MICKEY 17

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

It was always going to be a challenge for Bong Joon Ho to follow up his 2019 film Parasite, which turned out to be a watershed moment in both cinema and Oscar history. This is a guy with a penchant for genre mashing, and actually never more so than in Parasite—but no one would expect him to match that, and it makes sense that he would return to his oddball science fiction sensibilities with Mickey 17, a movie with neither hopes nor aspirations for Oscar glory. This is a movie just made by a bunch of people who are clearly having fun.

None more so than its star, Robert Pattinson, who plays two parts: Mickey 17 and Mickey 18. Technically he plays 18 parts, all of them the same person: Mickey has signed up to be an “expendable,” offering his body for fatal research on a planet marked for colonization, his body “reprinted” every time he dies, each time with his memory restored. Bong, who co-wrote the script, wisely doesn’t even try to explain what kind of science could make this possible, because it doesn’t matter, not pertinent to the story being told. This is just used as a tool for exploring other things that are on his mind.

In this future world, it has been declared unethical to allow “multiples” to exist at the same time: a person can only be reprinted after death. After we are taken through a pre-credits montage of Mickey’s first through 16th bodies, and unexpected twist of fate has 17 surviving when everyone assumes he has died, thereby printing 18 without realizing 17 is not really dead. These two characters are the leads in Mickey 17, and Pattison gives a performance that is unique, delightful, and illustrative of a breadth of talent wider than many realize.

Pattinson and Kristen Stewart have followed similar career paths after the Twilight series made them young movie stars—ironically, in both cases with objectively unremarkable performances (in Stewart’s case, that’s putting it diplomatically) in that subpar vampire fantasy series. In the years since, both of them have taken on far more interesting roles that have revealed surprising depths of talent. It would be fascinating to see them paired in a film again, but in a film that was actually good.

In the meantime, we can get a kick out of Mickey 17 in Mickey 17, a copy of a copy of a copy who is somehow frightened and insecure. When he meets Mickey 18, he discovers 18 to be very much over it, much more aggressive and even prone to revenge. You might even say nihilistic. I thought a lot about what might account for such drastic change in personality in the exact same person, and could never quite come up with anything. Mickey 17 is clearly fatigued by the memory of 16 different deaths. There is a fascinating thing to think about, though: with Mickey 17 still alive, presumably Mickey 18 can only be revived with the memories of Mickey 16, which means this is the first point at which two different versions of Mickey’s experience diverge.

This is much different from playing twins, and is more akin to playing clones, who are produced as people of the exact same age. It’s a deeply fascinating premise that Bong really doesn’t dig into deeply enough. The closest is when Mickey’s girlfriend, Nasha (Naomi Ackie), delights in the attempt at sleeping with two Mickeys at once. Mickey 17 is understandably baffled, and Mickey 18 is into it—even at one point running his fingers through 17’s hair. The scene gets interrupted, but I found myself relating to all three people involved. Who wouldn’t want to sleep with two Robert Pattinsons at once? And even though he’s not so much “hunky” as possessing a kind of stringy handsomeness, if I had Pattinson’s body I’d sleep with myself too.

But I haven’t even gotten to the “creepers,” the alien life on this planet so named by the very Trumpian character Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo, mugging in oversized teeth) and his wife, Ylfa (Toni Collette, stealing scenes as usual). These creatures have a vague resemblance to the “super pigs” in Bong’s 2017 film Ojka, only this time they’re closer to a cross between a muskox and a giant caterpillar. One of several nitpicky criticisms I have of Mickey 17 is how the “creepers” are the single form of life we see on the planet Niflheim. What sustains them? What do they eat? How do they thrive in a vacuum devoid of biodiversity? So far as we can tell, Nilfheim features only ice, and these creepers.

They do prove to be surprisingly intelligent, and a “translation device” gets introduced that, plot-wise, is a little too easy and convenient. Still, Bong manages to shoehorn in a lot of undeniably liberal talking points about colonization, and who is really an “alien.” And don’t get me wrong, of course I appreciate that, but much of it is a bit too on the nose.

Mickey 17 is undeniably entertaining, but also a bit too simple in its storytelling given the premise and its setting. The creepers are all impressively rendered, but I would have liked a bit more of the dazzle promised by this film’s marketing—either in terms of the visual effects, which lack color with its endless focus on white ice and snow contrasted with the metal and browns of the spaceship or the creeper creatures, or in terms of its plot turns. There’s not even as much action in this movie as you might expect. To be fair, it still has oddball sensibility to spare, which at the very least we can always expect of a Bong Joon Ho film. This is a movie that did not quite meet the excitement of my expectations, but the more I think about it, the more I think it will likely work well on rewatch.

Robert Pattinson doubles our pleasure in Mickey 17.

Overall: B

UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE

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

An odd and unusual thing occurred when I went to SIFF Film Forum to see Universal Language tonight. When I arrived, about 15 minutes before showtime, there was a surprisingly large group of people already waiting—I would guess at least 30—outside the theater, which was not yet open. I, like probably many others, assumed maybe they did not open until shortly before the one showtime they had tonight, and waited patiently, even though we could see two or three people skulking around the dimly lit lobby through the glass walls. The minutes passed, and the crowd grew larger. Who knew this many people were eager to see this obscure Canadian-Iranian film, six days into its run at SIFF’s smallest theater?

Shortly after 7:00, the listed showtime, a young woman finally opened the door to announce they were still waiting for someone to arrive who could run the projector. She thanked us for our patience, said they hoped to let us in within five or ten minutes, and declared she also had a ticket and was excited to see this movie. Within minutes after that, finally, we were all let inside, and filtered into the theater as quickly as possible. There were no concessions for sale, but this crowd didn’t seem to care. The house was nearly sold out (in a theater capacity of 90), and within moments of the film starting, the audience was eating up this film—generously laughing at the most subtle of humor, a crowd typical of SIFF Cinema, eager to bridge gaps across cultures through cinema. Just like the characters in this movie.

What is my take, then? Honestly, I’m relatively ambivalent—I found Universal Language’s self-consciously absurdist charms to be effective, but often had no idea what the hell was really going on. I still can’t decide if that even matters. I’m not as eager as the rest of that crowd clearly was wholeheartedly to embrace this film regardless of how much sense it made, and yet, I found it a fun experience, in a rather bemusing way. I was impressed by how successfully it conveyed an often surrealist sensibility, without the use of camera tricks or special effects. This movie was clearly made on a shoestring budget, and still it looks great, thanks in large part to cinematographer Isabelle Stachtchenko.

Much of Universal Language went over my head, but I got this much: it straddles the line between absurdism and realism, and its odd sensibility and tone belie great narrative depths. There is a peculiar fusion of both culture and language, between Tehran, Iran and Winnipeg, Manitoba (in spite of a running joke with multiple characters mistaking it for a city in Alberta). Director and co-writer Matthew Rankin is himself a native Winnipegger, who plays a character in the film named Matthew, a government employee in Montreal who sheds his identity and hops on a bus to Winnipeg. On this bus he is joined by the “French immersion class” teacher (Mani Soleymanlou) who is never seen again after the bus breaks down outside Winnipeg, one of the narrative threads that kind of threw me for a loop—especially given that the film opens on that class.

But, there are two other interwoven storylines, and one of them involves a couple of girls from that class, who discover money frozen in ice and then go on a quest through the city to find the tools to chip it out of there. In this location, I was under the impression that we were all still in Montreal, but their quest later has them in Winnipeg, as though the two cities are easily traversed back and forth—even though it is specifically noted on the aforementioned bus that they have to ride all the way through Ontario between the two. But, maybe I missed something. I may have missed several things.

Finally, we meet Massoud (Pirouz Nemati), employee of the “Winnipeg Earmuff Authority” who freelances as a tour guide through amusingly absurd and innocuous “points of interest” in Winnipeg. This includes a briefcase abandoned on a park bench in 1978, and a stop at the memorial site for 19th-century Manitoban resistance fighter Louis Riel, where the tour group is asked to observe “thirty minutes of silence” in his honor. Eventually we learn that Matthew has returned to Winnipeg to reconnect with his ailing mother with whom he long ago lost touch, and who in her failing memory of old age has long been mistaking Massoud for her son, after a few years of him shoveling show for her. Ultimately this provides opportunity for connection through shared elements of identity, although for me this metaphor lacked clarity.

Still, between Matthew, Massoud, the girls, and even a couple of other students from the French immersion class, in the final act these seemingly disparate storylines connect in startlingly satisfying ways, puzzle pieces that suddenly fit together almost as if by accident. All the while, we are taken through a fictional version of Winnipeg where it has such a large population of Iranian immigrants that every sign is written in Persian, right down to those on a version of Tim Horton’s that is a teahouse that also sells doughnuts. Indeed, the vast majority of the dialogue in Universal Language is Persian, with merely a sprinkling of lines in French.

This blend of East and West is very much borne of the collaborators on this film, with Matthew Rankin co-writing the script with Iranian-Canadian friends Ila Firouzabadi and Pirouz Nemati (Nemati being, again, who plays Massoud, and Firouzabadi appears in a cameo as the bus driver, who argues with an old lady passenger who complains about having to sit next to a live turkey—who, the driver points out, had its own paid ticket).

Universal Language has a clear love of Persian culture, at the same time it has some fun with the notion of Winnipeg as a dull city with nothing worth attracting tourists (something I am certain is not true). It has a “Grey District” and a “Beige District.” Ironically, it is shot beautifully, with stark, almost Brutalist simplicity, often framing characters against a backdrop of grey concrete and white snow. I don’t know what it is about Winnipeg that apparently inspires wildly absurdist films; I couldn’t help but also think of the 2003 film The Saddest Music in the World, set in a Depression-era Winnipeg in which Isabella Rossellini gets two glass prosthetic legs filled with beer. The director of that film, Guy Maddin, also a native of Winnipeg, later directed the very strange 2007 film, a sort of local history through a dreamlike lens, My Winnipeg. Rankin seems very much to be following in Maddin’s footsteps, just with a much more multicultural bent.

If there is anything Universal Language decidedly is not, it’s American—it’s very Persian and very Canadian, with no American sensibility whatsoever. These days, that comes as a relief: a celebration of diversity through quietly fantastical cultural fusion. I didn’t always know what to make of Universal Language, but I enjoyed the journey through its tightly structured if untethered narrative.

Matthew Rankin and Pirouz Nemati embrace their differences.

Overall: B

PADDINGTON IN PERU

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B
Special Effects: A-

With two preceding films that have long been beloved and arguably became instant classics in their time, Paddington in Peru has a lot to live up to. I’ll get right to the point there: it doesn’t quite make it.

Paddington in Peru is fine. But, you want these movies to be better than fine. I suppose I should confess I really missed the boat—two boats, actually—with both Paddington and Paddington 2. Having been released in 2014 and 2017, respectively, I had already been reviewing movies for years by the time they came out, but I did not see either of them in theaters, I guess because I thought they looked too corny and cutesy. Little did I know! I finally watched them both in 2018 and was utterly—and predictably—charmed by them, although I seem to be in the minority position that the first is actually the better of the two. I have now seen them both three times, the third time in anticipation of Paddington in Peru—this practice often being a mistake. Indeed, I don’t recommend it. If it’s been a while since you saw either of the previous two films, do not rewatch them shortly before seeing this new one. You might actually enjoy it more.

And don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed Paddington in Peru, in a whimsically nostalgic way that director Dougal Wilson clearly intended. This is Wilson’s debut feature film, after a long career directing music videos and film shorts, and the absence of Paul King, who directed the previous two films, is keenly felt. Granted, King went on to direct Wonka, which was definitively worse than this movie, so I’m not sure where that leaves us. In Wilson’s hands, while changing the setting away from London to Paddington’s country of origin is quite compelling, much of the film just feels like a franchise running out of steam.

This time out, we get new characters played by both Antonio Banderas and Olivia Colman, both apparently jumping at the chance to be in a Paddington movie in spite of their characters being undercooked. Banderas makes the best of a character haunted by generations of ancestors looking for treasure in Peru, a boat captain named Huner Cabot, but as written, he never fully clicks into the story. Colman certainly fares better as the “Reverend Mother” who turns out to be a villain a step slightly back in the direction of Nicole Kidman from the first film. This is not really a spoiler, as Colman only stops short of literally winking at the camera, in a way that’s one of the most endearing elements of the film. She lets the word “suspicious” slip out in amusingly suspicious ways.

The entire Brown family is also back, cast with mostly the same actors, which is comforting—once again we get Hugh Bonneville as Henry; and Madeleine Harris and Samuel Joslin as the kids, Judy and Jonathan, now seven years older than they were in Paddington 2. Julie Walters also returns as Mrs. Bird, but for reasons apparently unknown, Emily Mortimer replaces Salley Hawkins as May Brown. It’s an okay replacement, I guess, as I didn’t even realize the actor had been replaced until I looked at IMDb. In any case, it’s nice to see the whole family again, but as they all take a family trip to Peru with Paddington to help him find his Aunt Lucy who has gone missing from the Home for Retired Bears, they seldom serve any purpose besides fitting into slots of obligation.

In the early scenes, when Paddington gets photos taken for his passport now that he’s become a British citizen, it’s easy to be charmed. When the Browns travel to Peru, the momentum peters out a bit, the deceptively hilarious whimsey of the previous films largely absent. Boat captain Hunter Cabot shows up with his concerned daughter Gina (Carla Tous), and the vibe is a bit incongruous. Olivia Colman’s Reverend Mother isn’t a perfect character either, but Colman is clearly having such a great time, I couldn’t help but have fun watching her.

Of course things do come full circle in a way with Paddington in Peru, the third film set in the country he came from, and the action picks up in the last act in a fairly satisfying way. The story closes in a way that really tugs on our nostalgia strings, and I was not immune to it. In spite of the story sagging a bit prior to that, I got a little teary eyed. This movie works as a coda of sorts to the Paddington franchise, even if it’s undeniably inferior to what came before it—an all-too common turn in the third part of a film series.

I will say this: Paddington in Peru looks spectacular. The visual effects are top notch, especially in the Peru sequences, where the detail in the rendering of Paddington bear is incredible. I won’t say it makes up for a relatively mediocre plot, but this movie is visually dazzling, and that’s still something. And of course, Paddington himself—especially as voiced by the delightful Ben Wishaw—is as lovable as ever. This one may not be an instant classic, but it still invites us back into a world we know and love, still a warm and cozy place to visit.

Not as great as we wanted, but we can make the most of it: maybe use Paddington’s approach to all things when watching this movie.

COMPANION

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B

Companion is nothing if not consistent. Everything about it comes together at the same frequency, which I suppose might be best characterized as adequate fun. It’s better than average, but I’d hardly call it exceptional. It’s a science fiction thriller with nothing original to say but with a satisfying economy of storytelling. Writer-director Drew Hancock can be credited with at least that much.

If you want to keep your film budget capped at $10 million, just set the story in a secluded mansion in the woods, limiting the primary characters to five. There’s a few interactions with extraneous minor characters, but in this entire film, we only ever see ten people onscreen. A good majority of the 97-minute runtime is focused on the five people staying for the weekend in the house: the rich Russian who owns the place, Sergey (Rupert Friend, really laying on the Russian accent thick); his young trophy wife, Kat (Megan Sure); and the two couples visiting: Josh and Iris (Jack Quaid and Sophie Thatcher), and Eli and Patrick (Harvey Guillén and Lukas Gage). Side note: Guillén and Gage are both gay, and both have been cast in multiple roles as gay characters, which is a nice bit of consistent representation.

As for the story in Companion, here lies a dilemma. This is the kind of movie that is very difficult to market in a way that both gets people to buy tickets and avoids revealing too much. Ditto writing a review about it. I go to the movies multiple times a week, which means I sat through the initial cut of Companion’s trailer, with its caginess and vague hints at what’s going on in the story, countless times—never feeling especially compelled to go see it. Then a second cut of the trailer was released, and suddenly I thought: oh, I do want to see that. And yet, the details revealed in the new trailer certainly robbed me of some of the joy I’d have gotten had I come into it knowing far less.

It does make me wonder if I’d have been more immediately impressed with Companion had I known less about it going in. This film is written and cut in such a way that, for the first quarter or so of its runtime, all you know is this small group of people has come to spend a weekend together—and, for some reason, Josh’s friends all regard Iris with an odd reticence and borderline suspicion. Something’s up, but we’re not meant to know what, until the inevitable turn that reveals what’s really going on—and then the story can unfold from there.

The script is arguably fairly predictable either way, but it is especially so when you go in knowing what the basic premise is. I’m not certain I would have thought this movie was better had I not known, but I almost certainly would have had more fun. And I did find this movie pretty fun regardless.

With all that in mind, I am taking great pains not to reveal much about this movie at all, even though there’s a lot more I could say about it if I did. I will say that the casting is interesting, for different reasons all around, but especially Sophie Thatcher, an undeniably beautiful young woman with minor physical imperfections that get underscored by the nature of the character she’s playing. Also, Companion has a moment or two of suspense but is never particularly scary, but has a couple moments of graphic violence. And the sparing use of such moments does increase their inpact.

So here’s what it all comes down to: Companion is a fun diversion, if not one you absolutely need to see in theaters. I would recommend watching it on whatever streamer it later winds up on, though (it’s a Warner Bros. Pictures film, so, probably on Max). Just make a note of this title, don’t learn anything more about the story, and watch it blind when you get the chance. You’ll have a good time.

It’s unexceptional but fun!

Overall: B

DOG MAN

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

Dog Man is a cute, sweet, sporadically very funny movie, based on a series of graphic novels of the same name by Dav Pilkey, which were themselves a spinoff of Pilkey’s original Captain Underpants illustrated novel series. Dog Man is also overstuffed with antic plotting, and feels a bit overlong even at an 89-minute runtime. Surely young kids will love it; they don’t care about nuances of criticism. As for how the adults will like it when they take children to see it? Well, they won’t likely hate it, at least.

On the topic of animated feature films that manage to reach both children and adults at their own levels simultaneously, Dog Man is impressive in how often it manages this, even without particularly sophisticated or subversively “adult” humor. This movie is wholesome top to bottom, and is only rated PG, I would assume, because of the cartoon violence in it. The protagonist is a loyal dog’s head transplanted onto the body of his beloved police officer master, after all, and director and co-writer Peter Hastings (collaborating with Pilkey on the script) somewhat pointedly skirts past the darker implications there. This means Officer Knight is effectively dead, right? Someone tell all the children in the screenings so they understand! Actually, I’d have more respect for this film if it found some way to say Officer Knight—or his head, anyway—had gone to live on a farm.

Indeed, there is a vibe of some missed opportunity with Dog Man, a film that is filled with self-awareness and packed with jokes and sight gags—I enjoyed the gag where two characters argued on opposite sides of a split screen and one of them literally grabbed the line splitting the image. It’s that kind of subtly meta stuff that really works in this movie. Unfortunately, while many of the jokes land, plenty of them don’t, and the latter happen when the story sags under the weight of its own bloat.

I keep thinking of the halcyon days of the 75-minute animated feature film, something that was far more common roughly thirty years ago and earlier. This is much more appropriate to the attention span of young child audiences, and many animated features in the past decade—specifically those meant for kids—have leaned closer to an hour and 45 minutes. Given the desire for theaters to maximize showtimes and therefore ticket sales, I’m at a loss as to what the endgame is there, unless the skill of the storytelling justifies the length, which is rare. And getting to Dog Man, this is a film that would land far more effectively for adults and children alike with a runtime closer to 75 minutes, but for some reason filmmakers seem to think they need to “flesh out” these stories.

But Dog Man is exceedingly simple: once Dog and Man combine, they become a “Supa Cop,” easily capturing OK City’s biggest villain, Petey the (of course) evil cat—voiced pretty entertainingly by Pete Davidson. He plots to take over the world and rid it of all “do-gooders,” going so far as to clone himself, not realizing the clone will appear as a kitten who won’t grow up for 18 years. “Li’l Petey” (voiced adorably by Lucas Hopkins Calderon) comes out of the clone machine—easily ordered by mail by Petey—with an innocence that, naturally, brings everyone together in the end. Spoilers!

Anyway, Petey is just as good at escaping prison—in an admittedly delightful montage—as Dog Man is at catching him, so this just becomes a cycle until Petey ups the ante with all manner of wild inventions, including my favorite: a robot he calls “80-Hexatron Droidformigon,” or “80-HD.” The robot becomes a quasi-character in its own right, although the rest of the cast is much more amusing, including Lil Red Howery as Dog Man’s bumbling police Chief; Cheri Oteri as OK City’s comically corrupt Mayor; Isla Fisher as ambitious TV reporter Sarah Hatoff; Stephen Root as Petey’s deadbeat dad; and Ricky Gervais as the movie’s most baffling character, an evil fish villain named Flippy. (Look for the obvious Aliens reference when Flippy goes after Li’l Petey and Petey shouts, “Get away from him you fish!”)

Flippy makes a nice segue into what doesn’t work all that well in Dog Man. Flippy serves as a villain to unite all the others against, but the plot mechanics are unnecessarily convoluted, and the “climactic” sequence this ushers in is less exciting than it is baffling. Literal buildings are brought to life as sort of building-monsters that wreak havoc, almost Gozilla-style. Dog Man winds up operating a giant “Mecha Mail Man” to battle them with. It’s all very: what? Although it still gets a few funny gags, none of it really works as well as the rest of the movie does.

Ultimately, Dog Man falls into the same trap nearly every other superhero movie does, predictably ending in a massive, ridiculously high-stakes battle blowout. Who the hell created the rule that every superhero movie has to end this way? Peter Hastings does smuggle in a subtle (and very brief) commentary on this very trope, but while also fully participating in it. I’d have much preferred a resolution only between Dog Man, Petey and Li’l Petey without any involvement with a supervillain fish and monster buildings. And haven’t we had enough of Ricky Gervais anyway? There’s a man who started off strong and then long outlasted his welcome.

To be fair, as “superhero movies” go, Dog Man is unlike any other. It just would have been far more successful, even on its own terms, with some script polishing and tightening of the editing. It wasn’t what I wanted nor what it could have been, but to its credit, I still had a good time. And none of my criticisms will mean anything whatsoever to a seven-year-old who will certainly have a blast watching it.

Just do your job Dog Man!

Overall: B

NICKEL BOYS

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

America—or, I guess I should say, White America—has a stunning capacity for sticking our heads in the sand, for ignoring our own perpetrated horrors in our history. We aren’t told about things like what happened at the Florida School for Boys, the school that inspired “Nickel Academy” in RaMell Ross’s unforgettable new film Nickel Boys. The school in the film is thinly veiled in fictionalization, but the horrors that occurred there are not. The staff at the Florida School for Boys in Okeechobee, Florida, opened in 1955 and finally forced to close in 2011, really did abuse, torture, and in many cases even murder the Black students at that school, with dozens of unmarked graves discovered and excavated only into the 2010s.

Nickel Boys exists to force us to confront these horrors, and there should be no mistake: this is a difficult watch, of Schindler’s List proportions. I still have a deep appreciation for having seen it, even though it left me feeling even more dispirited about America than I already was. Much like two different Presidential elections in the past decade, it’s just another layer peeled off revealing who we really are as a nation. Any argument that “it was a different time” holds no water here—this is not a story set in colonial times, or during the Civil War. People are still living today with vivid memories of this stuff, and any idea that the permissive social structures that allowed this to happen no longer exist is preposterous.

The story presented here uses the Civil Rights Movement of the early sixties as a backdrop, largely as a way to underscore how the two teenagers whose points of view we see are beaten down in even worse ways than they could have imagined: inspiration and hope for change was in the air, only to be gleefully and cruelly crushed by local authorities. Elwood (Ethan Herisse) is an incredibly bright and promising student, on his way to a new school recommended by his high school teacher when the car he got into hitchhiking is pulled over. The car is apparently stolen, and in spite of Elwood’s clear innocence in the matter, he is arrested and sent to Nickel Academy, where he is expected to stay until he graduates. He doesn’t even learn until much later that when his guardian grandmother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) first tried to come and visit him, the staff lied and said he was sick and could not take any visitors.

Early on at the school, Elwood makes a friend, Turner (Brandon Wilson), and Nickel Boys switches back and forth between their perspectives. And I do mean this literally, as in, with the cinematography, used as first-person perspective, the camera showing us exactly what is seen through the eyes of each character. The entire film is shot this way, and is what makes it truly stand apart on an artistic level—it really is a film experience unlike any other, and a stylistic choice, it turns out, I have very mixed feelings about.

Until Elwood meets Turner, the camera perspective is always that of Elwood’s. In the scene where they meet, at the school cafeteria, the perspective suddenly shifts from Elwood to Turner, and we see the entire exchange repeat from his perspective. Showing the same scene from both perspectives only happens a couple of times in the film, which otherwise just keeps moving the story forward each time the perspective shifts. This is how we finally start seeing both of the boys actually in front of the camera. A few times, we see very cleverly shot scenes where we see reflections in windows or mirrors, of course with no view of the camera (I found myself wondering if that was somehow done practically with camera angles or if some kind of special effect was used; either way it’s impressive). In one scene we see the two of them looking up at themselves together in mirrors mounted on a ceiling above them. Elwood spends an awkwardly long time looking straight up, even once they start walking along.

Nickel Boys is one of the most critically acclaimed films of the year, and based on what I knew about it beforehand, I went in both expecting and wanting to really love it. What I did not expect was the extent to which its story gets obscured by its artistic abstractions, which permeate every scene, from beginning to end. The story this film is telling is essential, but I found its manner of telling to be frequently disorienting. Even with its first-person camera points of view, the editing and cinematography are so florid, sometimes even dreamlike, it was easy to get lost. Certain technical choices often took me out of the movie, such as how the perspectives of Elwood and Turner as teenagers were literally of their own sight, but when the narrative sporadically flashed forward to one of them as an adult, RaMell Ross and his cinematographer Jomo Fray pull the camera out and behind his head: those scenes all play out with us just behind the man’s head.

To be certain, the performances are great across the board, with one possibly key exception: when we are inside either Elwood’s or Turner’s heads, and we hear them speak, there’s a naturalism missing from their delivery, that is very much there when we see them perform onscreen. It seems obvious that Nickel Boys is a wildly impressive achievement on a technical level, with intricately planned blocking and choreography to make the scenes work, especially with everyone onscreen playing to a camera rather than to a fellow actor. I’m just not fully convinced this stylistic choice was the best way to tell such a story—or, one wonders, any story. In this case, there is actually a narrative twist at the end, and largely because of the ample technical and artistic abstractions, it took me longer than it should have to register what had really happened.

When it comes to the aforementioned horrors, it may do well to note that we see very little of it onscreen. What we see more of is the terror the kids feel at the expectations of these horrors, as in a pivotal scene where kids wait outside a closed door listening to the savage beatings of corporal punishment and knowing they await the same fate—a fate that has one of our two protagonists later waking up in the infirmary. A lot of abuse and torture goes well beyond the physical, however, and Nickel Boys also makes that clear. In the end, in the flash-forward scenes, we discover that the school was far worse than we even realized, or even those students realized. It’s these sorts of details that make it no less difficult a film to sit through.

I wonder if the uniquely unparalleled cinematography here is meant as a sort of buffer, an artistic space meant to cushion the act of facing horrifying realities. How well Nickel Boys works on an artistic level feels far more up for debate to me than apparently a lot of other people, who simply regard it as an absolute triumph. For me, though, the first-person visuals combined with its nonlinear editing often put the narrative a bit too far out of reach. The story itself, on the other hand, could not be more essential or relevant, although the impact is likely much greater in the Colson Whitehead novel on which it is based.

Elwood and Turner confront the viewers by facing themselves.

Overall: B

ONE OF THEM DAYS

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

One of Them Days aspires only to be a fun, sweet, funny comedy about two young women down on their luck, having something in between the weirdest day and the worst day. It’s the kind of movie you’re meant to escape into, laugh, and just forget your own life for about ninety minutes. And by virtually all these measures, it succeeds.

Keke Palmer and SZA play Dreux and Alyssa, respectively—best friends and roommates in a dilapidated apartment where the landlord is demanding the rent even as he neglects the widespread disrepair in “The Jungle” complex where they live. Dreux has just finished a graveyard shift at the diner where she works, and Alyssa’s dipshit boyfriend Keshawn (Joshua David Neal) has “invested” their rent money in a T-shirt business idea on the same day the landlord has demanded the rent by 6:00 or they face eviction.

Thus, One of Them Days follows Dreux and Alyssa from place to place, where they either cleverly gain or painfully lose the money they need, and it makes for a nice successio of consistently amusing set pieces. They explore their options at a payday loan business, where the guy hanging outside (Kat Williams) is actually the only one talking any sense. Alyssa nabs an expensive pair of sneakers hanging from a power line and puts them up for sale online (in perhaps the quickest seller account setup in history—on a smart phone). They have a run-in with an aggressive woman Keshawn also hangs out with named Bernice (Aziza Scott) who spends most of the rest of the film hell bent on revenge. Through all of this, there are sporadic title cards announcing the hours and minutes until eviction, which a plot twist later takes a clever turn that I don’t want to reveal here.

It’s all generally entertaining, with a genuinely sweet heart at its center, focused on the relatable bond between Dreux and Alyssa, in spite of what is frankly a lot of dipshittery on Alyssa’s part. There’s also a subplot with the one White character in the film, Bethany (Maude Apatow—Judd’s daughter), a young woman who moves into “The Jungle” with her dog and is a pretty overt symbol of representation. But, she is also woven into the story quite neatly, and Dreux and Alyssa find a way to leverage Bethany’s privilege in a way that is both clever and harmless.

All that said, I just wanted One of Them Days to be funnier. It’s undeniably fun, but never hilarious. It’s more like an IV drip of consistently moderate amusements. I chuckled regularly, but never guffawed, and this movie had the potential to go there. Part of it is a pacing issue, with editing that makes the gags lose steam by virtue of their slower tempo. Snappier editing would have helped, but there’s also the fact that none of the gags or punchlines go particularly hard. This is more of a chill ride that keeps a smile on your face than a knee-slapper, and I went in hoping for the latter. Maybe that’s on me.

Besides, winning performances and a wholesome sweetness at its center make up for a lot—and there’s not that much to make up for here. Keke Palmer and SZA have great chemistry as best friends, and One of Them Days is filled with fun bit parts with the likes of Kat Williams, Vanesa Bell Calloway, Lil Red Howery, and Abbott Elementary’s Janelle James.

“Comedy” is a genre broadly applied, where dramedies and romances and animated features and even tearjerkers can all get bunched together under the same heading. But One of Them Days, even with the warmth in its heart, is a comedy in the classic sense: it exists only to amuse, to be a kick. The last time I saw a movie going for a similar effect was 2019’s Booksmart, and that was a much funnier—and therefore much more rewatchable—movie. But, for now, One of Them Days will do fine.

One of them movies—which gives just enough of what you want from it.

Overall: B

BETTER MAN

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+
Special Effects: B+
Music: B

I’m sure you’re all wondering: does anyone fuck Robbie-Williams-as-chimp in Better Man? Well, not onscreen. Someone gives him a hand job though!

Here’s the most impressive thing about Better Man, though: it has an astonishing ability to make you forget its wackadoodle premise: this is a biopic about British pop superstar Robbie Williams, except Robbie is the singular character rendered as a CGI chimpanzee. It’s a liberalization of two ideas at once: a pop star as a dancing monkey (okay, yes, I know, chimps aren’t monkeys, that’s not the point) and raving addict as an out of control animal. I’m not sure how well the layered metaphors work in the many scenes of Robbie as a child, mind you, detailing his love of his nan who openly accepts him flaws and all. He’s neither dancing nor out of control at that young an age, and all I could think of was how his mother must have reacted when she pushed a chimp through her hoo-ha.

Indeed, I really wondered how a movie like this would tackle sexuality. I’ll certainly give director and co-writer Michael Gracey this much credit: his does indeed write Robbie Williams as a sexual being—under normal circumstances it would make no sense not to—but he does it relatively subtly, only one scene being overtly sexual (the aforementioned hand job, from a fan at a meet and greet), and somehow, it actually works in the context of the narrative. I couldn’t tell you what the secret sauce was that he used, though; this is otherwise a pretty straightforward biopic story.

It’s also a fun one, most of the time. I had a good time. The trailers do not make this clear, but Better Man is also a musical in the classic sense, with Robbie breaking out into song as part of the narrative, in addition to the several we see him perform onstage in concert. Relatively early on there is a truly dazzling sequence, an almost seamless blend of on-camera choreography and blue screen, the camera swirling around Robbie as he moves from indoors to join a massive crowd of synchronized dancers out in the street. A particularly nice touch is when the crowd jumps, but just close enough to doing it at the same time so that their jumps form a quick rave from the front of the crowd to the back. It’s mesmerizing and incredibly entertaining, and I wish Better Man had more sequences like it.

What it does have far too much of is a focus on Robbie Williams’s self-loathing, with constant cutaways to other versions of himself in audiences, reacting back to him with everything from disapproving scowls to outright hateful screaming. This happens a lot, well past the point of it becoming tiresome, until finally in one fantasy sequence he jumps from the stage and engages in combat with them all, to the death. He even seems to kill is inner child, a choice that I could not quite wrap my brain around, aside from it perhaps representing the extremity of his suicidal ideation. I understand what Gracey is going for with this, but it is overwrought and overdone. This is on top of the many scenes we see of him excessively drinking and doing drugs. It seems worth mentioning yet again that it’s a chimp we see doing all these things. A chimp with a British accent—both motion capture and voice performance by English actor Jonno Davies (the voiceover narration and the music vocals are from Williams himself).

Then there’s the issue of the music. It should be noted that Robbie Williams, while a massive star elsewhere in the world, never broke through in the United States, and it’s not difficult to see why. I went to his official YouTube page, played the most-played music video posted there, and then fell asleep.

To be fair, contextualized in the film, Robbie Williams’s music is a lot more fun, though none of it made me eager to download the motion picture soundtrack. Better Man has several musical sequences and interludes that are undeniably infectious, all of them performed by a CGI chimp with a stunning amount of legit charisma, even when being depraved. Robbie Williams as a character in this movie is someone you connect with, you empathize with, and you root for. It’s kind of a stunning surprise, and makes you wonder whether it would even work as well if he were portrayed by a regular human. The plot beats are fairly by the numbers, after all, and the chimp-as-metaphor forces a kind of consideration that it would never manage otherwise.

What an odd, fun, deceptively conventional movie this is, wrapped in a wildly unconventional concept. It’s not nearly as provocative as it clearly wants you to think it is, but it will impress anyway, particularly how deeply expressive Robbie Williams’s CGI chimp face is, using FX technology that barely works but still works well, and at the same time will look dated in five years. Perhaps the same is the case for Better Man as a movie overall, but sometimes you only need a movie to work right now, and right now, this one works surprisingly well.

He’s not a monkey, get it straight!

Overall: B

THE FIRE INSIDE

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

The Fire Inside opens with an overhead drone shot of Ryan Destiny as Claressa Shields, as a preteen, future Olympic gold medal-winning boxer, jogging across town in Flint, Michigan, to a gym where she’s determined to learn to box. It’s a very effective establishing shot, in spite of how overused drone shots are in movies anymore. But this particular shot illustrates a key point in filmmaking, which is that the tool doesn’t matter so much as how it’s used.

I suppose the same could be same of Claressa herself (commonly referred to in the film as “Ressa”). After telling her he doesn’t train girls, coach Jason Crutchfield (Brian Tyree Henry) sees something in her defiance after the boys he’s been training in the ring give her shit. He invites her into the ring, he gives her some pointers, she takes them on like a natural, and a great relationship is born.

This movie follows pretty standard sports movie story beats, until it doesn’t. Maybe two thirds of the way through, Claressa has worked her way through regional and national boxing championships, and ultimately gets her gold medal. (That’s not a spoiler, given that this is based on a true story.) But then the story jumps forward six months, and we see how Claressa has settled back into her life in Flint, little changed from her life before traveling the world. She resents her male athlete counterparts enjoying lucrative endorsements while those opportunities remain out of her reach.

The Fire Inside is directed by Rachel Morrison, in her feature film directorial debut—and she does an adequate, if not spectacular, job. She has many other credits as a cinematographer, most notably having shot Black Panther. She works with a different cinematographer here, Rina Yang, who brings a fresh visual perspective to a pretty standard genre. The script writer, though, is Barry Jenkins, who here seems to be tackling unusually standard fare compared to his previous work, having written and directed both the absolute masterpiece Moonlight and its follow-up, If Beale Street Could Talk. Both that and The Fire Inside are undeniably compelling and pretty to look at, but Moonlight is a tough act to follow.

The thing is, if you dig deep enough—some might even say nitpick—it’s fairly easy to find fault and flaws in The Fire Inside. Claressa’s mother, Jackie (Olunike Adeliyi), is depicted as a pretty bad mother at the beginning of the story, and gains some maternal instinct by the end, without us ever seeing how she got there. I was relieved to see her humanized, at least; it would have been easy to villainize her. Then there are Claressa’s siblings, including a sister who becomes a teen mother, a detail we are shown without any real connection to Claressa’s overall story.

And yet—there’s a lot in The Fire Inside that makes up for all of this. Ryan Destiny is fantastic in the lead part, portraying a teenager who is equal parts driven and petulant. Brian Tyree Henry is well cast as the father figure Claressa needs, although her father’s release from prison complicates the relationship (something this movie actually simplifies a bit, in a kind of Hollywood-movie way). The boxing scenes are staged well enough to make someone like me, who could not have the least bit of interest in boxing outside of a movie like this, invested in the outcome.

Although the story here focuses more on her first gold medal, her status as a singularly accomplished athlete is her second gold medal, which finally helped her accomplish some of the goals that seemed out of reach at first. Perhaps most notable of these is how she demanded that women Olympic athletes in training get the same stipend as the male athletes, who previously were given three times the amount women got. There’s a fair amount of feminist inspiration in The Fire Inside—let women get away with saying they enjoy beating people up!—and it feels notable that it has nothing to say about race in Claressa’s story. Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions that there is any need for it to, though. It’s enough that this is a film with a majority-Black cast with what feels like honest depictions of their community, including several allusions to Flint being a city that got unfairly ignored.

This is a flawed film with some narrative inconsistencies, and which I also really enjoyed watching. And an imperfect movie is a great hang, how much do the flaws matter?

You can ignore the bullshit if you keep your eye on the prize.

Overall: B

NIGHTBITCH

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

I’ll give Nightbitch this much: it’s deeply engaging from start to finish. Some of the time you may not quite understand what’s so compelling about it, or indeed what the overall point is, but it’s still engaging.

It’s also very, very odd. It’s a layered film, in that it has layers of oddness. One particularly odd thing is how it moves back and forth from being a little too on the nose, and being metaphorically opaque.

This is the story of a woman (Amy Adams) who turns into a dog, after all. It’s confusing to her at first, but ultimately becomes her means of being set free, specifically from her resentment toward motherhood being far more overwhelming than she expected. Why a dog? You got me there. It occurred to me that it was possible I was having a gendered reaction to this heavy-handed yet unclear metaphor—I cannot have children, so who am I to judge? Sort of to my relief, it appears that other critics’ reviews of this film are pretty evenly mixed between the genders, whether they quite liked it or they didn’t.

The script, co-written by director Marielle Heller, is far more muddled than the previous feature film for which she wrote the script, The Diary of a Teenage Girl. And if the script isn’t great, it matters less when everything else is great. Nightbitch opens with the mother and son at the grocery store, and when another young mom sees her and asks how she’s doing, she immediately fantasizes about unloading all of her frustrations. It is no doubt very relatable to just about any mother, but also filled with sentiments we have heard many times over. One might even be tempted to call it deeply unoriginal.

The curious thing with Nightbitch is that Amy Adams’s stellar performance makes up for far more than it ought to. She’s incredible in this movie—both as a frustrated mother, and as a woman turning into a dog at night. She bites into this role with no vanity, giving us a performance on film more memorable than anything she’s done in nearly a decade. Nightbitch is almost worth seeing just for her alone.

I’m glad I saw it, anyway. I’m not going to urge anyone else to rush out and see it. I do love that Heller is uninterested in taking any particular moral stance on motherhood: there is no judgment here, and if there is anything done deftly in this script, it’s the adorable little boy (played by twins, Arleigh and Emmett Snowden), who is never anything but a perfectly normal toddler. There are no “special needs” or unusually challenging behaviors that set the mother off the edge. He won’t fall asleep when his mom wants him to, just like virtually any other kid. This is about motherhood being overwhelming no matter what the kid is like, and Nightbitch exists only to empathize with that—and with the quiet cluelessness of a husband (Scoot McNairy) who assumes he’s being supportive while never truly seeing the burdens of parenthood that he rarely thinks to engage with.

All of that is what I understand about Nightbitch. It’s the whole dog business that throws me. She develops heightened senses, particularly of smell, and starts to attract other neighborhood dogs to her door, who bring her dead animals as offerings. She starts to deeply hate the household cat, which makes for a few moments of good comedy even if it’s a little weirdly off the mark: dogs tend to be very affectionate toward cats if they are part of the same household. There’s a particular group of three dogs that keep coming around, and I began to wonder if other women are turning into dogs too, and perhaps we are meant to understand these dogs are actually the three other moms that keep chatting up our protagonist at the storytime group she brings her son to. But, there is never any clarity on this.

I do wish Heller had drawn a bolder line between what might be merely in this mother’s imagination, and how “real” what she’s going through actually is. The mother tells her husband about strange hair growths, but never shows him the tail that starts growing out of her lower back, or the extra sets of nipples that appear on her abdomen. The husband just keeps moving along in blissful ignorance, which I suppose is part of the point.

There are no named characters in Nightbitch’s primary family, by the way—this is why I have not referred to any of them by name here. Amy Adams is credited as “Mother”; Scoot McNairy as “Husband,” and the different types of descriptors there seems very deliberate. The little twin boy actors are credited as “Son.” Even in flashbacks, Kerry O’Malley is credited as “Mother’s Mother.” There’s something to this, how family roles erase previous identities. Again, it could have been illustrated with greater clarity.

Mother does use the word “Nightbitch” at one point in the film, because of her getting snippy with the Husband in the middle of the night when it’s only reasonable he take a turn dealing with the boy. Heller then very much literalizes the idea, and turns Mother into a bitch. Maybe the idea is that being a bitch is surprisingly freeing—although, as a dog, Mother sure sprints through the streets in the middle of traffic a lot. If this happened in real life, she’d get run over by a car her first night out. Even this interpretation of “bitch” as a metaphor has no clean application, however, as Mother is only a bitch in the behavioral sense a couple of times. She turns into a dog to get some space away from the tedious frustrations of motherhood, which is pretty distinct from being a bitch. Then again, many people would judge such a woman to be a bitch whether it’s fair or not, so maybe I’m walking right back into the point here.

There’s some real weight to that maybe though, when Nightbitch is arguably—and admirably—Marielle Heller’s most ambitious work to date, but also her most challenging to make clear sense of.

Bitch please.

Overall: B