SEE HOW THEY RUN

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

There’s historically a bit of a problem with star studded ensemble casts—which is to say, they always disappoint under the expectation of their star power. In the case of See How They Run, the movie poster highlights fully twelve people in the cast, but the star wattage is basically limited to Sam Rockwell, Saoirse Ronan, Adrien Brody, and David Oyelowo. Your mileage may vary with the rest of the cast, as with Ruth Wilson, or if you were a big fan of “Moaning Myrtle” in a few of the Harry Potter films, Shirley Henderson pops up in a delightful performance as Agatha Christie.

Which immediately brings me to my other point: I can remember when I first learned what “meta fiction” was, after having it defined in my own creative writing in a college class. At the time it was a gimmick not widely discussed, and it was a point of pride. Now, every writer and their mother seems to be making their work “meta” in one way or another, and See How They Run hops right on that bandwagon. Most of the time it’s mildly amusing, and to the film’s credit. it never crosses the line into annoying.

Still, there’s no getting around that this is a movie with a large ensemble cast that is clearly very amused with itself, which is rarely a recipe for success. What I can say for this example is that, at the very least, it’s not a failure.

See How They Run is a “whodunnit” regarding a murder amongst the people in or involved with an Agatha Christie play called The Mousetrap, running in 1950s London’s West End. They play is also a whodunnit, and of course director Tom George and writer Mark Chappell offer us a movie with cleverly knowing beats that mirror those of the play. There is some debate among the players as to how the play should be adapted into a film, and the initial murder victim figures prominently into the discussion.

Even the opening voiceover narrator turns out to be surprisingly relevant. See How They Run has relative unpredictability going for it; I don’t think it’s easy for the average viewer to suss out who the murderer is—and, as always in stories like this, there’s a veritable crowd of suspects. I just wish that opening voiceover didn’t go on for quite as long as it does, or the movie itself for that matter: this film has a slight editing problem, even at only 98 minutes in length. This is a kind of movie that would benefit from much tighter editing, and keeping it at an even 90 minutes would alone have made a notable difference. This is clearly intended as a comedy, and it gave me a great many chuckles, but there’s a few too many lulls between them.

Still, See How They Run has surprisingly artful cinematography for a film of its sort, and the performances are as good as you could ask for across the board. I do find myself wondering if this would even have been considered for production without the success of the far superior Knives Out, which has its own highly anticipated sequel coming this winter. See How They Run certainly has its own tone and sensibility, but it’s not particularly memorable either. I had a nice time with it, at least. It’s amusing enough.

Inspector. Constable.

Overall: B

THE WOMAN KING

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

If The Woman King were about a bunch of European combat battles in the early 19th century, but made exactly the same way, I suspect I would be a little more guarded with my praise. Which is to say, as it is, The Woman King sure takes a Hollywood approach to its storytelling—its editing, its pacing, its themes, particularly its score. You could call this an “action movie” or a “war movie,” but three huge things set it apart and thus elevate it: it gives agency to people of color in the 19th century; it’s specifically about Black women warriors; and it’s set in Africa.

What’s more, the Agoji, the all-female military regiment depicted in this film actually exited—although this is where the “Hollywood” part comes in. The Agoji’s sacred status is very romanticized, in at least one case their vow of celibacy challenged by a possible suitor (these movies always need some element of romance). A chance re-encounter between a mother and separated daughter stretches the bounds of plausibility.

Nearly every beat of the story arc in The Woman King is recognizable. But, that hardly matters given the subject at hand, not to mention the performances of the actors, nearly all of them Black women, headed by Viola Davis, who genuinely deserves an Oscar nod for this role. Even among the Black characters, only a couple of them are men, including the Dahomey King Ghezo (John Boyega), and the leader of their African enemies, Oba Ade (Jimmy Odukoya). Other supporting parts include Hero Fiennes Tiffin as Santo Ferreira, a Portugese slave trader and the only White man in the film; and Jordan Bolger as Malik, Santo’s morally conflicted , half-Portuguese-half-Dahomey friend from childhood. There’s also, notably, a “eunuch” included in King Ghezo’s court of many wives.

All of these men are either villains, or secondary to the many Black women who take up the bulk of the narrative space in The Woman King. Lashana Lynch (previously seen, among other things, as Maria Rambeau in Captain Marvel) is excellent as an Agoji trainer, and Thuso Mbedu is well cast as Nawi, the film’s main protagonist in spite of Viola Davis being clearly the star. (Mdedu learns to be a badass. Davis already is one.) The same goes for Sheila Atim as Amenza, who is for lack of a better term, this community’s medicine woman. There are plenty more women warrior characters given just enough screen time and story relevance for us to care about them, until they are killed in battle. I don’t say that to be trite; this is about warriors, and their deaths should mean something,

Perhaps most importantly, The Woman King is riveting entertainment from start to finish. Its opening sequence is a banger, eschewing opening credits in favor of Viola Davis and her cohort of women warriors attacking a village that has some of their people hostage. A good deal of the backstory here has to do with how warring factions of African communities gained wealth by selling each other’s captives to slave traders.

There is no question that The Woman King oversimplifies an incredibly complex history of geopolitical issues, but this gets back to the whole “Hollywood” thing: that’s what movies do. Hopefully, it will spur viewers into reading up on the real people and histories. (There is already no shortage of think pieces to choose from, contextualizing this film online.) In the context of movies that use a proven crowd pleasing formula that works, it’s about time the industry tackled stories from what remains by far the most underrepresented continent in movies: Africa. The Woman King not only takes us to a place we rarely see in cinema, but takes the revolutionary step of taking on the perspectives of its indigenous peoples, rather than from the point of view of colonizers. That is what truly elevates this movie: the agency it gives characters we’ve never seen this way before—even with their own moral ambiguities and challenges.

I suspect this is something well understood by director Gina Prince-Bythewood (who also directed the 2020 Netflix movie The Old Guard). This is a unique story packaged in a formulaic way. I am usually exasperated by blatantly formulaic storytelling, but this is still something different. The Woman King is tailor-made for mass audiences, and only laziness or racism or sexism (or all three) will keep people from giving it a look. Whether it will make any real money in theaters in today’s dubious movie theater industry climate remains to be seen, but whether it’s there or on demand soon enough, this thrilling movie is essential viewing.

Behold the sacred warriors of the Dahomey.

Overall: B+

MOONAGE DAYDREAM

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

I had somewhat mixed feelings about Moonage Daydream while I was watching it. But now, as it lingers and stays with me after the film has ended, it seems to gain value in retrospect.

There is no other movie like this one, which is apropos given that there was, and always will be, only one David Bowie. Plenty of artists have been inspired by him, but none have matched his singularity. Written, directed, and edited by Brett Morgen, Moonage Daydream provides a visual portrait of Bowie’s overall career. And even as someone who never actually bought any of the man’s albums (his record sales peaked when I was seven), I felt like I left the theater with a real sense of Bowie’s artistic essence.

Even for a man whose many personas rivaled that of Madonna, David Bowie had an almost ethereal presence that served as a through line between all of them. This is a documentary that exists in a nebulous space between “concert film” and straightforward narrative, the closest thing to a linear path being that it covers the broad strokes of Bowie’s career in chronological order.

Morgen does heavily focus on the first fifteen years or so of Bowie’s career, with an overview of the nineties serving almost as a coda, before barely touching on his death. Perhaps I’m in the minority here, but I am always interested in what was going on in the lives of these artists during downtime, or lulls, in their careers. The assumption always seems to be that audiences won’t be interested, but a skilled storyteller can make any story fascinating if it’s just told the right way. Skipping years of a person’s life because it’s assumed we won’t find it interesting seems like a copout.

Then again, a feature film can hardly fully encapsulate anyone’s entire lifetime, and Moonage Daydream is arguably overlong, clocking in at 135 minutes—particularly long for a documentary film. This one is designed to be “immersive,” and I actually went to see it at an IMAX theater as was ostensibly the intent. Seeing this on that huge screen was cool, sure, but IMAX theater tickets are more expensive, and I would hesitate to say the negligible difference from a conventional theater screen is worth the premium price.

What I can say about this movie is that it paints an impressive portrait of a famously enigmatic man, composed entirely of exclusive archival footage. There are no talking heads here, no interviews conducted for the purpose of this film—only clips of old interviews, and audio recordings of Bowie’s musings. We get brief insights into his private life and his upbringing, through this tactic alone. Best of all, we get a large amount of live concert footage, illustrating how Bowie must have been a spectacular live performer. I wish I could have seen one of his concerts.

We learn about his many artistic pursuits besides music. We see clips from several of his many movie roles (alas, just one brief shot of him as the Goblin King in Labyrinth). We hear him discussing how moving to an entirely new city pushes him to write in a new way, from Los Angeles (because he “detests” it) to West Berlin (because “rock star trappings” mean nothing there). We see his visual evolution, from openly discussing bisexuality while wearing makeup and platform shoes in the early seventies, to a middle-aged man in basic pants and a button-up shirt. No matter how “basic” his wardrobe got, however, he had a face that was uniquely as attractive as it was severe, giving him an almost otherworldly look.

All of this is rapid-fire edited together, rarely in a linear fashion, more of a kaleidoscope of images, swirling from one era of Bowie’s career to the next. It’s a bit of a sensory overload, especially for a film of this length; it’s like watching a music video marathon with no breaks. Still, there’s a surprising depth to Moonage Daydream as a completed work, making it at least somewhat greater than the sum of its seemingly infinite parts.

It’s not that hard to imagine this guy being rom outer space.

Overall: B

HOLD ME TIGHT

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

Spoiler alert! For a good long while in Hold Me Tight, you are quite deliberately led to believe it’s about a woman named Clarisse (Vicky Krieps) who abandons her family, a husband and two kids. This is a French film that few of any of my readers are likely to watch—hell, many of my regular readers probably won’t even read this review—so I have no qualms with revealing right now that the movie takes a turn and reveals this isn’t what it’s actually about at all.

Granted, the actual subject at hand is just as sad, if not more so. I won’t spoil what it is; even I have to draw a line somewhere. I will say that this movie is basically a bummer, and it is also confusing. Even during the extended stretch of time in which we think Clarisse has abandoned her family, the editing creates a multi-pronged narrative that is in no way literal, and only occasionally do you feel fully grounded in a given particular timeline.

One of the challenges of Hold Me Tight is how it is in no way stylized, and yet a lot of it ultimately reveals itself to be fantasy. The trick is in identifying which scenes are fantasy and which are reality, or at least memory of reality.

Ultimately this movie is about a woman struggling to come to grips with her tragic circumstances. I struggled to come to grips with how these circumstances are framed, although I still had an appreciation for its unusually frank reflection of a mind under the immense pressures of grief.

Hold Me Tight is quite highly critically acclaimed, and I can see why. Writer-director Mathieu Amalric has crafted something of unique artistic vision, and I can’t deny that his film has an almost hypnotic pull to it. It’s also far from populist, though, and the Venn Diagram of blockbuster action fans and cinephiles interested in movies like this barely has any overlap.

I suppose this movie might offer some level of catharsis for people who have had dramatic and severe reactions to the loss of loved ones. But, what of everyone else? I struggle to imagine this movie ever having a very large audience. Only a surprisingly viable Oscar run would give it even a modest boost, and there’s no potential for even that. This isn’t even really a tearjerker, although it’s certainly deeply melancholy. Amalric seems more interested in visually intellectualizing the experience than engaging in true emotional interrogation.

I suppose it’s a good movie for discussion, which is perhaps part of the intent: to be provocative. It certainly is on a narrative level, the way it pulls the rug out from under you, when you think it’s about one thing and then it turns out to be about something completely different. Let’s just say that Clarisse is an unreliable narrator—a difficult thing to pull off in film, but Amalric manages it.

It’s not what it looks like.

Overall: B