audiences on their toes. Grace also acts as a piece of franchise revisionism insofar as taking Thandie Newton’s professional thief character (Neya) from Mission Impossible II, and making her a credible supporting character, as opposed to a Bondian-styled leading lady that’s tossed between two men.
It’s a shame that the rest of the screenplay proves to be a messy and uninteresting affair. Part of this comes from a tiring amount of exposition that seeks to explain everything as opposed to letting the audience feel. There was never a time in the film where the threat of the Ai made me afraid for Cruise’s Hunt or his team. Instead, it felt like a contrivance for dramatic stakes to be constantly written or rewritten at will. The concept never really felt thematically interesting either, with characters often resorting to trite discussions about control and power to create some sort of philosophical weight. This aspect is paired with a sketchily developed wrinkle to Ethan Hunt’s backstory in the form of a murderous former associate who never feels human.
It’s quite a wonder that the direction and individual set pieces provide the film with a lot of its spark. Part of the reason why the first Mission Impossible remains my favourite is De Palma’s direction that paired with Cruise to create atmospheric and emotive sequences that spoke to the character and his dangerous occupation.
Some sequences in Dead Reckoning- Part One have this same power. There’s a particularly tense sequence in a nightclub that’s blocked with precision and sharpness to make the current threat feel credible and immediate. Also, during this scene, Cruise’s Hunt becomes the embodiment of “the bomb under the table” from Alfred Hitchcock’s lesson on tension, as the audience waits with bated breath for him to explode into action. These instances of a testy, human Cruise paired with exacting direction (via close-ups and Dutch angles) make the film a treat.
By the same token, the Neo-Hitchcockean direction manifests in small throw-away moments that are subtle markers for plot points and elements that cause tension. But they also come to the fore in confined and taut dialogue sequences where characters can strike out like a cobra with the knowledge they know. Moments like this reminded me of the threat of Ethan’s world and the captivating direction of De Palma’s work.
The construction of the action set pieces is inventive too. There’s one in the middle involving Hunt and a new character called Paris (played with frenzied glee by Pom Klementieff), which has the claustrophobia and immediacy of a found footage film that’s been shot on a high-end iPhone. And a long extended sequence on a train at the tail end of the movie is excellent for its retching up of tension and sheer overwhelming escalation of the situation the characters find themselves in.
In this way, Cruise and director/co-screenwriter Christopher McQuarrie have matched the effortless imagination of the action set pieces that have graced prior Mission movies. It’s just a shame that they’re stuck between an inconsistent screenplay whose sole great idea gets lost among of flurry of an overcooked and awkwardly constructed premise. This is one of those rare instances where the film score (composed by Lorne Balfe) is close to injecting something baggy on the page, with a sense of weight (via an ominous and piercing theme comprised of violins) for the Entity.
There’s nothing quite like a wave of summer weather juxtaposed with the cool air con being blasted in a cinema screen to put a spring in one’s step. You add a horror movie to that equation, and life is just bliss. Before I go on and turn this into an eye rolling exercise into sentimental weather reporting, let’s get to the main feature. Not much to say here folks, except this will mark my first time writing about the Insidious movies. And let’s just say this fifth film in the series is an interesting way to enter the ground floor of the entire franchise.
So, with that said, have you seen Insidious: The Red Door? Are you planning to see it this weekend? Let me know in the comments below. And if you like my ramblings on horror, then you can find more at my second home, Horror Obsessive. My recent post is part of the site’s Slasher Saturdays series and is a review of the 1986 movie- Slaughter High.
In contrast to its more venerated horror cousin, The Conjuring, the Insidious films have by and large worked for me a lot more. This is mostly due to them never feeling as though they were playing dress up with their horror inspirations. Instead, they take the spine of them (mostly in the form of Poltergeist) and use them as a jumping off point for effective and intimate bump in the night affairs that ooze cinematic style. This came down to director James Wan (co-creator of the Saw franchise), who effortlessly bridged the gap between the torture porn he helped form, and the Oren Peli inspired found footage fare (courtesy of Paranormal Activity).
Even in the flawed Back to the Future Part 2 inspired sequel, I at least admired Wan and co-screenwriter Leigh Whannel’s attempt to tackle horrific subject matters such as childhood abuse (despite exposing the central problem with the series, which is overcomplicated lore dumping). For better or worse, The Red Door inherits the sins of its franchise forebears but tackles its more difficult themes with far more empathy and tact.
The latest Insidious picks up ten years after the events of Insidious: Chapter 2. The central couple, Josh Lambert (Patrick Wilson) and Renai Lambert (Rose Byrne) are now divorced, and their kids, Dalton (Ty Simpkins), Foster (Andrew Astor) and Kali (Juliana Davies), primarily live with their Mum. After taking a series of art classes, Dalton and Josh, start to experience strange happenings as their past with the supernatural starts to catch up with them.
For a lot of its running time, The Red Door plays like an inverse of the first Insidious picture, whereby the characters slowly realize their gifts and connection to the supernatural. On the surface, this would sound like a chore (given that the audience is a step ahead of the characters). However, the choice sows the seeds for some fascinating themes.
The Red Door is about many things. But one of the things it advocates is that repression is inherently a bad thing when attempting to deal with trauma. Instead, it advocates how art (quite literally in the form of Dalton’s artwork) can be helpful in bringing light to starker elements of the past. By the same token, it’s empathic to the child’s perspective when reflecting on Chapter 2. Most of the audience are aware of the plot machinations of the second film, where Josh is possessed by the infamous “Bride in Black.” However, The Red Door takes the view that because the attacker still retained the face of their father, the Lambert kids are traumatized by Josh attacking them and their mother.
This is a far cry from the more clumsy attempt at tough subject matter in Chapter 2, whereby child abuse led to the Bride in Black’s persona as a serial killer. However, The Red Door is still not entirely immune to this problem that plagued the first sequel. There’s a sub-plot involving Josh coming to terms and realizing his father is attempting to make contact with him from beyond the grave. It plays as oddly as it sounds and feels like an awkward attempt to harmonize with plot a’s theme of generational trauma brought about by the paternal figure.
There’s a plot point in the movie’s third act that attempts to deal with this aspect insofar as the supernatural started and died with the father figure. However, the movie decides to go for a softer and more sentimental ending.
What’s ironic is that Josh’s sections contain The Red Door’s most excellent instances of filmmaking. In his first directorial effort, Patrick Wilson trades in the slightly showy (in a good way) direction of James Wan for something more subdued and subtle. The standout scene is when Josh is playing a memory game involving photos of his kids that cover up some sections of a large glass window. Through the use of long shots and subtle playing with the foreground of what the audience sees in the window (after Josh lifts each photo flap), Wilson creates a suitably creepy scene that plays on the audience’s imagination.
For once, I’m having a hard time writing a preamble. What do you say after being away for some time? No doubt, the formula is as well known as the infamous YouTuber apology video. Dial of Destiny hit UK shores yesterday, so, it’s been nice to feel ahead of the curve for once. Have you had a chance to see Indy’s latest adventure? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
As the famous saying goes, “If adventure has a name, it must be Indiana Jones.” The Saturday matinee serial-inspired character has delighted moviegoers since 1981 with a relatable humanity that nostalgically calls back to a simpler time. It’s these twin qualities that the franchise’s fifth entry, Dial of Destiny attempts to grapple with. Despite being less thrilling in its adventurous aspects, Destiny feels like the most thematically rich and interesting entry in the series.
Dial of Destiny opens in 1944 when Indy (Harrison Ford) is on the hunt for a stolen artifact, known as the Lance of Longinus (aka the Holy Lance). Whilst being held prisoner by the Nazis, the famed archaeologist finds that treasure is a fake. However, he soon hears murmurs of a deadlier item by Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen). The title object was invented by Archmedius and has the potential to locate fissures in time. After rescuing his colleague, Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) and retrieving the item, the pair make it home safely. In the present day (1969 on the eve of the Moon Landing), Indy is visited by his Goddaughter, Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge) whose fascination with her father’s work will bring the aged professor out of retirement.
Much like the Force Awakens, Dial of Destiny feels like an affectionate mix tape of prior instalments. The opening prologue involving a CGI de-aged Harrison Ford as a younger incarnation of the character feels like a riff on the opening from The Last Crusade. And like that film, there’s also a central familial pairing. In that film, it was between Indy and his father, Henry Jones Sr (Sean Connery), which was a post-modern acknowledgement of the close ties the Bond and Indy franchises have had, whilst also using the relationship to depict the idea of obsession and letting go.
In Dial of Destiny, the pairing is between Indy and his goddaughter, Helena. The estranged pair is a fascinating parallel of one another, with Helena being akin to a dark mirror for what Indy could have been. She’s a morally duplicitous manifestation of Indy’s “Fortune and Glory” mantra from Temple of Doom made flesh. And she also exists as a meta-commentary on Indy’s heroic and adventurous persona.
In this way, one of the main themes of the movie is how Indy (in a sense) has been lost in his time due to personal circumstances and the weight of modern history (literally bearing down on him). And through an adventure with a sceptical person of his persona, he’s built back up as someone who feels relevant in his time again (even if it’s just through the ones he holds dear).
As a metaphor for franchise revival, this is quite interesting even if it lacks the poignancy of recent reboot efforts such as The Matrix Resurrections. In fact, director and co-screenwriter, James Mangold, has tackled this fare before with much more weight in The Wolverine (an exploration of mortality in superhero fiction) and the Unforgiven-styled curtain call for Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine (Logan).
Despite this, I at least appreciated the approach. There’s even an admirable attempt to juxtapose Indy and the antagonist, Voller. Like Indy, Voller is lost in time but wishes to correct the mistakes of his past. He also had a hand in the Moon Landing, which is the current history that Indy feels displaced by (in an existential sense). The ironies that exist in both men attempting to change history and their egos in presuming to do so were fascinating to witness. Also, Mikkelsen’s moments of humanity in the third act were quite moving.
Harrison Ford does not miss a beat in his return as the title character. His line readings still hold the same charm and bite, but sometimes carry the weariness of his plight and age. And Waller-Bridge’s mischievous and sardonic charm is a welcome addition to the franchise.
Dial of Destiny’s central problem comes from its more adventurous aspects often feeling less exhilarating than they should. This is mostly down to the sheer abundance of exposition that ruins many sequences. One early on is when Indy and Helena are having a conversation in an archive section whilst being hunted by agents. The potential Hitchcockian tension is marred by McGuffin explanation (for what feels like the 5th time). Even bonding moments where characters are shouting at one another during action sequences feel too busy to appreciate.
Fortunately, Destiny finds its footing in an impressive third act that was like watching a big-budget episode of Horrible History, with its sense of scale and imagination (courtesy of some prolonged use of long and aerial shots). Mangold’s other instances of good filmmaking are much more subtle, such as a Film noir styled reveal of a Nazi solider in the opening train action sequence or the use of close-ups in the second act encounter between Indy and Voller, which is edited and pitched as though it’s a tense and prolonged fencing match.
In the final score of his career, John Williams delivers some stunning music for Dial of Destiny. The standout is Helena’s theme that’s like a searching piece of music for a character who has often stumbled through life (via the use of strings and low piano notes). In a film, where quite a few standard tenants of the franchise fell flat, Williams’s score enlivens the movie with a sensitivity and atmospheric flair.
I’ve honestly felt daunted by seeing and reviewing this movie. With the advent of social media, the flutter of reactions to any big tentpole comic book movie seems to feel omnipresent. This occasionally makes me feel overwhelmed in contributing to the conversation (via my blog posts). But it comes with the territory. However, that aside, it’s honestly been quite something seeing the wave of positivity bestowed upon this film. In many ways, I’ve not seen anything in the genre since the likes of Toy Story 3. However, like ever, I’ve diligently side stepped any reviews (it’s part of the process). With that in mind, have you seen Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
From Joel Schumacher to Zack Synder, many directors have aspired to capture the indelible spirit of the comic book medium. However, 2018’s Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse hit the bullseye with an animation style that both evoked the form of the medium and replicated the experience of reading one. It’s as close to a living comic book as the movies have gotten, with a dizzying imagination that never took away from Miles Morale’s search for identity.
With a slight lump in my throat and the remains of wet tears running down my face, I’m amazed to say that Across the Spider-Verse is a profound piece of pop art that wrestles with the morality that has shaped comics.
Over a year after the first movie’s events, Across the Spider-Verse depicts Miles Morales (Shameik Moore) squaring with a new enemy called The Spot (Jason Schwartzman). Initially perceiving him as a minor nuisance, the vengeful super villain starts causing trouble when he realizes he can travel through the multiverse at will. This starts a chain of events that causes Miles to clash with old and new allies over the fate of his father, Jeff (Brian Tyree Henry).
On the surface, one can look at Across the Universe cynically and see the trace elements of the formula that made Spider-Verse soar. This comprises of Miles’s journey being juxtaposed with another supporting multiverse character that’s a backdrop for a colourful supporting cast that steal the show in their spirit and comedy.
However, the notes Across plucks and the themes at play instantly dull this repetitive notion. The first feature was all about Miles finding his identity amid the Spider-Man from his universe dying. It used the stylistic trappings of a comic book for the central character to have the confidence to find his voice as a four-coloured creation.
Across continues this journey by asking the question, What is your story? Initially set up in a parents/teacher meeting, the movie filters this idea through a parental lens, with Miles’s parents grappling with their frequently absent son being able to meaningful continue his ambitions outside of their care. In the film’s best moments, Across deals with this parental angst of letting your kid go with a touching poignancy. The standout scene is a speech where Miles’s mom, Rio (Lauren Vélez), says that it now falls to Miles to look after the little boy that she raised by making sure he feels loved and valued in the communities he finds himself in.
In a larger sense, this idea of Miles grappling with his story is expressed in the conflict with Miguel O’Hara (Oscar Isaac). The Mexican and Irish-based Spider-Man is the leader of the Spider-Society. They’re a group of Spider-People from various universes who are dedicated to protecting and preserving the multiverse. They do this by allowing canon-based events to happen to each respective incarnation of the Web Head. Miguel once tried to tamper with this notion by taking the place of another Spider-Man, which resulted in the death of an entire world.
He believes that Miles is an anomaly who should allow his father to die to prevent the death of his universe. The philosophical conundrum is based on the thought experiment of the Trolly Problem, whereby the value of one life versus five is questioned. It also probes the notion at the very heart of comics which is canon and the morality that underpins the concept. Is Spider-Man heroic because he let one person die versus the countless he saved? Or does his identity as a web-based hero cease to exist because he saved that one person? The conflict puts into focus the tragedy that’s underpinned the character since 1962.
On a personal level, the idea of Miles being labelled an anomaly and his existential grappling with that resonated with me on such a deep level. However, the reason as to why would be a self-indulgent exercise in trauma dumping for this post. I may perhaps get into it in another post.
Stories that have to do with the dialogue between parents and kids greatly appeal to me. And I think my adoration of Across the Spider-Verse comes from how the relationship between Miles and his parents marries up so well with the central theme. In a sense, Miles cannot fully tell his story to his parental figures because he wants to protect them. But this choice leads to behaviour that causes his parents to question if he can meaningfully carry on with the values they installed in him. From Miguel’s savage logic to Rio’s tear-inducing speech to Miles, the idea of parental figures having faith in telling your story is what underpins Across.
Elsewhere, Across the Spider-Verse has impressive visuals. From Gwen’s world that’s like a pastel-inspired episode from Life is Strange to the pencil sketched charm of Pavitr’s universe, Across’s ambitious art styles are a wonder to behold. These visuals are punctuated by live-action elements that are pulled from various movies in the Spidey canon over the years. I also appreciated how biting, Across’s humour is at times. Jokes vary from commentary on modern art to a subtle and rapid jab about cultural artefacts.
In terms of direction, I appreciated the camera moves that had a sense of propulsion to them. One good example that comes to mind is a scene when Miles is navigating a rooftop party. The looseness of the tracking shot greatly illustrates Miles’s awkwardness at attempting to convince people he’s been at the party all along.
With a mere one viewing under my belt, there’s so much more to process about Across the Spider-Verse. For example, I’m still not sure what side of the debate I’m on as to whether or not Gwen is transgender in the film. But in the spaces between the genuine moments of pauses in heated exchanges and Gwen’s drum solos, the 2023 animated sequel represents a genuine step forward for the genre. Like all the best movies, it shows what’s possible and what bothers us with great ease and delicacy. It just happens to do so through a medium that’s been maligned and undersold. And that’s not bad for something that used to be called “funny books.”
Well, it turns out the gushing about Disney Plus in my last post has aged as gracefully as melted ice cream on a sunny day. Many programs (including the recent Willow series) are due to be removed soon. The removal has been cited for cost-cutting reasons. But it ultimately paints a stark picture for the future of streaming services as the new battlefield could be your precious money versus the art that can be removed at any time. It’s sickening and sad, and needs calling out, no matter how big your platform is.
From corporate to something that at least could be artistically authentic, I’ve been eager to see Beau is Afraid for a while and so glad it has finally reached UK shores (albeit in a limited release across a scant amount of cinemas). Have you had a chance to see Ari Aster’s new movie? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
In terms of contemporary American directors, there’s no one quite like Ari Aster. His feature film debut, Hereditary, impresses with its combination of underhanded supernatural aspects and the brewing tension of its familial angst. It felt like an heir to prestige horror movies such as Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist for its dramatic elements. Despite greatly admiring the ambition and scope of Midsommar, I find it does not quite come together for me. This is due to a muddled sense of pathos, resulting in its central character’s journey feeling incongruous and silly. By comparison, Aster’s third effort is a darkly pitched and surreal comedy about parental disenchantment.
Beau is Afraid is about its title character’s (Joaquin Phoenix) mad capped journey to get home to attend the funeral of his mother, Mona (Patti LuPone). Along the way, Beau encounters a nude serial killer, an amiable couple and a travelling troupe of actors.
For a certain amount of the movie, Beau is Afraid seemed quite different from Aster’s previous endeavours. This came from it feeling like a chamber piece that ratchets up the intensity of its heightened world of ultra-violence. Typically, sequences like this would exist in prior Aster films, but they often felt like exclamation points rather than run-on sentences.
With this in mind, Beau is Afraid firmly wears its surrealism on its sleeve, with Beau’s transition from one odd situation to the next carrying a sheer black comedic spirit. In fact, part of the film is bemused by the very existence of Beau. He’s someone who seems so ill-equipped to just get by in the ever-maddening world we see, that his resilience becomes an ongoing joke in itself. In his performance as Beau, Joaquin Phoenix’s stillness struck me the most, particularly in scenes when he is stumbling upon horrific truths. Patti LuPone is a formidable screen presence as a maternal figure who mixes sweetness and incandescent rage.
As the film went along, Beau is Afraid felt thematically of a piece with Hereditary. That film was preoccupied with the deep-seated paranoia stemming from a parental figure inflicting emotional and physical harm. As Afraid unravels, it’s equally concerned with this theme. But it comes from the place of a mother who feels rejected by her son. It seems, no matter how much love Mona gives, Beau will want to keep her at arm’s length. Also, like Hereditary, there’s this sense that the maternal figure is trapped in a cycle of tragedy that she feels responsible for perpetuating. There’s lip service given at the tail end of the movie where Mona bemoans the fact that her mother never gave her any love or affection.
So, in a sense, the parental disenchantment and resentment is a pattern that keeps repeating itself, despite the best intentions that Mona has. But I also think that in broad strokes, Aster is satirical in how he paints the world around Beau. Due to how heightened, frantic and crime-ridden it is (akin to an early eighties New York City) that’s had a collision with the Purge, Aster paints a picture of underlying fervent anger that comes from parental pressure. And in a quiet scene where pills are given out like a dessert at a three-course meal, Aster feels pointed in illustrating the absurdity of pharmaceuticals in soothing the underlying troubles of the soul and psyche.
Aster’s imagery also feels a piece with his other two movies. One recurring motif is the image of a tall and imposing triangle-shaped building that feels like a forbidden place where the starkest secrets of the soul are kept. And in the film’s best-extended sequence, Beau finds himself so transfixed in an outdoor theatre production that he projects himself in it. It feels like a dreamy and surreal inverse of the miniature and dollhouse imagery that permeated Hereditary. Some of the best instances of filmmaking are contained within the section. The most striking is a close-up of a younger version of Mona telling Beau how he was conceived. The face almost takes up the entire frame as shadows of dark blue and red come in and out of focus to obscure the character’s face. It reminded me of a cross between Ingmar Bergman’s use of close-up by way of the colourfully surreal close-ups of James Stewart’s character in Vertigo.
Elsewhere, Aster’s use of tracking shots that give us a portrait of a maddening city on the brink of violent collapse stood out to me. And some of the long shots were slightly comedic due to the anticipation of Beau coming into the frame based on the situation he just got himself into.
Even as I write these words, there are no doubt parts of Beau is Afraid that have slipped me by. But I found it to be one of the most thrilling experiences at the movies this year. It kept me on my toes with its gonzo spirit. Despite its many surreal turns, it has the emotional truth of a Samuel Beckett play insofar as portraying how a human being, against all hope and logic, crashes against the waves of existential turmoil. The fact that Beau can still dream of a better life (despite his circumstances and upbringing) is both moving and absurd.
Well, I’ll be damned Disney Plus is indeed proving to be the best streaming service. Aside from its influx of Marvel and Star Wars fare, it’s also the place where indie British films get fast tracked. It’s incredible. But House of Mouse gushing aside, have you seen Rye Lane? Let me know in the comments below.
Review
I’ve seen Rye Lane twice now and no doubt further viewings will be in my future. It’s a vibrant and alive piece of indie cinema about the masks we wear to hide our true feelings and vulnerabilities. Set in and around the title location, the 2023 film is about two twenty-somethings, Dom (David Johnson) and Yas (Vivian Oparah). Initially meeting in separate bathroom stalls, the pair get to know one another over a day in which they indulge in many adventures from live rapping to breaking and entering into an ex’s flat to get a record back.
In spirit, Rye Lane has two sources of inspiration in its rearview mirror. The first is Richard Linklater and most notably the Before Series, which depicts two characters getting to know each other over the course of a day (in real-time). There’s even a lovely homage to the last line of Before Sunset, in which Yas attempts to inject a sense of adventure in Dom by getting him to skip the notion of taking the last train home. At the same time, there’s something Wes Anderson-esque about the proceedings too. The quaint American auteur is felt here in bemused expressions that punctuate the awkward British humour that permeates the film.
My favourite is when Dom finds himself at a garden party in which he’s served “Wry and Nephew” rum and is given awkward looks when one of the adults he meets plays the songs he has on shuffle on his phone. The moment reminded me of the second-hand embarrassment charm that graced The Inbetweeners.
Also, much like other Anderson films, Rye Lane tips its hat to other mediums not only as a form of social construct (via Dom and Yas meeting through mutual friends at an art exhibition) but also as an equalizer via flashback scenes. These remembrances of the past are not told in a traditional manner where we get a dramatic blow-by-blow retelling. Instead, there’s a looseness to them whereby the person being told the memory has a direct interaction with them. They struck me like these casual and real-life versions of Twitter spaces whereby different speakers interact in a meaningful way.
Sequences like these diverge from the Before films but prove to be important in showing Rye Lane’s appeal. As much as establishing the forming connections between its two characters, Rye Lane is about how the world around them morphs and snakes around them, akin to an amorphous piece of performance art that’s constantly changing. From a gag involving a shopping centre cleaner saying “Boring!” to Dom’s profession as an accountant to a cinema patron shushing Yas in Dom’s memory construct, these moments are a great highlight of the picture.
Vivian Oparah is a firecracker presence as Yas. She charms with cynical, cool and seemingly transparent line readings that give way to a confident exterior that hides a highly vulnerable interior. Meanwhile, David Johnson contrasts this with a calculated sense of emotion. It sometimes feels like Dom is in control, but is often two seconds from an emotional outburst, and Johnson plays the notes of this emotional see saw with ease and intelligence.
Rye Lane bucks the trend of traditional romance movies because they often portray the male character as someone who puts on a front or makes a mistake that leads to the second act turmoil. Lane subverts this by having Yas embody these typical male characteristics with an emotional authenticity that feels tangible. Even a montage later in the film bucks a romantic comedy troupe of how forlorn the central lovers are apart, by realistically showing them go about their lives while subtly showing the effect they had on one another (via them indulging in hobbies or aspects the other introduced to them).
And therein lies the appeal of Rye Lane. It charms with its central couple getting to know each other for a day but delights in showing how exciting the world can be when sharing it with another person.
SGS On Film 