JOYLAND

Directing: A-
Acting: A-
Writing: A-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

Joyland is an ironic title, I guess. There’s not much the way of joy in this movie. There are flashes of it, for sure, but always in the face of pressure to suppress it. Maybe director and co-writer Saim Sadiq went in a different direction with the title because Melancholia was taken. Joyland is a very, very different movie, but nevertheless it maintains an almost dreamlike, melancholy tone from start to finish.

Joyland is a notable film for a multitude of reasons, not least of which is its co-lead, Alina Khan, the first transgender actor to be cast in a lead role in a Pakistani film. In certain ways, it takes Pakistan’s evolution to warp speed in comparison to American cinema: this is also a trans character, actually played by a trans actor. They’re doing representation properly right out of the gate.

That’s not to say all the depictions in this film are comfortable. There’s a moment when another character says of Biba—without judgment, mind you—“She’s not a real woman.” But this is the thing: of course she’s a real woman, but these characters don’t have the sophistication of knowledge to understand that. I immediately thought about the need to meet people where they are, when trying to invite them to some greater understanding.

Joyland may just do that, for at least some viewers. It’s an extraordinary achievement in Pakistani cinema, creating a nuanced portrait of family, gender, sexuality, and how all of these things intersect. The central character, Haider (Ali Junejo), is an incredibly meek young man, seemingly satisfied with his domestic duties as his wife Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq) is the breadwinner in their relationship, happily working a job at a salon. Haider and Mumtaz live with Haider’s older brother and his wife; their four daughters; and Haider and his brother’s elderly father—none of whom are especially proud when Haider lands a job at an “erotic dance theater.” He’s actually a completely inexperienced backup dancer, but he lies and says he’s the theater manager. It’s at this theater that he meets Biba, and quickly becomes infatuated with her.

One of the more fascinating things about Joyland is how it doesn’t define Haider’s sexuality in particular, basically depicting a kind of fluidity not often seen even in Western cinema. This is in spite of his offensive misreading and misunderstanding of Biba’s circumstances, not understanding her desire to save up for surgery (“I like you the way you are”), and awkwardly attempting a sexual position Biba has no interest in. With such avenues being explored, one can’t help but wonder how well Joyland played in its home country. The saddest thing, maybe, is that it being a mixed bag is kind of a sign of progress.

Joyland examines more than just Haider’s relationship with Biba. His relationship with his father is predictably fraught, as is that with his brother. Most significantly, his landing of a job results in his wife, Mumtaz, getting pressured to quit her job. She is forced to pick up domestic duties; she eventually gets pregnant; she is quickly miserable. Even as Joyland itself pushes boundaries, it reflects the kinds of enforced gender roles that are impossible to escape without drastic, sometimes fatal action.

Haider and Mumtaz’s relationship is fascinating because, through all of this, it stays surprisingly honest and healthy. That’s not to say that Haider can be open about his captivation by Bibi—but, given the nature of their relationship, in a different culture, they might very well have been able to be.

The characters in Joyland are exquisitely drawn, multidimensional and flawed personalities. Their motivations are often at odds, but easily empathized with. In a way, it’s about all of them accepting their fates. Some of them just take unconventional roads to get there. The fateful ending is ambiguous in its meaning, a sort of somber release. This film’s very existence, by extension, ironically offers a kind of hope its characters cannot find.

An example of Joyland’s indelible imagery.

Overall: A-

BEAU IS AFRAID

Directing: B-
Acting: B+
Writing: C
Cinematography: B+
Editing: C+

I suppose, given enough time. every great director disappoints us eventually. Does Ari Aster getting there with unusual swiftness—on his third feature film, only five years after his first—pull him back out of that designation? I would say no; at least not until we see what he brings us next. Hopefully with a shorter runtime than fully three hours. And less wild self-indulgence.

I’m coming on strong right out of the gate here, and I don’t want to mislead: the biggest thing that makes Beau is Afraid a disappointment is in comparison to Aster’s previous, far superior works, Hereditary (2018) and MidSommar (2019). I didn’t hate Beau Is Afraid, although I cannot think of one person I would recommend it to.

Which is to say, I didn’t love it either. I’d say it’s a mixed bag, except that’s not even the experience of it in the moment. One thing Ari Aster remains consistent with is maintaining a particular tone, and for lack of a better phrase, this film’s tone can best be described as “panic attack.” For three hours, I feel compelled to remind you.

Beau is Afraid is constructed entirely from the title character’s perspective, as played by Joaquin Phoenix (as a pretty dumpy looking, middle-aged man), all of it as though we exist inside his perpetual state of panic. There is no detour into naturalism or realism here; it’s all pretty surreal—from the very start, which must be the first birthing sequence I have ever seen filmed from the perspective of the baby, what he sees, inside the womb and then out. From then on, every single sequence—ultimately going on a journey from surprising place to surprising place, in the broad form of The Odyssey—is a depiction of what Beau fears is going to happen.

Eventually we get clues into where these fears come from, with a few detours into flashback from his childhood, usually in one of multiple states of unconsciousness between locations. Memory is definitively unreliable, which Beau Is Afraid never explicitly states but seems to know, and god knows any vision borne of fear has no root in reality. And this is all we ever see. With that in mind, it should be noted that Beau’s wildly guilt-tripping mother (Patti LuPone) may be less a classic cinema cliché than a simple exaggeration of Beau’s own mind—as is, presumably, absolutely every single thing we see onscreen. But to what degree are audiences considering this?

I kept waiting for a hard cut to reality that never came. Unless: maybe the first scene with Beau at his therapist’s office is the only thing that actually happens? Aster pointedly cuts to the therapist (Stephen McKinley Henderson) picking up his notebook and writing the word guilty. Everything we see after that is a panicked manifestation of that, from the chaotic dangers of city streets outside his derelict apartment building, to the couple (Nathan Lane and Amy Ryan) who hit him with their car and then nurse him back to health in the bedroom of their resentful teenage daughter (Kylie Rogers), to the truly wild turn after the long-delayed consummation of a relationship with a childhood quasi-sweetheart (Parker Posey). These are just a few quick examples; I could go on.

The only real tonal shift that occurs is at the performance of an outdoor play in the forest, where Beau suddenly sees himself on the set, and it turns into a surreal animation sequence, featuring voiceover narration as we see him go on a truncated version of basically this same odyssey, to the point where we watch him grow old. This sequence gets into things like the question of how he could wind up in a tearful reunion with three now-grown sons if he was a virgin . . . and this was where Beau Is Afraid really lost me. And, then: the only hard-cut back to where the sequence began: we’re back with Beau in the audience of the play, standing up, bewildered. Much like I was.

Beau Is Afraid is clearly ripe for analysis, and I suspect I would gain deeper and deeper appreciation for it with multiple viewings. But who the hell wants to do that? This is three straight hours of chaos, fear and stress. And it’s admittedly very well executed, particularly the cinematography (Pawel Pogorzelski, who also shot Aster’s two previous feature films) and the acting. Aster is an auteur who quickly made a name for himself, and the famous faces in smaller parts in this film are clear indicators of how many actors want to work with him: others include Richard Kind and Bill Hader. The only thing that makes rational sense to me is that all these actors read the script and then said, “I can’t make heads or tails of this. But whatever, it’s Ari Aster!”

I must admit, there are many moments in Beau Is Afraid that will stick with me for a while. That’s kind of his thing. On the upside, in contrast to his other films which were more clearly within the horror genre, this one has nothing gruesome in it. Although it does eventually feature a giant monster penis.

Once it finally sunk in that the narrative would never revert to any other separate “reality,” I began to wonder if we were meant to believe everything we saw onscreen was actually happening. That may have been by design. But, then there would be characters supposed to have been dispatched one moment, suddenly appearing again the next. We are clearly never meant to trust the narrative in Beau Is Afraid, which is an expression of one man’s waking nightmare, taking all the twists and turns that happen in the mind of anyone who is just perpetually terrified.

For all I know, Beau Is Afraid will resonate more with people who are clinically diagnosed with anxiety, of various types. Does that mean they would like it? That, I imagine, is an entirely different question.

Everything is as bad as you think or so you think

Overall: B-

ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET.

Directing: A-
Acting: A-
Writing: A-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

It’s a bit ironic that Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret is the most “godly” film I have truly enjoyed since I actually considered myself religious, over two and a half decades ago—and yet, it’s also quite pointedly neutral on religion. The trailers before the film advertised so many “inspirational” films about the power of faith, I almost began to get worried. Thankfully, I already knew how critically acclaimed this movie is. Frankly, without knowing that, I’d never have had any interest.

I suppose I might have, had I ever read the widely and long beloved “middle-grade novel” by Judy Blume. But, unlike the vast majority of the people reviewing this movie and comparing it favorably to the source material, I have not. I did not even realize, until seeing this film, how much of a massive pop culture blind spot it really was for me. When the eleven-year-old girls started chanting, “We must! We must! We must increase our bust!”, it brought back memories of my mother playing around, and reciting the same chant when I was a teenager. I never had any idea that it was a reference to a pop culture touchstone originally published in 1970 (when my mother was 18, incidentally).

Which is to say, I can only judge this film on its own merits—the only way any film should be judged, even if it’s been adapted from a beloved novel. I really couldn’t tell you how great an “adaptation” it is. I can only tell you that it stands firmly on its own, that this would be an objectively wonderful film even if it were released exactly as is without the novel ever having been published. The only disappointing thing about it is how it was never made earlier.

It could be argued that nothing is more important in film than tone—not just establishing tone, but nailing it, and maintaining it. This has to be the greatest compliment that can be given to Kelly Fremon Craig (The Edge of Seventeen), the 42-year-old director who also co-wrote the script with the now-85-year-old Judy Blume. The tone here is so singular, in fact, that I struggle with the words to define it. Dramedy with a touch of sweetness, I suppose?

Movies like this typically have an uncomfortable sort of earnestness, or are too treacly. Neither is the case here. It’s not even especially nostalgic in tone, even though it’s clearly pleasing many audiences who are nostalgic about the novel. Its tone is fairly matter-of-fact and straightforward, which effectively makes it feel like how good it really is sneaks up on you.

The decision to set the film in the year in which the book was published (1970) was both crucial and correct. Eleven-year-old Margaret spends so much time speaking directly to God, much of it praying for relatably trivial things like a successful party or for her breasts to finally grow in, her innocence just wouldn’t play as well in the present-day, with kids wildly worldly, informed, sophisticated and even cynical by comparison. Yes, even at age eleven. Margaret’s rites of passage may be universal, but they get greater purity in the telling without the distractions of modern trappings.

Margaret is played by Abby Ryder Fortson, who is 15 now but was 13 during production, playing 11. I want to single her out as a phenomenal youmg performer, but I was particularly stuck by the performances of all the kids in this movie. They’re all so good, it’s a bit stunning. There once was a time when child actors were so reliably stilted on film, it was easy to assume getting great, nuanced acting out of children was impossible. I don’t know what changed, casting tactics or directing styles or what, but those days are clearly over. Bad child acting is actually the exception these days, and Are You There, God? is like the poster film for the new era.

But I haven’t even gotten to what is my favorite thing about this movie, and that is the specificity of a young girl “becoming a woman”—without trauma. Margaret is neither ignorant about nor afraid of getting her period; on the contrary, she’s eager and excited about it. She and her friends chat openly about it. She has a perfectly healthy relationship with her mother (a well-cast Rachel McAdams) with whom she can talk about it all openly: her desire to get a bra, the inevitable moment when her period comes. I can’t speak to the common experiences of women and girls with these things in reality, obviously, but I certainly know how these things are typically depicted onscreen. This film stands apart.

And sure, there’s drama here, but none of it is tied directly to a young girl’s body changing in ways that are predictable yet feel unpredictable. Instead, the drama is about the lessons learned in kindness and friendship—particularly between girls—and, somewhat pointedly, the tensions between different religions.

The religious aspect fascinates me, and I had to look up the plot of the book to see if it was as significant there (it was). Margaret prays frequently to a god she doesn’t know how to categorize—which, clearly, is an intentional theme—because her parents have deliberately chosen not to raise her with any faith. Her parents, her mother having been raised by conservative Christian parents and her father (Benny Safdie) have been raised by Jewish ones, are both so disillusioned with their religion that they think the’ve done Margaret a favor, but it leaves Margaret feeling somewhat aimless.

With the exception of hardline extremists from either side, these explorations of religion make Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret. a movie with unusually broad appeal, particularly in an era with increasingly niche tastes. This is a movie that can easily entertain the pious and the atheist alike. It might work only slightly better than either on the agnostic. There’s a sequence in which Margaret’s estranged grandparents make a surprise visit, and her paternal grandmother (Kathy Bates, an always welcome presence) also shows up, the resulting tension erupting into an argument that is the most contrived moment in the film, a little too neatly resolved.

Not that it has to be anything different, given that this film’s real target audience would be kids around Margaret’s age, or maybe just a tad older, with some experiences behind them to make Margaret more relatable. That is clearly the power of this story, though, and the beauty of stories about adolescents that work this well: it doesn’t matter how old you are, if you can remember being that age, it really hits home.

Spoiler alert! They aren’t just reading it for the articles!

Overall: A-

POLITE SOCIETY

Directing: B
Acting: B+
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

If you’re looking for an uber-specific niche interest in your moviegoing entertainment, look no further than Polite Society, which fuses Bollywood with martial arts as performed by Brits of South Asian descent. It’s west-meets-east-meets-further-east-meets-west again.

And I had a great time. I suppose I should also be clear: this movie is cheesy as hell, to a degree that I made a conscious decision to look past. Sometimes, it’s downright cartoonish.

This is clearly intentional on the part of writer-director Nida Manzoor, in a feature film debut she isn’t taking any more seriously than she wants us to. Don’t get me wrong—she also plainly wanted to do a good job. But, the job she had at hand was farcical, and for the most part it succeeds on that front. The performances are winning; the action and choreography are delightful. I just would have liked the plotting to be a bit more clever.

At least there is believable love and affection between sisters Ria (Priya Kansara) and Lena (Ritu Arya), who both not only have unusually creative dreams for themselves, but they also have parents who indulge them far more than any of their parents’ peers do their own children. Ria is the youngest, still in high school, making YouTube videos of the moves she learns in martial arts class as she dreams of becoming a stuntwoman. Lena, the eldest, has dropped out of high school because she’s convinced herself she isn’t talented enough.

With Lena’s life adrift and without direction, she gets easily lured into a quasi-arranged marriage with handsome Salim (Akshay Khanna), who has an uncomfortably intimate relationship with his cartoonishly villainous mother, Raheela (Nimra Bucha). Much of Polite Society is spent with Ria plotting to break up this engagement between Salim and her sister, in increasingly ridiculous ways—including a sequence in which not only Ria, but one of her two schoolmates infiltrates Salim’s gym dressed as a man. (In one memorable shot, we see a bunch of naked butts in a locker room.)

This is real “Looney Tunes” stuff, which is where Polite Society slightly stumbles, as it relies on cheesy physical gags as opposed to wit. What makes it worth giving into the utter silliness, however, is when Nida Manzoor kicks it up a notch with at least one choreographed wedding dance lip syncing to a Bollywood song (where Ria found the time to rehearse with several backup dancers is unclear), and multiple sequences with martial arts choreography usually reserved for straight up action movies, but here featuring women in beautifully colorful saris. Seeing all these martial arts moves combined with flowing scarves and swirling dresses is a memorably charming touch.

Ria’s consistent practice in her martial arts class provides a plausible explanation for her skill—as well as her struggles, particularly with a spin kick—or, more accurately, “Chekov’s spin kick,” which we see her fail at several times early on. Lena proves to be equally competent at fighting, though, and we see less of anything to explain that. And of course, through most of the film, Ria is outmatched by Raheela, but Raheela is such a cartoon villain that having her be great at everything—until she ultimately gets bested—is practically mandatory.

I guess you could say: I wanted to feel the vibe with Polite Society more than I really did, at least on average. There’s some potential there that doesn’t quite get met. I’m always down with silliness, but I like it better when married with cleverness, which this film has a bit of, but it skirts the line between cleverness and cheesy tropes a bit too much of the time.

It wouldn’t be nearly as good as it still manages to be without the actors, though. It’s fun to watch Nimra Bucha chew up the scenery, and Priya Kansara and Ritu Arya have great chemistry as sisters. Best of all—and this remains an important point, something that makes Polite Society stand out in the best way—this is a movie about women, about sisterhood, directed, written, and shot by women. There are also men in key crew roles (most notably editor Robbie Morrison), but many of the key roles behind the scenes are filled by women, and nearly all the roles onscreen are women. The only real exceptions are Ria’s father, who is only in a few scenes; and Salim, who is given far less depth as a character than any of the many women surrounding him.

Which is to say, there’s a lot to delight in what Polite Society has to offer. It’s also largely mindless, yet well executed fun. Which people of all genders have the right to do! Not everything has to be a masterpiece; in fact, most things don’t. And this one is certainly unique, which is the greatest thing it has going for it.

Sisters are kicking it for themselves.

Overall: B