CinemaPath
Review Archive
A rotating catalog of reviews from recent years
Chocolat (1988)
Directed by Claire Denis
Rating 7.2/10
Claire Denis’ directorial debut successfully tackles the complex topics of sexual fetishism and racism in a nuanced tale of childhood life in colonial Africa.
Set in a French colony in west Africa, “Chocolat” takes a unique look into a chapter of the life of a young girl’s childhood where the lines of racism and sexual desire are explored. The film opens, focusing on a young woman named France, who befriends an African American man and his son whom she hitches a ride to a nearby bus stop. At this point in the story, one could suspect a love story playing out, but this is subverted as during the ride, We drift away along with France to her childhood memory of growing up in West Africa.
As a child, France witnesses her house servant Protee, an African man, develop a close relationship with her mother, Aimee. At the same time, her father works as a colonial administrator in West Africa. The relationship between Aimee and Protee is the basis of the story and embodies the significant theme of Denis’ film, exploring the boundaries of race in an overtly racist world. As we learn more about Aimee, she starts as a caring mother, but slowly we see her unravel her true colors and hypocritical ways. She is comforting and nonconfrontational towards her servants when other white people are around. Still, once alone with her staff, she verbally harasses the staff and manipulates Protee up to the climax of this film. As Aimee and Protee grow closer, a white drifter named Luc passes through and asks for shelter at Aimee’s residence. Luc serves as the traditional racist villain we’ve seen time and time again. He attempts to instigate and provoke Proteee with his racist remarks, eventually to the point where he speaks volumes in a climax that makes barely a sound as he wrestles Protee in the quiet African desert. Protee overpowers Luc, which immediately sets in motion the most critical moment of the film. As Protee walks away from a defeated Luc, Aimee makes a sexual advance towards him for the first time, which Protee refuses as the night ends.
This moment of sexual fetishization is handled as delicately as possible, and Aimee’s true colors come to form as she paints herself in the villain role. The title of the film “Chocolat” (slang for being cheated) is as fitting as possible for Protee as only after his dominance over a white man is he worthy of her affection and touch.
Denis deliberately gives these characters time to build these tender and tense relationships, pushing them to the point where you expect a chaotic climax. Instead, we are met with a slight confrontation, but its subtlety becomes ultimately memorable, remarkable, and saddening.
The negatives of Denis’ film are apparent through the frustratingly slow pace in the movie's first half as she sets up her characters. This is where the audience’s attention will be tested as they allow her story to breathe and expand while not being given a captivating introduction.
The ending is filled with regret and poses many interesting questions about nature versus nurture. The racist and poor influence of France’s mother has left her a woman who struggles with her identity. She works to understand the cultural boundaries her father attempted to explain, leaving her an empty woman in an identity crisis.
The craft of this film remained unremarkable, as the cinematography and editing didn’t uplift the film to impressive heights. It found itself floating in the mediocre standards where these relationships would’ve benefited from an experienced touch behind the camera and the editing room.
Denis provides many insights into her themes while struggling to keep audiences invested until the film's second half arrives. Suppose one finds themselves pushing through to a rewarding result. In that case, even if it is filled with regret, I pondered meaningful topics of racism and questioned the lines drawn by society.
Burning
Directed by Lee Chang-dong
Rating 8.9/10
Lee Chang-dong’s thriller Burning and social critique ranks among the best films from South Korean cinema due to its allegorical story, gripping narrative, and societal implications. Lee Chang-dong beautifully balances moral boundaries and classism with an ominous tone that creates the atmosphere for a memorable Psychgolcial thriller.
The story is based firmly on happenstances and relationships that have ambiguous backgrounds. The story's primary focus is on Jong-Su, a lower-class citizen in South Korea who aspires to be a writer while taking whatever jobs he can get to keep his family farm afloat. The inciting action is introduced rather quickly after Jong-Su runs into an old friend, Hae-Mi, whom he barely recognizes, primarily because of her plastic surgery. They reconnect, and Hae-Mi tells Jong-Su that she's embarking on a trip to Africa and asks if he could feed her cat while she's away, a simple task that Jong-Su agrees to while he finds himself attracted to Hae-Mi.
The first example of the evergrowing motif in the film is when Hae-Mi shows Jong-Su her hobby of pantomiming. This scene is integral to the plot and can be interpreted in various ways. First, Hae-Mi tells Jong-Su the key to pantomiming with her hand:
“Don’t think there is a tangerine there… Just forget that there isn't one…the important thing is to think you really want one.”
Hae-Mi then explains two terms to Jong-Su, the little and great hunger. Those with “little hunger” are literally people who are hungry, and great hunger is someone hungry for the meaning of life. Jong-Su responds, asking her if she’s going to Africa to meet the great hunger, to which Hae-Mi confirms in an unsure manner. What we receive from this seemingly simple but actually layered scene is the existential crisis that Hae-Mi is trying to solve for herself. Hae-Mi’s speech about pantomiming applies to Jong-Su’s struggles to distinguish certainties versus relying on his intuition and emotion.
They both travel back to Hae-Mi’s apartment, where they have sex a day before she departs for Africa. Lee Chang-dong’s cinematography and focus on Jong-Su’s mental state inform the audience that this sexual encounter was meaningful to him. Jong-u leaves food for the cat, and while he never sees it, he realizes the food is disappearing, confirming his belief that the cay exists without seeing it. This concept falls right back onto Hae-Mi’s pantomiming philosophy, Jong-Su never sees her cat but accepts it exists. Jong-Su returns to Hae-Mi’s apartment and masturbates, growing infatuated with her even while she’s gone.
Hae-Mi returns to South Korea with an upper-class man named Ben accompanying her. Ben’s hyper-capitalist nouveau wealth is the striking opposite of both Hae-Mi and especially Jong-Su. This conflicting dynamic guides our understanding of Ben. At the same time, we learn more about his character, including the fact that his identity as an outsider invading the purity of South Korea is embodied in his English name. At first, Ben seems harmless, but we begin to receive subtle and sometimes disturbing details about his morality. Further in-depth exploration of Ben's psyche includes a scene where he tells Jong-Su and Hae-Mi he has never cried, and while Hae-Mi cries in front of him, claiming she wants to disappear from society, he even laughs; this is the first sign we have of Ben feeling superior towards lower class people, specifically Hae-Mi and his potential disregard of humanity.
Ben’s arrival triggers a love triangle that frustrates Jong-Su. Jong-Su and Hae-Mi spend time with Ben’s friends, including a dinner where Hae-Mi gets up and dances, entertaining everyone, almost appearing as a jester for the wealthy crowd as Jong-Su watches displeased. They spend time in Ben’s luxurious apartment and higher-end cafes. Ben makes condescending remarks towards Hae-Mi during their time together in front of Jong-Su. Jong-Su even refers to him as Gatsby, telling Hae-Mi that South Korea is full of strange men who are young and mysteriously rich. It becomes increasingly revealing that Ben embodies the egotistical and narcissistic South Korean upper class. Ben’s lack of expression, condescending remarks, and inert philosophy paint a disturbing portrayal of a man. Also, because Korean American actor Steve Yeun plays Ben with an accent, it only accentuates his unnatural presence in the film.
Ben’s philosophy is explained during a visit to Jong-Su’s farm. Ben and Jong-Su sit outside, looking over the land as Ben suddenly reveals a sinister secret. The most revealing sequence I will go in-depth about is Ben’s discussion of his strange hobby, burning down greenhouses. Jong-Su, Hae-Mi, and Ben spend time smoking marijuana, and as Hae-Mi falls asleep, Jong-Su tells Ben a heartfelt speech about his life, and just as he finishes, Ben replies, “Sometimes I burn down Greenhouses.” Ben doesn’t acknowledge what Jong-Su even confided in him. He just speaks out calmly about his disturbing activity. He explains that he does this once every two months and can get away with it because the police don’t care about those types of things. Ben says that tons of unpleasant and filthy greenhouses are waiting for him to burn them down. He eloquently talks about the pleasure and bass he feels in his heart when he burns them down. He compares his hobby to rain, how it falls, creates floods, and washes people away without rights or wrongs, just the morals of nature. The conversation ends with an ominous atmosphere as Ben tells Jong-Su it is almost time to burn another greenhouse and that he came to his farm to scout it because it's very close by. This reveal makes Jong-Su worried about Ben’s maniacal behavior, reasoning, ethics, and egotistical nature. Jong-Su blurts out that he's in love with Hae-Mi, and Ben giggles with contempt. Their conversation is cut off after Hae-Mi comes outside.
After Jong-Su learns of Ben’s activities, he doesn’t directly confront Ben, but in the following days, it leads Jong-Su to drive around, checking in on all the greenhouses in his area to make sure Ben didn’t burn any down. After Jong-Su finds no evidence of burnt-down greenhouses, he doesn’t hear from Hae-Mi for some time and has a conversation with Ben about the whereabouts of Hae-Mi. Ben says he doesn’t know where she is, although he assured Jong-Su he burnt down a Greenhouse. He tells Jong-Su that one can’t realize things that are too close to them, insinuating even more that the greenhouse was, in fact, Hae-Mi. Ben’s fearless, confident admission that he burns down greenhouses represents the upper class’ privileges over lower-class citizens. Ben is bragging about his self-inflated abilities right to Jong-Su’s face, believing he won't get caught.
Ben admits to Jong-Su that the close feelings Hae-Mi had for him made Ben jealous. Unconvinced that Ben is innocent, Jong-Su follows Ben around and even spends time with his friends one night, finding a piece of Hae-Mi’s jewelry in a box of other miscellaneous jewelry. Jong-Su also finds Hae-mi’s cat at Ben’s apartment as it responds to its original name, boil. These findings are enough to push Jong-Su over the edge and commit murder in the form of vigilante justice, stabbing Ben to death.
The fact that some viewers aren’t convinced that Ben is guilty or that he murdered Hae-Mi highlights Lee-Chang Dong’s expert direction. His direction depicts a compelling story that leaves the villain’s motivations and actions to interpretation without feeling contrived.
The story of Burning is yet meditative and thought-provoking, leaving violence until the bitter end. Ben's egotistical and narcissistic character represents South Korea’s upper class and the government's history towards the middle and lower classes. Ben’s carelessness toward women is witnessed through a metaphor as he compares them to the greenhouses he burns himself. As the movie progresses, this metaphor becomes increasingly suspicious. The true nature of Ben’s crimes toward women is a growing belief within Jong-Su. The idea of women serving as greenhouses becomes an obsessive thought for Jong-Su. While at the film’s conclusion, there is no undeniable proof that Ben has killed Hae-Mi, Nevertheless, this disturbing hobby triggers Jong-Su’s suspicion. Still, he’s unaware Ben’s meaning goes beyond simply burning down greenhouses. After her disappearance, Jong-Su finds Hae-Mi’s watch in a drawer full of Women’s watches and her cat at Ben’s apartment, furthering his suspicion of Ben to the point of no return. Throughout the film, Ben seems to toy with Jong-Su, being entertained by him, as he pictures Jong-Su beneath him. Ben doubted Hae-Mi could afford a trip somewhere, signifying his contempt for someone of her class. Jong-Su acts on his intuition and the clues he can visually see while piecing together what he believes is morally just. In an act of vigilante justice, Jong-Su meets up with Ben and stabs him to death without even deciding to discuss the problem with him. Jong-Su’s journey relied on him using the concept Hae-Mi presented to him at the beginning of the film. Even though Jong-Su can’t definitively prove the horrible acts, he assumes Ben has committed devious deeds. Through witnessing the drawer of women’s watches, the mysterious phone calls from Hae-Mi, and the dubious perspective of Ben, there was something nefarious about Ben’s motivations. Whether he murdered, human trafficked, or had nothing to do with Hae-Mi’s disappearance, Jong-Su's measures don’t seem irrational. Lee Chang-dong's commendable craftsmanship creates a layered villain with mysterious motivations that lead the audience to an elusive conclusion.
Dong’s story feels deeply rooted in the dysfunctional, violent, and chaotic government of South Korea, not so distant past that he witnessed. The political violence during the 1970s in South Korea cannot go unnoticed when understanding Burning. The president of South Korea, Park Chung-hee was isolated and met with strong resistance from South Korean citizens and some officials. Economic struggles, middle-class protests, and political unrest caused a problematic climate for president Park to serve. In 1979 at a dinner gathering in Seoul, Park was shot and killed by his own chief of intelligence Kim Jae-gyu.
This troubled past for South Korea also includes student protestors being waterboarded to death and riots leading the cause to change in the late 1990s after decades of struggle. In 2010, the South Korean government, shutting down any ability for him to craft films, blacklisted Dong. After ten years of being censored due to governmental leadership, he was finally cleared. After applying the history of South Korea to Dong's political and creative visions, it is no surprise that Burning marked his return to the big screen as a mysterious study of classism in modern South Korea.
Unbreakable (2000)
Directed by M. Night Shyamalan
8.1/10
After the phenomenon of M. Night Shyamalan's The Sixth Sense, it was seemingly impossible he could follow it up with a story that matched the creativity and shocking twist the film offered viewers in 1999. Nevertheless, The Sixth Sense catapulted Shyamalan into the international spotlight as the film was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture among six other nominations.
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A year later, Shyamalan decided to reunite with Bruce Willis to tell a nuanced, gripping thriller that depicted an admirably grounded comic book story, one that is rarely seen in Hollywood. One of the most memorable shots of the 21st century hearkens back to Orson Welles' ability to use depth of field to evoke emotion from different locations on the screen. Shyamalan uses that same technique to display the protagonist David Dunn (Bruce Willis), being evaluated at a hospital by a doctor in the background. At the same time, in the foreground, we witness a hospitalized patient dying from blood loss from a train accident Dunn was involved in but not harmed. This shot is not just tension-filled and disturbing to elevate the thrill of the film. Instead, the composition represents Dunn's separation from a regular human's mortality.
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Unbreakable's story follows David Dunn, a sports stadium security guard who befriends a comic book enthusiast and store owner Elijah Price. Price begins to plant the seed of an idea in Dunn's mind, an obsession that Price is determined to pursue. Price believes superheroes exist in our world, yet they are unidentifiable and don't appear as they do in the comics. He's convinced Dunn has been a superhero his whole life but hasn't recognized the signs and potential of his powers. Shyamalan utilizes the trope of hiding in plain sight to reveal many shocking moments in his imaginative script.
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The captivating developments for Dunn's character come from the questions Elijah poses to him about his life. Elijah asks Dunn if he has ever been sick and if he's ever been injured. Dunn becomes puzzled as he cannot recall a day when he remembers being sick. This begins to cause a psychological disturbance, making Dunn question his past. As soon as Elijah attempts to relate these unusual circumstances to be associated with Dunn being a superhero, Dunn dismisses the idea of superheroes to Elijah as being frustratingly fictitious.
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The audience would naturally agree with Dunn as in this world portrayed similarly to our own, superheroes don't exist, and the proof of them is nonexistent. Yet, Shyamalan's well-executed direction, expert pace, and compelling script provide the tools to convince us that superheroes could exist in our reality. This credibility is achieved by sequences involving relatability through action. For example, Willis attempts to bench press weights in his basement with the assistance of his son.
They both slowly realize that Dunn can bench press well over 350 pounds without even working out in the past. Watching Dunn lift the weights off himself isn't a sensational moment, but it starts to build an intriguing superhero persona. His super-strength is shown through an action that other human beings have done and achieved, but he pushes it to an otherwordly limit. This discovery causes Dunn's understanding of himself to be only more abstruse. Now that Dunn has an internal struggle with his capabilities and the possibility of being a larger-than-life figure, the film creates a compelling storyline, superior to a recycled superhero origin story.
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Elijah becomes antithetical to Dunn, as the two represent supervillain and superhero. Elijah's villainous persona draws inspiration from masterminds more than physically dangerous.
The theme of the power of belief causes a significant struggle between Dunn and his estranged son. Dunn and his wife Audrey are going through a separation, leaving Dunn to not often live at home. The proposed idea from Elijah of Dunn being a superhero creates a newfound bond between Dunn and his son Joseph. Dunn's real-world issues as a father ground the story and plausibility of this happening to the "everyman" character. After this bond between father and son seems to be going well finally, Dunn again dismisses the possibility of him being a superhero to Joseph. Joseph becomes frustrated at his father's repudiation of Elijah's ideas. Joseph becomes alienated at school as he gets bullied for telling other students that his dad is a superhero.
In a desperate attempt to prove to his father and mother that his father is truly a superhero, Joseph points a gun at his father, threatening to shoot him only to prove that he won't be damaged. This sequence unfolds as a compellingly written stage play sequence that has the merit of being one of the best-composed scenes of 21st-century cinema. The attempt to prove what he believes is only the outer shell of a family dilemma unleashed by this action, where Dunn threatens to leave his son and move away if he doesn't put down the gun. The brilliance of this scene is that it perfectly blends family drama and the superhero storyline into a climax that provides an unnerving experience within the realism of society. In this scene, the everyman father is forced to battle against an outside force poisoning his son's mind, and he treats it like many fathers would by counting down from three for his son to drop the gun.
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In the final revelation, Dunn discovers that Elijah is a maddened malefactor. His dangerous captivation with finding superheroes has caused him to commit heinous crimes, murdering thousands of people, thinking he will find a superhero among them that is invulnerable to death. It is quite a diabolical plan and correctly leads him to Dunn but at the cost of thousands of lives. Price positions himself as an evil mastermind worthy of going toe to toe with the superhero he has found in Dunn. While the finale includes an excellent reveal, the characterization of Dunn's family members and execution of the action halts the film from catapulting to a complete understanding of its material.
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Shyamalan deconstructs the superhero genre in a puzzling, mystifying manner that solidifies his auteurism. He also crafts a superlative superhero film that provides an antithesis to an overcrowded genre filled with cliches. It is an intelligent, gloomy cinema filled with a despondent atmosphere that allows glimmers of hope through a troubled superhero origin story. Shyamalan's film rejects the CGI action and sensationalism found in most of the superhero genre. There is a melodrama that propels the personal life of Dunn forward for the story, although it can detract from the film's focus. The story won't land for many average superhero film fans but succeeds as a thriller disguised as a distinct type of superhero film.
The Invitation (2015)
Directed by Karyn Kusama
Rating 8.2/10
The Invitation approaches the cult mindset and brainwashing while being a gripping psychological thriller about grief. What sets this film apart from the loads of independent and Hollywood psychological thrillers is the carefully executed pacing which relies on a tension-filled script. The Invitation pulls audiences through the grueling gauntlet of coping with grief and the dangers of denial.
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The story follows the grieving lead character Will (Logan Marshall-Green), and his girlfriend returning to his old home where his ex-wife lives and is remarried. This gathering attempts to rekindle friendships and somehow process the troubling death of Will's son, who died when he married his ex-wife Eden. The striking differences in how people cope with death become center stage as Will is profoundly disturbed, bringing a foreboding atmosphere to the dinner. Conversely, Eden appears graceful, forgiving, and suspiciously gleeful. Kusama fills nearly every scene with suspicion and uneasiness while creating intrigue for viewers.
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The inciting action in the film reveals how Eden, her new husband David, and their friends have overcome their trauma. Their attempt to execute a backward intervention towards Will and the unconverted begins to draw the lines between sane and insane. David shows a video to the guests of their cult leader recording a woman dying on screen, which heightens the unsettling atmosphere. David explains their newfound perspective on life and death. Will slowly assumes the role of the Windmill Crusader as he challenges Eden's friends and their suspicious lifestyle changes. Due to Will's trauma, his attempts to prove that Eden and her friends are dangerous are dismissed as trauma responses due to his past. Will's suspicions are a familiar trope in cinema, where a struggling character cannot convince those around him of the real dangers. Refusing to believe a character in Will's shoes is typical because of prejudice, mental illness, and in his case, trauma. Kusama smartly designs a plot where we are rooting for Will to uncover the mystery and overcome his trauma. Indecent sexual proposals are made, and hostile attitudes push the audience's anxieties to align with Will's. Will becomes trapped within the 'Only sane man' trope for a short time until the tension peaks, resulting in chaos while confirming Will's intuition.
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The delicate nature of a film's narrative covering the death of a child may provoke overtly emotional responses to how writer-director Karyn Kusama presents those who have joined what is essentially a cult from many perspectives. It may anger audiences to see people who have become so desperate to be brainwashed into believing death is a positive, spiritual release. On the other hand, while viewers may look at dying similarly, viewers may sympathize with the plight that Eden dealt with through her son's death and how it led to a change in her belief system.
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The film's conclusion may reach further than it can grasp in preserving the feature's verisimilitude. The acting is uneven, appearing serviceable and excellent but also coming across as overacting. The bloodbath of an ending leaves a bit to be desired regarding a resolution. Instead, we receive a partial cop-out with a slaughter, which fails to accentuate the plot.
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Although Kusama presents both sides of healing, the tension-filled story slowly unravels the menacing outlook the cult has instilled within those who were indeed lost. In a way, the dangerous ones were taken advantage of and, in turn, endangering those who didn't choose their path to "healing." Kusama relays the powerful message that dealing with trauma through concepts relating to denial will lead to dangerous results.
Steve Jobs (2015)
Directed by Danny Boyle
Rating 8.2/10
Aaron Sorkin's engaging and riveting script gives this Steve Jobs biopic a lively pulse that showcases Michael Fassbender's talents as a leading man. The unordinary narrative structure causes bumps in the film's pace but also uncovers the relationships Jobs' had and developed with those closest to him along his journey to greatness.
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The tempo rarely takes a break in this film as conversations build tension while revealing characterization expertly. Biopics tend to suffer from either self-indulging nostalgia from those creating the film or seem to miss the mark of the revolutionary talent they focus on. Still, with Jobs, the idiosyncratic narrative and pace complement the uniqueness of the title character. Audiences may come into this film hoping to gain insight into the mind of Steve Jobs. While that's a difficult task for a movie to accomplish, especially when its subject has passed away, Fassbender brings intensity, boldness, and a signature flair that convinces us this may well be how Jobs' persona was.
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Beyond the product launches that dominate the film's narrative, at the heart of the story is Jobs' inability to connect and accept his responsibility as a father amidst his revolutionary success. The script comes across honestly, showing Jobs' arrogance, brilliance, and path to changing the world. The relationship between Steve Jobs and his daughter starts out as a b-plot while slowly grabbing the viewer's focus. Jobs' continuous denial of having a daughter strains the relationship between the two while highlighting his fear of being a father. Even though Jobs is a renowned icon, the film humanizes him through his struggling dynamic with his daughter, and he eventually makes amends for the suffering he caused her.
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The cinematography and score aid the film's momentum as it winds up and cools down for the three product launches that the film revolves around. However, the most outstanding achievement of Jobs is the daring storytelling that matches its lead to create an engaging biopic that takes glimpses of a man's life and tells us a rich story with them.
The Father (2020)
Directed by Florian Zeller
Rating 8.2/10
Frighteningly hypnotic in its technical aspects and emotionally charged with a poignant account of Dementia, The Father is a heart-wrenching viewing featuring an arguably career-best performance from Anthony Hopkins at 83. Hopkins won the Oscar for best actor in a leading role for this film, becoming the oldest best actor winner in Academy Award history.
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The Father initially appears standard in narrative form, telling us the tale of Anthony (Anthony Hopkins) and his struggle with dementia. Yet, director Florian Zeller expertly takes us deep into the mind of a patient going through dementia - the horror, confusion, and despair that it causes not only to the sufferer but the loved ones around them.
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Anthony's flat becomes a rotating cube of repetitive psychological torture as his mind slowly deteriorates. As a result, we witness the relationship he has with his daughter Anne (Olivia Coleman) in separate, disorienting chunks. The distress and impact dementia has on Anne's life are overwhelming as she abandons her aspirations of moving far away with her new husband to stay with Anthony, avoiding the guilt of putting her own Father in a home, a troublesome situation many can relate to.
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Through his sensitive direction and script, Zeller taps into the realistic struggles of dementia. The empathetic portrayal allows the film not to become mawkish, but there is no denying that The Father presents a difficult viewing. Zeller uses the location of Anthony's flat in an unhinged style as time jumps occur without set changes. Instead, Zeller issues characterization and plot to help us understand how difficult it is for Anthony to process the world around him. Weeks pass in one room, creating a sorrowful atmosphere that keeps the audience's attention, wondering what could happen next, although the conclusion is inevitable.
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Aspirations fade for Anne and her disgruntled husband, as does hope for Anthony. Finally, despair begins to settle in as faces change from his perspective and his temper becomes unstable, with realistic reactions for someone in his shoes.
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Hopkins has moments that shock, scare, and break us into tears. Hopkins convincingly cycles through the ever-changing emotional states of a dementia patient. It is rather shocking for Hopkins to deliver a tour de force at the age of 83, but he triumphs more than ever in this challenging role. His erratic behavior presents a danger to at-home nurses that Anne tries to hire to give herself time in her own life. Themes of family commitment and the dread of dementia that threatens those family bonds are what Zeller explores in The Father. Building upon Zeller's resonant themes, the true-to-life presentation of dementia helps cement this film as one of the best movies of 2021. The shortcomings include a lack of background development for supporting characters and an unexplored exposition of Anthony's past. In addition, the natural decomposition of Anthony's mental state can cause the plot to become muddled while tackling the nightmarish topic of dementia.
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Nevertheless, Hopkins's ability to command every scene he's in with tension, love, and sadness makes The Father a special albeit harrowing viewing.
The Hurt Locker (2008)
Directed by Kathryn Bigelow
Rating 8.1/10
The Hurt Locker received critical acclaim and had tremendous success at the academy awards, winning six in total, including Best Picture and Best Director. It was also the first best picture winner to be directed by a woman.
Behind all this acclaim is an immersive, gripping war film that harkens documentary-inspired cinematography to deliver impactful thrills that create thought-provoking ideas about war to the audience, as any competent war film should be able to accomplish.
Writer Mark Boal's field experience gave us an erudite perspective. Kathryn Bigelow's tight direction combined to create a disturbing look at the Iraq War while giving it an impressive leap over other films covering Iraq War. Boal's story highlights a central theme of the dehumanization of war that leads to disturbing and insightful returns In war cinema.
The most powerful moments in this war film are ironically away from violence, where the quiet moments filled with poignant themes are in full force. The Hurt Locker aims to make you exhilarated, exhausted, and in awe of Jeremy Renner's best performance to date. He commands every scene he's in, leaving us wondering to think how unhinged he is.
The handheld cinematography builds tension during sequences filled with expertly designed set pieces, placing every shot with clear intentions. The multiple viewpoints with swift editing place viewers as close as possible to the tension-filled sequences while providing raw journalism-inspired cinematography.
Through strong characterization, The Hurt Locker reveals a disturbing truth about the nature of men in war, showing us that our main protagonist Sergeant Williams James (Jeremy Renner), is obsessed with his way of life. The allure of war became his love and calling while the man he was before the war, whomever he was similar to this or not, was now gone. We witness a possibly psychopathic bomb defuser during the Iraq war. This story and subject provide The Hurt Locker with the most intriguing protagonist in an Iraq War film.
The psychological impact of war is represented through Renner's actions and journey. Iraq war veterans have criticized the film for its nonrealistic portrayal of the war and false depiction of actual bomb squad operations. In this sense, The Hurt Locker may not accurately depict the bomb squad's operations, yet the plot represents a grave warning and anti-war stance. Much criticism from war veterans was towards the character Jeremy Renner plays, stating that a bomb squad leader would not have his fervid enthusiasm and unpredictability. Williams proves to be more unreliable and unstable as the film unfolds, and purposefully so. That perhaps is Bigelow's leading point in The Hurt Locker. War has created William James, and the final moments of the film speak volumes to Boal's message through Bigelow's direction.
Overall, there is a lack of awareness and accountability for the actions the US army took within the film, where the sensationalism of Iraqi civilians dying at the hands of American troops becomes an afterthought in the direction of Bigelow. This is where the film stumbles and loses its way, but the in-depth characterization of William James provides the audience with an understanding of where blood and death are rooted.
Near the film's finale, William James returns to US soil, living with his wife and child. He takes a trip to the grocery store, a place that has become unfamiliar to him and strange. This film's crowning achievement is a moment fueled by pathos as James' state of mind becomes overwhelmed as he stands in a cereal aisle. James' life in ordinary society is no longer ingrained within him. This realization and a lack of connection to his child convince him to return to only what he knows, the testosterone-fueled and masculine attraction to war.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)
Directed by Martin McDonagh
8.2/10
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri is a showcase for its engaging stars to deliver a rage-fueled story that grapples with moral ambiguity and the pursuit of justice.
In the end, does anger begot anger? The conclusion in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, displays a poignant resolution to the despicable nature of humanity. This troubling tale takes place in southern rural modern America, where racism is prevalent, and justice can be shaped by an individual's quest to be judge, jury, and executioner.
Frances McDormand brilliantly settles into the role of grieving mother, Mildred Hayes, whose daughter was raped and murdered. The killer hasn't been found, and as each day passes, her patience and sanity are tested in darkly comedic and harrowing ways. Martin McDonough's balancing act of dramedy, finding the morbid humor in anger-filled moments, is crucial to this film succeeding in the commanding fashion that it does. The triumphant execution of a fully realized story and tone is partially thanks to McDonaugh's honesty, fleshed-out characters, and restraint. The line is often crossed with comedy and drama to the point where there is no comfortable place between them anymore. If McDonagh didn't show proper restraint with his comedic timing, the film's atmosphere would divulge into a satire that struggled with understanding its subject matter. Without inserting creative, humorous moments, the film would become an uncompromising tale of violence and rage.
There is a cheering, influential feeling to vigilante justice from our humanity. Mildred's quest for justice leads her into conflict with those around her, and the outcomes are filled with painful interactions. Mildred focuses her attention on law enforcement, which becomes a motif of the film. The progression and journey of law enforcement in this film represent a rallying cry for vigilante justice, even for members of the police.
Sam Rockwell delivers a career-best performance as racist policeman Jason Dixon who becomes the centerpiece of a tale of redemption and portrays the life of a racist southern police officer with conviction. By the end of the story, Dixon is a volatile and violent officer who redeems himself through a valiant effort to help Mildred's daughter's unsolved case.
The police chief of Ebbing, Bill Willoughby (Woody Harrelson), shows empathy and understanding towards Mildred. However, he is frustrated that he can't offer her answers. Still, he expresses his indignation at Mildred's decision to use billboards to write questions and demand answers from Willoughby and the police about her daughter. Willoughby meets an untimely death from cancer in the film while serving as a father figure to Dixon. Willoughby commits suicide shortly after revealing his cancer diagnosis to Mildred.
The character of Willoughby is a stark reminder of the preciousness of life. He was a man who seemingly was on the right side of justice, who was unfairly scrutinized by Mildred and took his own life to find peace from his illness. McDonaugh crafting the character of Willoughby into this story also provides an example of the fragility of mortality and shows how it can take the encouragement and support of an upstanding man to inspire an unjust man to pursue a different understanding of his way of life.
Dixon's racist motivation and cruel actions aren't forgiven in the film, but McDonough aims to explain how a man such as Dixon exists. Dixon almost flunked out of high school and still lives with his mother. Through her interactions with Dixon, audiences can deduce that his upbringing and current dynamic with his mother are the roots of Dixon's bigotry. While McDonuagh's story beats aren't attempting to make Dixon's racist actions excusable, it reaffirms Willoughby's belief that Dixon is genuinely a good man underneath his prejudice and violence.
Dixon's redemption arc concludes when he overhears a man in a bar tout the horrid crime of raping a woman. The event shockingly lines up with many facts from Mildred's daughter's case. Dixon provokes a fight with the clever idea of scratching the man's face to obtain his DNA, bypassing the justice system. Unfortunately, the DNA does not match, and the victim of that rape was somebody else, removed from this story. Yet, the existence of injustice causes Dixon and Mildred to come to an understanding finally. They both agree to travel together and kill the rapist, knowing it's a crime that, on the surface, has nothing to do with them but psychologically and morally becomes a symbol. The film ends on an ambiguous note where both characters are unsure if they will follow through on the murder once they get there but continue their journey towards revenge. Their resolutions are unfulfilled and rooted in rage, solidifying McDonagh's story of anger to display the outcome of human emotions from tragedy in a southern, rural American social climate. The distressing perspective of virtue is at play, where violence reigns supreme, and the violent behavior of these characters is unchanged. It may be a pessimistic outlook, but McDonagh's vision is fully realized and provides believable human reactions to vicissitudes in an unpredictable world.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, is not about second chances. Instead, it leans towards the darker side of morality, where horrible things happen without karma or solutions. Can peace and redemption be reached through violent revenge? Most audiences viewing this story or similar tales from the outside would think not, but to Mildred and Dixon, killing a rapist is what's left of justice in a world that has an ambiguous definition of that world to both of them. Dixon abused the meaning of justice while Mildred was searching for its meaning. This rage-fueled film is searching for a solution that isn't quite attainable in this current situation and society, hoping justice can be a precise, identifiable term.
Martyrs (2008)
Directed by Pascal Laugier
It is rare for a film to leave a scarring mark on a viewer. However, Martyrs leaves a lasting impact through its unique blend of horror, thought-provoking themes, and existentialism while portraying worthwhile emotional turmoil without succumbing to the shameful torture porn subgenre. Martyrs was a part of the French film movement known as the New French Extremity Movement. This movement consisted of transgressive films that caused controversy while tackling complex themes of sexuality, abuse, the nature of violence, and psychological terror. Unfortunately, the film failed to get a theatrical release in the United States due to its polarization and gratuitous violence. As a result, many will turn this film off a quarter of the way through or at the halfway mark. Those who make it to the end may wish they had turned the movie off earlier and view it as a sin, but Martyrs represents a dogged leap for horror cinema to some.
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What begins as a violent revenge film slowly turns into something much more sinister as a young girl named Lucie escapes captivity, where she was tortured as a child. Fast forwarding to the present day, Lucie tracks down the couple who tortured her and murders the couple and their entire family. Her friend Anna arrives soon after and sees the carnage. She reluctantly agrees to help Lucie bury the bodies.
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The film brilliantly engages us with characters who have suffered horribly. Although Lucie commits murder, the direction manufactures a sympathetic portrayal of her journey until the murder and even after. Her suffering becomes overwhelming for the audience, and we soon see her unravel as she is haunted by a demonic woman that Anna cannot see. The demonic woman symbolizes Lucie's guilt for leaving behind another girl who was tortured in captivity with her. While this guilt leads to her shocking demise early in the film, the narrative swiftly moves to Anna, but it summons the question, where can this be leading?
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After all, we were following Lucie's story of abuse, revenge, and guilt. Yet, we meet a dead end once Lucie realizes her revenge isn't rewarding on any level, and her psychological demons lead her to commit suicide. This realization of the flawed perception of revenge becomes the first major theme Martyrs tackles. The growing sense of dread creeps in once Anna is alone in this house, bringing the audience along with her, keeping up a mystery as to what can happen next. I applaud Martrys for keeping the suspense high while crafting an engaging and original mystery.
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The determination of the film's second half is a force to be reckoned with as the story goes places horror films before and after it wouldn't dare to - or haven't effectively. You may exit this film feeling empty, disturbed, and scarred. It is not for the faint of heart, but you will walk away having viewed an original and daring experience. The polarization of the film comes from the gruesome nihilistic viewpoint of the film and director.
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The frightening and lasting imagery accentuates the bold narrative that Martyrs throws at you with full force. It is transcendent for the horror genre as it asks pressing questions from the perspectives of disturbing monsters in our society who crave an answer to life's worrying questions. If you leave the film disturbed and angry at what you've seen, Martyrs may have pulled you into its troubling black hole. The macabre imagery is paired with urban societal fears that reach the maximum disturbance, creating villains within our backyards.
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Even though Martyrs appears as a revenge film to start and, even halfway through, tricks us into thinking it will remain that way, there are no redemptive qualities in how the story unfolds. Instead, it unflinchingly throws us into a harrowing pit of despair, challenging us to think deeply about what we've just watched. A film rarely can achieve that level of tremendous power.
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Up (2009)
Directed by Pete Docter
Rating 8.2/10
Pixar reminds audiences how they create wondrous adventures with beloved characters in Up. Finishing off a string of modern Pixar classics that includes Wall-E and Ratatouille, Up combines the trope of an unlikely friendship to showcase some of Pixar's most heartwarming characters.
Up follows the life of a grumpy but endearing elderly man named Carl. We witness Carl grow up, fall in love, lose his wife and become a widow in one of the most famous montages in Hollywood film history. Michael Giachinno's melancholy score and perfectly executed storyboarding craft a relatable love story sequence that defines Pixar's modern sensibilities to evoke emotion from audiences of all ages. Within this touching sequence of love and death, the basics of silent filmmaking with a supportive score highlight the power of early cinema while showing the unique impact animation can have in its own right. Up received tremendous critical acclaim, being the second animated film ever to be nominated for the academy award for best picture, once again solidifying Pixar as a cinematic powerhouse for all ages.
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The call to action in Up occurs when wealthy landowners threaten Carl out of his treasured house. The house's sentimental value is tied to Carl's experiences with Ellie inside it. They dreamed together of traveling to the mystical area of the world called "paradise falls" in South America. The fantastical qualities associated with Pixar films are shown in a unique light related to Carl when he attaches copious amounts of balloons to his house—allowing them to fly.
Before his departure, Carl comes across the tenacious and goofy Russell, a boy scout trying to earn his stripes. Carl and Sheldon are on opposite sides of life at the beginning of this story. Carl seems close to his end as his motivation for a living slowly fades while Russell seeks adventure just as Carl did in his adolescence. Carl becomes Russell's father figure throughout their adventure as they meet talking dogs and a hilarious, personable bird.
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Up brings life and purpose to a man who had lost his way due to grief. Carl closed himself off to the world. It is a rewarding and joyful experience to see his viewpoint expanded and his passion reignited by Russell and the adventure he always sought out, a concept humans can relate with. There is a significant amount of regret and relatability to witnessing a person chase their dreams, something we all wish we had done, primarily when it stems from a relationship with a loved one.
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The journey has valuable characterization as we learn about Russell's absent father. Carl understands the damage Russell has suffered from this and realizes the impact he can have on someone who also suffered a loss differently.
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Pixar intertwines relatable characterization, endearing characters, and a memorable journey to create another modern animated classic. Up addresses grief and father figures while understanding the power of relationships and the dangers of isolation.
Sorry to Bother You (2018)
Directed by Boots Riley
8.2/10
Boots Riley has crafted a scathing, memorable dramedy satire that provides timely social critiques and maintains intriguing momentum to tell a story fueled by distressing corporate greed.
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There are intricate levels of themes being applied in Sorry to Bother You. Most noticeably, the corporate monster company called RegalView can easily be interpreted as a fictionalized and even more sinister version of Amazon. The fictional company of RegalView is at the center of the horrifying root of a capitalist society gone terribly wrong. The pressing real-world issue of slave labor is uncovered as the story moves along, showing the temptation corporations are capable of within this dystopian world. Riley does a convincing job through set design and world-building that although we understand this world isn't exactly ours, it's close to it. The more issues that are brought up in Sorry to Bother You, the story engenders thought-provoking social commentary. Riley's style is absurdist yet grounded in a reality of understanding and relatability.
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There is a satirical racist component that is approached comedically early in the film the main character Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield), is hired as a telemarketer. He has trouble successfully getting sales until another black worker suggests that he uses his "white voice" to sound more soothing and trustworthy to clients. The white voice stylistic choice bolsters the film's surrealism as the white voice that Green uses is executed in a perfectly comedic style filled with absurdity. It's a statement within itself that the white voice is not within a black man's grasp and that to succeed, he must become something that doesn't resemble himself.
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Green eventually works his way to the corporate level, where he is coaxed and tempted by management with money to abandon his fight against the capitalist society that his friends were rioting against. In a classic and familiar storyline, Green becomes won over by the rewards of money and fame, highlighting the persuasion of corporate greed. Being able to afford a luxurious lifestyle causes his relationship to crumble as his girlfriend protests against the very company he worked hard in to get promoted. Riley creates another dilemma for the audience, posing the question, should Green be proud of his accomplishments and abandon protesting? Riley uses this question only as a tactic that brainwashes Green further into an inevitable downward spiral. The fog starts to clear more as Green is humiliated by wealthy white corporate workers at a party when he is commanded instead of asked to rap in front of all the guests. Subtlety is rare in this story as Riley's messages are delivered powerfully through satirical comedy or by the process of self-realization when Green is humiliated. Finally, the film spirals into utter chaos as Green is tempted into a slave labor contract and finds himself trapped in this corporate social hell.
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The modern, crisp editing and imaginative cinematography help expand the world Riley has created, filling it with his singular vision. Though his story may come across as grossly exaggerated or seen as an attempt to destroy capitalism, it is instead a call to action. Within this story, society is past the point of possibly acknowledging a different viewpoint than what they are accustomed to. Riley cries out that the only way to break free of this is through willful force. The story of Sorry to Bother You emphasizes the theme of the dangers of capitalist society and social humiliation through racism and classism. Those beneath the upper class are left for sport, entertainment, or slave labor unless action is taken against those who seek to oppress the masses.
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The journey of Cassius Green occasionally wanders into predictable territory with a typical trajectory of a man's struggle with greed and its adverse impacts on his life. Riley's direction prevails out of these constraints through his peculiar plot points that arrive at complex social issues that are tackled memorably.
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Culture is being stripped away, as well as freedom, and I have no doubt Sorry to Bother You will, unfortunately, become more relevant as the film ages. Riley is swinging for the fences with his bizarre script, but if you can strap in for a surreal, unforgettable damning portrait of capitalism, you'll see Riley's film is quite exceptional.
The daring depiction in Riley's world portrays a violent and disturbing end to the protagonist's journey. Yet, the resistance against capitalism seems inevitable to win without excessive force from those brainwashed, tempted, and trapped by a society destined to create slave labor. Riley has crafted one of the most memorable directional debuts in the 21st century that entertains, thought-provoking social critiques, and inventive storytelling.
Up In The Air (2009)
Directed by Jason Reitman
Rating 8.2/10
Up In The Air's insightful script is brought to life by a flawless cast that explores hefty themes that linger with audiences beyond the credits.
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Jason Reitmans's direction and script highlight witty foreshadowing and thought-provoking dialogue. The story of Up in the Air follows a delicate matter of devastating unemployment of working-class individuals in the aftermath of the market crisis of 2008.
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In arguably George Clooney's finest performance, he plays Ryan Bingham, a single businessman with the irregular and gloomy job of an employment terminator. This job brings him around the United States, firing people for companies who would instead hire his company to fly him out and fire their employees in person. Bingham has become entirely accustomed to his life, a perfected routine that he cocooned himself within. There is no responsibility, stress, or commitment in Bingham's life. In addition, he offers seminars discussing all the weight and stress family members add to our lives, explaining how they can impede us from reaching our goals.
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Natalie (Anna Kendrick) rattles Bingham's routine as she represents youth and change at his company. She proposes a strategy to take the employees off the road in favor of virtual firing, a change that Bingham finds insulting to his craft and a threat to shattering his self-constructed way of life.
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Bingham claims there is a decent and dignified way he fires people, a concept that may be difficult for viewers to grasp. Bingham isn't an easily likable protagonist, but as the script peels back the characterization, we realize his loneliness and isolation, albeit he puts himself in this place. Bingham is assigned to bring Natalie on the road, flying across the country and firing people to show her the impact and realities of the job. The atmosphere is sorrowful and bitter as they arrive at half-empty offices with employees barely hanging onto their livelihoods.
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Bingham's method of firing is to be transparent while encouraging the human across from him that he's fired. He explains that the office job they've always had hindered them from chasing their dreams. He even calls it a "rebirth" for one fired worker. His philosophy is to gently guide these fragile workers through this difficult moment in their lives to a secure place with dignity.
It's an intriguing and subjectively despicable lifestyle Bingham lives. On the road, Bingham finds his counterpart in Alex (Vera Farigma), who is also on the road for work. Their dynamic comes off as the perfect match, with no commitments, love, or heartache for Bingham. The relationship evolves from a friends-with-benefits situation to a meaningful connection, something Bingham has shied away from his entire life.
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What finally pushes Bingham to want commitment is the influence and experience with Natalie. Natalie is upset and confused about why Bingham sees no value in marriage or having a companion, which she challenges him about. Natalie also questions his life goals when Bingham tells her that he has a set amount of frequent flyer miles he wants to gain as a goal, having yet to plan anything beyond that. She's baffled by the idea of just wanting to earn miles for the sake of miles. She tells Bingham "if I had that many miles I would just drive to the airport and look at the screen and choose a destination." Her comment speaks volumes about the disconnect between Natalie and Bingham's mindsets.
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Throughout Bingham's trips, his sister requested that he take pictures of notable landmarks he traveled to. The image includes a cardboard cutout of his sister and future husband that he held up next to the famous locations. It was a quirky ask, but it suggested it would be meaningful to the narrative.
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Once Bingham is motivated to pursue something more serious with Alex. He brings Alex to his sister's wedding, where we realize he's the estranged sibling of the family. Through awkward catch-ups with his sister and future brother-in-law, he's witnessing a couple struggling with finances that hits close to home.
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When Bingham finally comes to the rehearsal dinner and asks his sister about the pictures, she explains that they don't have the money for a honeymoon after the small wedding. They are even scraping by to afford to put on the wedding. The pathos from Bingham begins to appear continually throughout the film and reaches a peak once he understands his sister's financial position. Reitman's script makes its final push and displays Bingham's sentimentality to win audiences over when his family gets involved in the story.
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While Bingham's charter arc may seem poised for renewal, the realism of the picture settles back in that existed throughout the nature of Bingham's job during the economic climate. He finally lays his emotions on the line and arrives at Alex's home in Chicago unannounced. Bingham is devastated when Alex opens the door, hearing the sound of children and her husband in the background. No words are exchanged, and this silent moment of realization is the culmination of Bingham's journey in Up in the Air.
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Alex calls him shortly after, questioning him and asking what he wants from their unusual relationship. Bingham cannot verbalize what he wants, which leads to Alex telling him that he does not know what he wants from life. Bingham is speechless and hangs up his phone. The film's final scene is poetic and moving as Bingham finds himself staring at a departure board in the middle of an airport after achieving a million miles he desired. He looks upon the board, scanning the possibilities of where to begin his newfound perspective on life. This perspective is fighting his urges of alienation and breaking the mold from his disconnect with the world surrounding him.
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Up in the Air is a smartly written, touching film during a genuinely depressing era in American history. Bingham's isolation becomes more evident as the film progresses, and his morality is judged because of the relationships he forms. The comedic, tragic, and uplifting moments of Up in the Air combine to craft a portrayal of self-growth that is too engaging and humane not to sympathize with.
La Strada
Directed by Federico Fellini
Rating 8.3/10
Federico Fellenis's captivating, late Italian neorealism tale features an unforgettable study of the human condition while studying the outcome of examining the relationship between staggeringly different characters in a Post world war ll Italian society.
The story follows Strongman Zampano (Anthony Quinn), who purchases Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina) from her mother after her other daughter dies at the services of Zampanos traveling circus assistant on the road. This opening displays the societal crumble that is represented in many Italian neorealist films. Families found themselves in troubled economic situations, desperate for money at any cost. The naive, caring Gelsomina who joins Zampano provides a sympathetic, imaginative performance reminiscent of Chaplin's most emotional work. Her use of bodywork and facial expressions balances out Zampano's freakish atmosphere and bravado.
As Gelsomina is introduced to the society of Italy she's never known, Zampano treats her harshly and ridicules her, even instructing her to act as a jester alongside his strongman act. We witness Zampano abandon her in the streets alone, and in these moments of silence, we see Gelsomina explore the society she's eager to see. Her wondrous optimism speaks volumes to those inflicted by the hardship of a post world war ll society and the individuals who can find the positive links to hold on to. Gelsomina represents the corrupted innocence at the begging of the film, who is quickly exposed to a new world. Her kindness and affection towards Zampano is betrayed as he spends nights with other women and only returns for the morning as they embark on their next tour destination.
Even with his cruelty towards her from Zampano, she grows feelings for him, and the central theme is revealed not until they both join a traveling circus. Il Manto, a performer alongside Zampano who enjoys tormenting him, tells Gelsomina honestly that everyone and everything in life has a purpose, even something as simple as a pebble. He hopes his words will inspire her to take control of her own life. While Il Manto can't explain why he enjoys tormenting Zampano, it speaks to the nature of competition between men, especially the primitive nature of dominating another when one assumes the role of a beast to society. Il Manto treats Zampano as his circus act, pushing Zampano to a breaking point where he attacks Manto, getting everyone fired from the circus group. Yet, what we gain most from this sequence in the river road trip is the first feelings of pity for Zampano. The treatment he receives from Il Manto elicit a human response in us, knowing that while Zampano is a cruel, barbaric man, he is human like the rest of the characters we see. The possibility of bettering himself and the damage he can cause to Gelsomina rotate as he struggles with his identity.
The innocence of Gelsomina is ripped away by the brutality and savagery of Zampano, who is a composite of what society has molded him in to. When Zampano and Manto collide again, Zampano, out of rage, kills Manto, and Gelsomina witnesses this action in horror. She is unable to move on from seeing Zampano commit such an act, and Zampano sees her as a liability and not a human, deciding that he needs to replace her now that she is despondent from the loss of innocent and trauma she has endured alongside him.
The strength of La Strada lies in the contrast and exploration of having these two exciting characters collide. Gelsomnia's timid yet kindness, mixes with Zampano's masculinity, has imprisoned him into being seen as an animal by society and not even a man. Essentially his masculinity has been twisted into an animalistic entertainer. This situation has created a self-prison that has caused a cycle of self-inflicted wounds, a lifestyle he has accepted.
Fellini hopes to guide us into an understanding of how a monster such as Zampano has the sympathy we never thought possible while living a tortured lifestyle as a circus entertainer who is treated almost like an animal.
La Strada was on the end of the cusp of Italian neorealism, and Fellini's fantastical and imaginative elements clash with the fundamental principles of neorealism. Still, his tale can be seen as progressing the movement forward while uncovering newfound understandings of the human condition. The film is filled with pathos as we witness the progression of a perceived beast of a man who is able to become in touch with his humanity at the point where it's too late to save the one he cares about the most.
The film ends on a beach, a familiar location for a Fellini conclusion. In this instance, the ocean represents possibility and a lasting memory. The adverse effects of Zampano's actions will haunt him continuously, just as the sea continues to exist, appearing as a never-ending stream of water. The pain of knowing how he could've handled his relationship with Gelsomina causes him to break down and collapse for the first time, finally showing his emotional vulnerability and provoking humanism. It wasn't until he suffered the loss of someone he truly cared about that he understood the power of connection. Their connection was only possible due to the pity, kindness, and forgiveness Gelsomina possessed.
La Strada depicts a convincing portrait of pathos, humanism, and kindness that warrants a sympathetic viewing. Gelsomina's innocence and control of her scenes demonstrate a master at the craft of body humor, while Anthony Quinn delivers a heartbreaking, complex character study. Starr’s powerful performance begs the question of how society molded a man such as Zampano? How did his treatment from the community lead to his collapse while damaging others around him? The desperate conditions of Italian citizens in post world war ll films such as Bicycle Thieves depict the horrid conditions people must suffer through, and Fellini took that concept a step further by exploring the journey of a man tortured by that very society who inherits the help from a woman who is only just experiencing the cruel, outside world.
Gelsomina's mimicry and aping towards Zampano is playful yet lead to much of the conflict between the two. It is sorrowful to swallow the idea that Fellini's message about everything having a purpose applies to Gelsomina in such a cruel result. She spent her life with Zampano open to new experiences without fearing what lay ahead. Yet, her impact on Zampano becomes her contribution to the story and is also her demise. Both characters' outcomes are grounded in painful realism that depicts the pitiful, unfair cards dealt to citizens in the aftermath of a country in the rubble of war. Just like in war, causalities are expected, and their influence will live on through those who survive the horror.
Fellini has created a unique, fascinating contrast between Gelsomina and Zampano while providing a poetic story that has a lingering impact. Fellini's desire to have audiences sympathize with Zampano while understanding the damage he has done while absorbing Gelsomina's spirit in a world that overcame her. The verve of Italian cinema may never be as powerfully represented as it is in Fellini's prodigious neorealist tale of the diverse characters he brings to life.
Talking About Trees
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Directed by Suhaib Gasmelbari
Rating 7/10
Talking about Trees is an observational documentary about the cautionary inspiration the country of Suhaib Gasmelbari needs at a time when filmmaking has been gutted for decades. Director Sudham shows us the roadblocks these four Sudanese filmmakers face as they attempt to revive the art of cinema by merely organizing a screening of Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained.
Suhaib gives us glimpses into the films the four filmmakers had crafted in the past, mainly in the 1970s and 1980s, back when Sudanese filmmaking was even allowed. It’s an intelligent editing style, as the cultural staples of Sudanese filmmaking are barely obtainable for even the country's inhabitants. Towards the end of the film, there is no realization that the closing of cinemas in Sudan was a political decision, it had always been for that reason, yet there is no way for the artists that live in this country to fight that ruling besides doing what Sudham displays to us in Talking about trees.
The film struggles and loses its way with frustratingly long takes that can’t explain their purpose for being the tedious scenes they are. Hearing the younger children of Sudan yell out their favorite films, some exclaiming “American action films,” reminds us how moving this documentary is, what the hopes and dreams these four men are fighting for in their country that shouldn’t be as difficult as it is if they were in a democratic nation that supported artistry. At the heart of this film is the tale of friendship between these four men as their love for film strengthens their bond. Cinema doesn’t come much purer than this, with a sad message about the current state of freedom of expression through artistry and in many aspects of society. There is optimism here, but it is a calm cry for help.
Creep 2 (2017)
Directed by Patrick Brice
Directed By Patrick Brice
Rating: 8.1/10
Horror cinema of the 21st century has heavily relied on jump scares, possession, demons, murderers, and remakes that attempt to capture the spirit of original horror classics. The unique ability of Creep 2 is that it takes the horror genre in a new direction among the clutter the genre has created, which is an incredible feat.
The premise is shockingly simple and builds upon the character introduced in Creep 1, Aaron. Director Patrick Brice decided to take the awkward, unsettling terror route through disturbing cinematography, witty dialogue, and a growing sense of terror.
Brice seems to push the envelope of a social media world where humans are increasingly desensitized to horror. The way to combat this saturation of the horror genre with cliches and repeats in American cinema was to invent a character that could bring in a fresh horror style.
The character of Aaron has traces of Norman Bates, and the story uses the two-handler style of the film. This term applies to films where two characters carry the level, and this can be seen in films such as Misery, My Dinner with Andre, and, most recently, The Lighthouse. These films rely heavily on dialogue to unravel the story.
Mark Duplass’ star turns as Aaron, a distressing, spine-chilling psychopath, is one of the most underrated performances of the 21st century. His perfectly executed dialogue inflicts awkwardness, and his menacing presence continuously keeps audiences on edge, wondering what unimaginable idea he is cooking up in his twisted brain to make us laugh and squeeze our firsts while trying not to squirm from the images on the screen. It’s an erratic, impulsive character that bewilders us as we see him continue to take his madness to unfounded heights. Sequences of tension build toward pithy dialogue from Aaron that only increases the uncomfortable nature of the film.
Aaron appears as an enigma, and we hope that the secondary character in this film can placate his growing need to act out in horrifying ways. The themes of the negative influences of social media and the growing need to prove ourselves to be successful to a society that drives us towards danger cause the secondary character, Sara, to seek out Aaron to interview him for her failing documentary show. This is a horror film with a harsh social critique on the harmful impacts of social media in this modern era that causes loss of identity and lack of respect for humankind.
This film also tackles the intriguing topic that involves the humanistic instinct to understand the insane. Sara is fascinated by Aaron’s erratic behavior and his life story. The attraction to the insane is reminiscent of women's fascination with infamous serial killers (Ted Bundy) and the difficult task of fathoming how someone like Aaron could exist in our world.
Creep 2 improves upon its predecessor by offering a more in-depth case study of its disturbing lead character while maintaining a gripping pace that doesn’t let up on the unpleasant atmosphere created in the film.
There is an uneasy subtlety to how Aaron operates, precisely what makes him stand out among horror cinemas' most notorious monsters. He is a human monster that is difficult to comprehend and brings strange gravitas to the found footage style of filmmaking. Horror fans will be pleased by the disparate nature of the film concerning horror cinema, and the average viewer will struggle to absorb the unnerving character Duplass magnificently creates.
Hell or High Water (2016)
Directed by David Mackenzie
Rating: 8.1/10
The history of the Western genre in Hollywood cinema is immense and complicated, full of death, shootouts, and revivals. The legend of the American western, Clint Eastwood, puts the cliches, reused motifs, dishonesty, and zaniness of past Hollywood westerns to rest with his spectacular western film Unforgiven (1992).
The western genre experienced another massive shift when No Country for Old Men was released in 2007, a film that dug deeper into the darker, more grounded themes Eastwood contemplated in Unforgiven. No Country For Old men revived the Western genre and created a new neo-Western label.
Hell or High Water was an exemplary film of the neo-westerns from the 2010s after the revival of No Country for Old Men. A neo-Western, a sub-genre of the Western movie, has a contemporary United States that blends themes from modern society with older Western motifs that now feel out of place.
The story follows the Howard brothers, Tanner and Toby, played by an unwieldy Ben Foster and a disciplined Chris Pine, respectively. They aim to rob the bank that seeks foreclosure on their family ranch. The depth behind the motivation to commit these crimes helps the audience empathize with apparent criminals robbing banks and endangering innocent lives. They desire to leave a better world behind for Pine’s children, not wanting them to live in the poverty they had to suffer and that the bank threatened them with.
Their morality is contrasted by the Texas ranger Marcus Hamilton (Jeff Bridges) on their tail. Hamilton, near retirement, represents the old western values of law and order. Hamilton is wise and uses his morality to remain determined to catch the men responsible for these crimes, although it seems futile given his life stage.
Once the film's climax passes, Hamilton fails to capture Toby but kills Tanner in a gunfight after he murders his partner. After this event and being unable to find Toby, Hamilton retires.
The most powerful scene in the entire film goes beyond the effects the robberies and deaths have in the story. The poignant finale that writer Taylor Sheridan desired to include in his neo-western tale is a tension-filled conversation between Toby and Hamilton, as Hamilton sought to discover the reasoning for the crimes in a world advancing faster than he can comprehend. Both men held the other responsible for the deaths of loved ones, Toby’s brother killed his partner, and Hamilton killed Tanner. Right before a shootout would presumably ensue due to the tension building within the scene, Toby’s ex-wife and children arrive, offering Hamilton a reason to keep his morality and give him a further understanding of what made Toby commit the crimes he did but lets him know he holds him responsible for his actions. Mutual respect is held together by a thread between the men, and the motivation of Toby’s crimes puts the tension to rest. The risk of death to protect his family comes across as admirable and selfish to Hamilton. Both men leave the conversation filled with suffering but the ability to continue knowing what they’ve witnessed and done.
Western cliches buried the genre for years, making them impossible to take seriously by audiences, and one of those cliches was an ending shootout, no matter what plot shifts needed to be made, a shootout was seemingly required into the fabric of the western genre. Instead of this, Sheridan allows his story to flow naturally, building toward a conversation that is both insightful and tension-filled without relying on hackneyed conclusions of past western films.
There is also the theme of revolting against the governmental systems that cause poverty, struggle, and alienation to the blue-collar class of America. While Hamilton is a lawful man, he can empathize just enough with Toby’s situation that he goes against the trained instinct that he lived with his entire career to enforce the law, even if it came to vigilante justice. Respect, pain, vengefulness, and empathy are left at the end of a crime-ridden blood trail in the American West.
The film occasionally struggles to explore the background of its characters, failing to give us fully rounded humans. Their journeys would’ve left a more distinctive mark on the genre if the story had allotted more time to their past experiences. Considering the amalgam of Western traditions in the story, a deeper connection to defining memories of the past could’ve allowed for Hamilton’s era of living to become more robust in the story to create a thought-provoking genre twist.
Hell or High Water represents the triumphs of blending old-fashioned western thrills with modern social critiques and sensibilities filled with complex morality. At a time when the Western genre is being explored in fascinating new stories, Hell or High Water allows viewers to witness the genre's evolution while seeing a film that insightfully intertwines past motifs.
Iron Man (2008)
Directed by Jon Favreau
Iron Man is known as the superhero film that launched a Marvel Cinematic Universe that defined the Hollywood film industry for years. The box office awaits MCU releases every year, and it's likely to find a marvel release topping the list of highest-grossing films of the year. This tremendous and revolutionary success can all be traced back to Robert Downey Jr., fitting the role of Tony Stark like a glove.
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The template for future superhero films is seen here through an early MCU tale. While it's not the origin of modern superhero storytelling, the film ignited the MCU's possibilities. Modern superhero films were never the same once Downey Jr. won over audiences with his charisma as Iron Man. The film set a precedent of success, and the following films aspired to compete against its success. Because of Downey's charm and playboy attitude, the cocky yet ingenious billionaire Tony Stark works believably well through all the CGI escapist appeal.
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His on-screen confidence and character development are a recipe for cinema success that fits perfectly into the Iron Man suit and persona. The self-awareness in the script and incorrigible lead character thrust Iron Man into never before seen heights of cinema.
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The story, while simple, reminds us how our feelings can resonate with someone outside of our world. The attitude of an overtly pompous billionaire playboy who builds military superhero machines for himself is controlled enough that Stark's character wins the audience. This is due to the solidly crafted yet reliable superhero origin story.
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A self-important billionaire is taken hostage, losing his way of life and becoming humbled right before the audience. Once given his gifts or abilities, this hero learns to use them for good, protecting the world from villains. In the case of Iron Man, Downey Jr. gave a lively, multilayered superhero with a moral compass. The film's awareness can be witnessed by its admirable balancing act of humor and drama. Injecting the proper amount of pathos into a superhero role aimed at massive audiences was rare in 2008. Favreau's direction and collaboration with Downey Jr allowed Iron Man to launch a historical origin story. This superhero tale comes across as honest and convincing as Downey's performance. Iron Man isn't a bloated film, but a superhero film about a man who uses his brain and resources to fly his path to redemption in a story that resonates with many walks of life because of the humanity Downey Jr. gives Stark. The movie even utilizes the power of Downey Jr. as a celebrity comeback story, giving the film a meta-narrative, which shows just how pure a superhero film can be beyond the mise en scene.
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Although the state-of-the-art CGI and brand awareness select superheroes have in the entertainment world, the attention in this film and the origin stories for other marvel films depended on the lead actor. Their likability needed to plug and fit into the formula that was being sketched. Downey Jr. convinced crowds rather quickly that he was Iron Man and that this was the role he was born to play. The idolization of superheroes was finally captured and utilized by marvel studios. The untapped potential of the comic book heroes needed an icon, a jumping-off point, and that's where Iron Man's significance is seen the most.
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Because Iron Man tells the superhero story through its standard template, it finds itself closed off from pushing boundaries in a predictable finale act that unfortunately can't match the rest of the film's momentum. There is noticeable character development, but the story's message and effect are sacrificed for the formula that the Marvel Cinematic Universe mistakingly allows, derailing many of its future films.
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Without the confidence and playful wonder of Downey Jr., this first entry into the MCU could've quickly fallen flat. The future of the expansive Marvel universe is explored excitingly in the MCU's first-ever post-credit scene, which tells the audience there are more superheroes out there waiting to be discovered, almost as if Marvel is telling us they knew they struck superhero gold. While superheroes have been meaningfully portrayed in earlier depictions with Batman and Spiderman films, Iron Man deftly balanced the untapped potential in the mainstream draw to superheroes in cinema.
Searching (2018)
Directed by Aneesh Chaganty
Rating: 8.2/10
Few films seamlessly incorporate modern technology and Hollywood's suspenseful storytelling to create a tension-filled iPhone, go-pro filmed thriller. While initially, the style of the film may come off gimmicky as it may remind viewers of found-footage films, Searching defies the harmful conventions that plague found-footage films through a terrific script, convincing acting, and unique presentation of 21st-century cinematography.
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Searching plays upon our preconceived notions of the cameras that surround us daily. Our phones and laptops have become an integral part of our lives, and the premise of Searching plays upon these devices to create a timely theme. While it may appear as a YA film, the maturity of the plot and the despair the father, David Kim (John Cho), finds himself in gives this story a wider reach towards adults. The story follows Kim as his daughter disappears, which leads him on a wild goose chase through her social media outlets as we only view the film through laptop and phone cameras. Kim follows a detailed trail of breadcrumbs, digging into his daughter's private personal life that he has neglected to become involved in since the death of his wife. The impressive feat Searching achieves is connecting viewers to the lead characters through an ordinary perspective.
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The message of the varying lives we live, especially younger people in social media, is put under the microscope in this film. The immediate and present dangers to safety that social media poses are unraveled from the point of view of a parent, which allows the discovery and suspense to build to emotional peaks throughout the film. The relationships, secrets, and honesty between parent and child are explored to a gut-wrenching level. Searching delivers a barrage of twists that are expertly crafted through newfound methods with modern technical outlets. The intricate weaving of the plot is manageable for audiences to keep track of the unraveling mystery, and there is no damage to verisimilitude.
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How well can a parent trust their child due to the dangers social media imposes? How serious are the threats of social media? These questions resonate with most film viewers and elevate Searching above the average found footage film. The importance of maintaining a relationship with a child through traumatic experiences is a glaring theme of the movie because the death of Kim's wife causes the space between Kim and his daughter. Kim only learns about his daughter's activities in her daily life by searching through her electronics because she has gone missing. Searching is a gripping, rollercoaster ride thriller that elevates its suspense through a fresh spin on timely themes regarding parental guidance and the hazards of evergrowing social media. evergrowing social media.
The Great Beauty (2013)
Directed by Paolo Sorrentino
8.3/10
Some might call the Italian filmmaker Paolo Sorrentino the modern Fellini. As Fellini's voice did, Sorrentino's work represents a familiar, pessimistic, and insightful dive into Italian culture and religion. The Great Beauty is an absorbing tale of excess, regret, and one's search for the meaning of life.
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The difference between Sorrentino and most filmmakers is his drive to answer these thought-provoking questions and arrive at an insightful culmination. The lead character Jep, played by the affecting Toni Servillo, lives off his one-hit-wonder best-seller novel while living in modern-day Rome. His journalistic life in the exquisite beauty of Rome is critically contrasted with his superficial way of life that has dominated his consciousness. We join Jep as his meaning in this superficial world comes crumbling down as he learns a past love of his confessed her everlasting love for him before her passing to her current husband.
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This causes Jep to examine and tear down the lavish lifestyle filled with sin, addiction, and high society that destroyed the Great Beauty he once possessed. How does one look past and acknowledge the lifestyle that corrupted their innocence? Jep accomplishes this by meeting new figures who can provide a new way of thought.
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The Great Beauty features stunning cinematography highlighting the unique beauty of Rome and the intensity of excessive-high society. The score accompanies a melancholic journey sprinkled with moments of drug-induced mania to deliver long-lasting rhythm in the audience's head.
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It's challenging to absorb The Great beauty without being reminded of its apparent influence from Frederico Fellini's hailed Italian classic, La Dolce Vita. Both films trace a pessimistic, struggling man in the journalism world, attempting to navigate his meaning of life in a once ancient Rome that succumbed to societal change. The staggering dissimilarity between the films is the conclusion the two men arrive at.
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The Great Beauty represents acknowledging the missteps along our unique paths in life. An existential crisis can lead one down a pointless road where one struggles to comprehend the world one built for themselves. Sorrentino implores us to contemplate our past decisions, tracing our loss of innocence to its purest core.