DON'T LOOK UP

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

Don’t Look Up is a little on the nose. Scratch that, it’s a lot on the nose. Still, I got several good laughs out of it, although those laughs were consistently bittersweet, betraying a quick realization of the depressing basis of the humor.

Responses to this movie have been quite evenly mixed, and once you see the movie—if you see the movie—it’s easy to see why. Some of those who praise it have compared it to Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 satire masterpiece Doctor Strangelove, and frankly, anyone who makes such a comparison instantly loses credibility. It does beg the question, though: does satire even work anymore? The most successful satire of the past, from decades to centuries ago, have gleaned humor from subtle exaggerations of absurdist potential. These days, real life is far more absurd than any legitimate attempt at satire can even imagine.

Arguably, that’s the very point writer-director Adam McKay is making. In the face of imminent disaster, this actually is the way people behave. But, why bother making a movie out of it? Are we meant to be entertained by an accurate reflection of how easily manipulated the world’s populations really are, even when what they are told runs directly contrary to what’s right in front of their eyes?

This film’s title is itself a literal reference to the irony of people happily acting against their own best wishes, just taken to the extreme. When a planet-killing comet is finally visible to the naked eye in the sky, and the scientists struggling to be believed (Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence) plead with people to “Just look up!”, Meryl Streep’s Trumpian President Orlean holds rallies in which she quite easily convinces people “Don’t look up!” These crowds, the long-disrespected “working class,” should keep their heads down and get their jobs done.

And the kicker of it is, absolutely none of this is a stretch. This movie was conceived as a metaphor for climate change and how much we all blithely go about our business as though everything is fine. The unexpected onset of a viral pandemic only put its themes into even sharper relief, making McKay’s reflections even more accurate than he could have predicted, particularly when it comes to the swift polarization and politicization of a global problem that has nothing to do with politics. It’s a curious thought experiment, to wonder how much better Don’t Look Up might have played had the pandemic never happened, and all it made us think about it was as a metaphor for climate change. Instead, numerous details feel like a direct metaphor for how the pandemic has played out instead. And then, principal photography was first delayed by COVID, and then it occurred in the middle of it.

It’s also fascinating how, even though this movie is packed with movie stars, the real star of this production is Adam McKay himself. Most people aren’t seeking this movie out just because of the actors that are in it, but because of the nature and tone of the film, and who directed it. This is the guy who first brought us the Anchorman movies and later both The Big Short (2015) and Vice (2018), in more recent years increasingly preoccupied with movies that have something to say. The results have been mixed, and although it’s not on a steep curve, over time it’s been diminishing returns. In the case of Vice, for example, it was a movie with a lot to recommend it, except for its greatest flaw, which was to tell the story of horrible people. That sort of thing loses its appeal pretty quickly.

And, such is the problem with Don’t Look Up as well. Not only is it about the despair that comes with living in a world run by horrible people, it serves as a reminder that such is the world we actually live in. The two main protagonists, Michigan State University astronomy professor Dr. Randall Mindy and MSU doctoral candidate in astronomy Kate Dibiasky, are among the few decent characters here. When they discover a comet and find foolproof calculations indicating a direct hit with Earth in about six months (I would be interested in how sound the science actually is in this script), they are predictably dismissed, and then forced to go on a media tour on which they face people who don’t even seem to know how to take them seriously.

There’s something slightly off about DiCaprio’s and Lawrence’s performances. Their acting is decent enough, but a far cry from what we’ve seen them do in other films. Again, this likely traces back to Adam McKay, who is the real star here, offering us characteristically snappy editing and a sprinkling of clever gags. All the while the actors seem to be just along for the ride. DiCaprio’s Randall Mindy is written as a man paralyzed by a multitude of mental and anxiety disorders; Lawrence’s Dibiasky is characterized as a bit of a young hipster, in a way that never quite feels fully authentic. It doesn’t help that she sports a terrible haircut with unfortunate micro bangs. DiCaprio, for his part, plays against type as a bit of an insecure frump, but give that it’s him, it’s hard to believe him as the character. Nearly all of the rest of the star-studded cast in much smaller parts, from Cate Blanchett to Jonah Hill (who is the best part of this movie) to even Mark Rylance as a Zuckerberg-type tech billionaire, among others to numerous to name, comes across as more genuine characters.

There’s also the run time of Don’t Look Up, which is two hours and 18 minutes—at minimum, twenty minutes too long. With some better finessing in the editing room, I might have liked this movie a lot more. McKay needs to decide whether this is a disaster drama or a satirical comedy, and the movie never quite settles on one or the other. It ends with a sequence that comes close to being actually moving, but the storytelling is so halfhearted up to that point that it isn’t earned.

In other words, Don’t Look Up is a work of relative mediocrity that lacks clarity as to what it wants us to get out of it. It never lost my attention, I’ll give it that; I was entertained enough for a couple of hours on the couch in my living room. The greatest irony is how quickly forgotten it will be, and how the very act of watching this movie qualifies as the very kind of time- and resource-wasting bullshit we all spend our time with rather than actually doing something to make the world better. This is a movie preaching to a choir which itself is only half-interested. It lends an air of disingenuousness, which I think may be my biggest problem with it. There’s nothing to illuminate us here, nothing provocative that has not already been retread ad nauseam. Don’t Look Up is either a film of unearned self-importance, or it’s just trafficking in cynicism as entertainment. And why go to so much effort just to be cynical? It’s exhausting.

Granted, you can watch this movie and not be exhausted by it, so long as you choose not to spend your time thinking critically. In which case, you’re the very person the movie is making fun of. But, to what end?

When the world is ending, you’ll want to go shopping. Oh and Timothée Chalamet is in this too.

Overall: C+

Cinema 2021: Best & Worst

Below are the ten—okay fine, eleven—most satisfying and memorable films I saw in 2021:

11. Nomadland A-  

Let's call this one an "honorable mention." A good half of the films on this year's list consists of ones that are technically 2020 movies, but they were not made available for me to see until this year—including Nomadland, which absolutely would have been on my top ten in 2020 had I been able to watch it then. It won Best Picture, for Christ's sake! Best Actress too, for Frances McDormand. The trouble is, I so want to include these other ten movies on my top ten for 2021 that I am forced to relegate this one to . . . let's call it "#11." Sure, I'm cheating. You'll live. This beautifully meditative movie about a woman living out of her van in retirement, taking seasonal jobs to support herself, and shot with non-actors who actually live the life being depicted, is a beautifully unique cinematic experience. Its quietness and casual observations of American landscapes left me unsure of its rewatch potential, and then when I saw it again with Shobhit when he got his screener for the SAG Awards, I enjoyed it every bit as much.

What I said then: There’s a hint of sweetness to the overall arc of Nomadland, as Zhao finds to need to find any of the nomads to be sinister or predatory. Instead, she finds a very cooperative society of travelers, each of them with their own story, none of them boring. The fact that almost all of them appear just as themselves means that there is no element of “Hollywood glamor” in any of these depictions, and McDormand fits right in among them.

10. French Exit B+  

I gave out eight solid As and ten A-minuses this year, so why am I including a B-plus movie on this list? The reason is simple: I have shifted my definitions for these annual lists to most satisfying and memorable, which is not synonymous with "best." I can fully acknowledge that a movie featuring a cat who turns out to be containing the soul of a dead husband, and who can converse with live humans via seance as though on the telephone, kind of degrades the objective quality of a film. The thing is, those very elements are still a big part of what made me love this movie, which I wish with all my heart would become a cult classic, as it would have had that potential decades ago. Today, it passed by all but ignored, but I have already watched it twice, and can easily imagine watching it many more times as the years go on. Michelle Pfeiffer hasn't been so quintessentially perfect for a part, here as an eccentric and sardonic rich single mother of a barely-grown man (Lucas Hedges) who has just lost all of her money, since she played Catwoman in 1992. This movie may not be high art, but it is compulsively rewatchable.

What I said then: Still, it all comes back to Michelle Pfeiffer. Performances like this are what the word “iconic” was made for. That word is so overused it has lost all meaning, but Pfeiffer brings it full circle. I haven’t loved her so much in a movie since she played Catwoman nearly—let me check my notes—thirty years ago. This woman is a national treasure, she commands attention, and so does this charmingly peculiar movie.

9. Mass A-  

The vast majority of this film is just four people, played by Martha Plimpton, Jason Isaacs, Ann Dowd and Reed Birney. They play two upper-middle-aged couples, parents of students involved in a local school shooting six years prior; one couple is the parents of the culprit, the other couple parents of one of the many victims. They have agreed to meet and basically process their shared trauma over the event, maybe put out feelers for the possibility of forgiveness and some kind of redemption—not among the teenagers (dead in either case), but among themselves in regards to how things went down in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy. The film unfolds mostly with just these four alone in a room, and is very like a stage play, except one that works incredibly well for the screen (it's actually an original script, by director Fran Kranz). Admittedly not the most uplifting stuff, but it's laden with meaning and purpose, and I found it captivating.

What I said then: Kranz’s writing is also exquisite. By definition with a presentation like this, there has to be a great deal of exposition—the whole movie is nothing but dialogue. It never feels like exposition, though, and a vast array of details are revealed to the story of how they all got here, just through the organic unfolding of their gut wrenching, yet riveting conversations

8. Judas and the Black Messiah A  

After writing a genuinely rave review of Judas and the Black Messiah, I later encountered criticism that its women characters, particularly writer and Black Panther activist Deborah Johnson (Dominique Fishback), are underserved, which is fair. I was so enamored with the performances of Daniel Kaluuya and LaKeith Stanfield, as Black Panther Party Chicago Chapter Chairman Fred Hampton and deceiving FBI informant Bill O'Neal, respectively, that in my initial review I failed to even mention any of the women characters, some of whom played key parts, albeit a bit underplayed in the movie. The film is so successful on every other level, however, that I can't bring myself to discount it. Every aspect of this film, from the acing to the direction to its technical finesse, is top notch—a heavy story that is eminently compelling.

What I said then: It’s a rare thing when you can tell a film is of superior quality from the first frame, and Judas and the Black Messiah is one such example. I was unaware of director Shaka King before this, but you can bet I’ll be remembering that name, seeking out his other work, and looking forward to what he does in the future. That this is only his second feature film is a stunning accomplishment.

7. The Power of the Dog A  

Here we finally get another movie about deeply repressed gay cowboys, only this one, while still a bit downbeat, is less tragic and more beautifully shot than Brokeback Mountain. Funny that that earlier film (from 2005) spawned years of joke references to its title, and The Powero the Dog managed the unlikely feat of inspiring a surprising number of "Bronco Henry" memes. Anyway, this is a quiet, incredibly slow yet immensely powerful story of an emotionally abusive cowboy (played by Benedict Cumberbatch) who won't stop talking about his late mentor, and eventually takes a shine to his brother's new wife's just-grown son in a way that may or may not be romantic. There's no sex, no violence, although often the threat of it—the film is brimming with a tension that is precisely what makes it great. It's also gorgeously shot, the landscape standing in for 1920s Montana actually being New Zealand notwithstanding. This is easily Jane Campion's best film in nearly thirty years.

What I said then: The Power of the Dog is a bit of a narrative puzzle, and over the course of its second half they fall into place, linking inextricably into each other, with deep satisfaction. This is a superbly constructed film.

6. C'mon C'mon A  

I finished watching C'mon C'mon and immediately wanted to tell all my friends who are parents to watch it. Writer-director Mike Mills (Beginners, 20th Century Women) has a knack for presenting a unique point of view that sucks you right in, by turns telling stories inspired by elements of his own life: the late coming out of an elderly father; the relationship with a carefree mother; and now with C'mon C'mon, the existential challenges of having parenthood thrust upon you. Joaquin Phoenix plays a single, childless man who suddenly looks after his ten-year-old nephew (Woody Norman, who is wonderful) when his sister (Gaby Hoffman) must tend to the mental health of her estranged, bipolar husband (Scoot McNairy). Thus this is about a middle-aged, deeply empathetic man getting a crash course in caring for a child. It sounds simple, but this film is anything but. I was deeply moved by it, to such an extent that I could barely fathom how much more I would have been affected if I actually had children of my own.

What I said then: Ultimately, you night say, it’s about emotional vulnerability, within the context of the hopes and dreams we have for the very children that drive us crazy. This movie is very honest about parenting, and about what it’s like to deal with children, in a way that few movies really are. Jesse doesn’t exist to amuse, or be precocious, or serve as a plot catalyst in the way children typically are in film. He just is, and he exists as a wholly dimensional human being.

5. Collective A  

The best documentary I saw all year, this film technically from 2020 is an astonishing look at the objective mess that was (and perhaps still is?) the health care system in Romania. One of the most shocking and dramatic documentaries I have ever seen, this makes a unique case for retaining the integrity of investigative journalism. This movie has to be seen to be believed, the kind of high-level government corruption usually reserved for fiction. Just when you think they couldn't possibly be any worse, over and over, they prove you wrong.

What I said then: My jaw kept dropping as I watched this movie, over and over, lower than the last time. It’s not just the examples themselves but the sheer scale of the corruption and lethal negligence in Romanian hospitals.

4. Quo Vadis, Aida? A  

Call this movie "homework" if you want. This tragic tale of a mother desperately trying to get her family out of Bosnia during the Srebrenica Genocide at the hands of Serbians should be required viewing. The Jewish holocaust was not the only genocide we should always be aware of, nor is it anywhere close to the most recent—this one occurred in 1995. I was 19 years old. This shit occurs all over the world at regular intervals, and they should not be ignored. There are Serbs to this day who refuse to call it a genocide, even though it's clearly what this was. Writer-director Jasmila Zbanic takes it down to a human level, narrowing the focus on one woman (Jasna Djuricic), a translator for increasingly ineffective Dutch army protectors, almost certainly spared early annihilation herself by virtue of her useful job. In the meantime, she takes increasingly desperate efforts to get her husband and two barely-grown sons out of the country to someplace safe, virtually the entire movie following along with these efforts. What sets Quo Vadis, Aida? ("Where are you going, Aida?") truly apart is Jasmila Zbanic's refusal to give this story a neatly tied up, comforting ending. This isn't the typical story of hope in the face of adversity that storytellers love to tell; it's a defiant reflection of the fate of the majority in scenarios like this. Rare is the film of such high integrity.

What I said then: In other words, it’s not a good time. Instead, this is a film that serves as a challenge to remember, and to acknowledge the extent of conflict around the globe. I thought a lot about the 1993 Steven Spielberg film Schindler’s List while watching this—there are many similarities. A key difference is that Quo Vadis, Aida? does not in any way present itself as “art.” There is no black and white cinematography here, no symbolic child in a red coat. This is straightforward drama, and a gripping one at that.

3. Minari A  

Trigger warning for the far rightwing dipshits: Minari is the lovely and simple tale of Korean immigrants in 1980s rural Arkansas, and it doesn't get more American than this. This is another technically 2020 film that I could not see until this year, garnering a much-deserved six Oscar nominations, including a win for Best Supporting Actress (Yuh-Jung Youn, playing the delightful grandmother). It's a refreshing departure from the countless films about people of color in America that tend to turn their focus to racism; this film doesn't pretend racism doesn't exist, but tells a story that turns out to have little to do with it. That's the trick of Minari, really, how it tells the story of an immigrant family, an experience universal to the ancestors of everyone in this country who is not Indigenous, and reminds us of both the value of our differences and the pertinent things we have in common.

What I said then: Minari is a minor miracle of a movie, something unlike anything else you have ever watched, and yet no less an American story than any other American film. It’s a incredibly specific story that focuses on one family of Korean immigrants attempting to start a farm in Arkansas, and still a reflection of the very story of countless setters who were an integral part of what made this country what it is. It’s a story of struggle and rebirth, of hope borne of adversity, an example of the American dream that shows it’s not as simple as this country wants to tell itself.

2. Passing A  

In sharp contrast to Minari, Passing is quite overtly, even provocatively, about race—so literal, in fact, that it is shot in black and white. Based on a 1929 novel by Nella Larsen, it takes a peculiar point of view on the idea of "passing," in this case a light skinned Black woman (Ruth Negga) successfully living as a white woman in New York City. Instead of telling the story from that woman's perspective, we see it unfold through the eyes of her childhood friend (Tessa Thompson), who becomes fixated on her friend and how she has managed to pull this off—going so far as to marry and have a child with an apparently imperceptive—and predictably racist—white man (Alexander Skarsgård). This movie forces us to confront largely unexamined questions about how we approach race, which is a concept that has no basis in actual biology or genetics, revealing the fallacy of the constructs we build around ourselves. This is a starkly shot film dense with meaning and built on measured, intentional performances, and will not be soon forgotten.

What I said then: Irene is the protagonist, a woman who, in the subtly attention-grabbing opening scene, finds herself “passing” almost by accident while shopping in higher-end stores of New York, tilting her large hat to obscure her face just enough. From the start, the dialogue is highly stylized, meticulously crafted, exquisitely written. Combine that with incredible performances nearly across the board and stunning black and white cinematography by Eduard Grau (A Single Man), and Passing is practically impossible for any cinephile, anyone with an appreciation for film as art, to resist.

1. Spencer A  

I doubt this movie will top anyone else's top ten movies of 2021, but to me that's perfectly fitting, given that it feels like Pablo Larraín simply made a movie tailor made for Matthew. This is the guy who directed the similarly excellent Jackie, which would have been my #1 movie of 2016, if not for the existence of surprise Best Picture winner Moonlight. Both Jackie and Spencer are about royals, of sorts: the former figurative, the closest thing the United States has ever had to it; the other much more literal, focusing on Princess Diana and her holiday visit with the royal in-laws. Although both characters are connected to historic assassinations, Spencer leaves Diana's ultimate fate to subtext, instead focusing on her inner torment in a loveless marriage. There has been some criticism of this film's somber tone, claims that Diana was far more amiable than depicted here, but I don't care. I can only say that the casting of Kristen Stewart as Diana turns out to be inspired, as her embodiment of Diana as a character is nothing short of astonishing. The rest of the cast is excellent too, but they all revolve around her, enduring a series of mystifying traditions that control her every move, right down to different outfits worn to every separate family meal (the costume design is superb). It's a strange thing to be both an anti-royalist and endlessly fascinated by members of the royal family rendered victims of their own strictures, but this is a movie that fits squarely, perfectly, into that space.

What I said then: We can find ways to dismiss her struggles within the context of objectively insane amounts of privilege, but Spencer refuses to let us forget how any existence in that exclusive world can be a genuine prison all its own. Larraín is brilliantly capturing Diana’s desperate feelings of loneliness and emotional isolation. There is a sad poetry to the overall presentation in Spencer, which features such beauty, including on the part of Diana herself, her face, her exquisite outfits, every detail of that beauty just being another link in the fencing of her cage.

Five Worst -- or the worst of those I saw

5. Dear Evan Hansen C+  

If it weren't for how much I enjoyed the music, I would have truly hated this movie. As it is, the music is about its only redeeming quality, the premise being truly bonkers, as an insecure teenager goes along with the assumption that he had been secretly friends with a boy who committed suicie, even though he wasn't, and worms his way into the lives of the dead boy's family in the process. The widely mocked age of the actor (Ben Platt, 27) playing the title character is the least of this film's problems, which revolve around deeply unethical practices without ever truly addressing them as such.

What I said then: Dear Evan Hansen is the perfect movie for people with no critical thinking skills. ... Watch this movie and then try imagining the exact same story as a non-musical stage play. You'd be ready to slit your own wrists by the end of it.

4. Reminiscence C+  

This might be the most "blah" movie I saw all year. I found nothing inherently bad about it, except for its definitive mediocrity. The most memorable thing about it is seeing a near-future Miami skyline largely submerged in sea water. The fact that we never see any of the natural disasters that would contribute to such a mess is the least of its problems; there's also the setting of a famously multicultural city but a principal cast of mostly white people. Blech. Yawn. What the story is about frankly doesn't even matter because you'll be bored and distracted before it becomes relevant. It has some nice special effects, though, so its wild implausibility notwithstanding, it's often quite pretty to look at.

What I said then: I basically wasted two hours watching Reminiscence in the movie theater. It’s also available streaming on HBO Max, and I wouldn’t even recommend you watch it there. You’ll still wish you could get those two hours back. Well, if you have any taste or sense of quality, anyway.

3. Titane C  

This French "body horror" movie is weird as shit, and to no discernible purpose. The first half of it follows a woman with a titanium plate in her head who commits a series of gruesome murders, has sex with and gets impregnated by a car (yes, really), and then the second half details her somehow successfully convincing a grieving man that she is his missing son. Did I mention this movie is all over the place? I suppose there is some novelty in the idea of a woman fucking a car and then giving birth to a titanium-plated baby with motor oil as amniotic fluid, but . . . let's just say I wasn't feeling it.

What I said then: All I really got out of Titane was an hour and forty-five minutes of thinking, What the fuck? We never see Alexia bleed, although we regularly see her leaking motor oil, out of tears in the skin of her belly revealing more shiny metal underneath, or even leaking out of her nipples. Her body goes through a lot of abuses, much of it self-inflicted in her attempt to make herself look like Vincent’s missing son. I had to turn away from the screen a lot. I was just relieved when I could turn away one last time and leave the building.

2. Malcom & Marie C  

This movie is the epitome of self-serious pretension disguised as high art. I mean, it is beautifully shot in black and white, but those shots are framing only two insufferable L.A.-based actor characters spending the entire run time arguing about vapid Hollywood bullshit. This was writer-director Sam Levinson's answer to "lockdown movies," where cast and crew were minimal, but I guess he took "write what you know" pretty extremely to heart, reportedly inspired in part by his once forgetting to thank his girlfriend in an award acceptance speech. I mean. Who cares?

What I said then: What I cannot figure out is who this movie is for. Fans of the actors? People merely interested in seeing how filmmaking can work (or can’t work) in the midst of pandemic-related restrictions? Maybe just rubber-neckers eager to witness a disaster? Why this had to go on for 106 minutes, I’ll never know.

1. New Order C  

The most unpleasantly nihilistic movie I have seen in recent memory, maybe even in decades, New Order is a Mexican film with competent cinematography and acting, which come nowhere close to making up for its premise. A class warfare uprising quickly turns into a military coup. This starts off compelling and then swiftly devolves into utterly meaningless brutality. Of the few movies I genuinely lost my patience with in 2021, I lost my patience with this one the quickest. It's doubly frustrating to see clear talent went into the making of it, only to have all that talent completely squandered. Forced multiple viewings of this film could be used as an effective interrogation method.

What I said then: The movie is both intentionally and effectively unsettling, until the events unfolding desensitize you into not caring about any of the people onscreen—just as the oppressive forces taking over Mexico City don’t care about anyone. I just . . . don’t get it.


Complete 2021 film review log:

1. 1/2 I'm Your Woman B+ *
2. 1/3 Soul A (2nd viewing) *
3. 1/6 The Dissident A- */**
4. 1/8 Pieces of a Woman B *
5. 1/13 Tenet B *
6. 1/14 Promising Young Woman B+ */**
7. 1/15 One Night in Miami A- *
8. 1/20 Ammonite B+ *
9. 1/23 Derek DelGaudio's In & of Itself A- *
10. 1/24 Syvlie's Love B *
11. 1/25 MLK/FBI B+ *
12. 1/28 The White Tiger B+ *
13. 1/29 The Little Things C+ *
14. 1/31 The Dig B *
15. 2/5 Malcolm & Marie C *
16. 2/6 The Trip to Greece B *
17. 2/8 Little Fish B+ *
18. 2/10 Greenland B *
19. 2/15 Judas and the Black Messiah A *
20. 2/17 The Kid Detective B+ *
21. 2/19 Nomadland A- *
22. 2/20 I Care a Lot B *
23. 2/21 Supernova B+ *
24. 2/22 Freaky B *
25. 2/24 The Mauritanian B- */**
26. 2/27 The United States vs. Billie Holiday B- *
27. 2/28 Another Round B+ *
28. 3/1 Minari A *
29. 3/3 The Wolf of Snow Hollow B *
30. 3/4 Land B+ */**
31. 3/5 News of the World B */***
32. 3/6 The Father B+ */***
33. 3/10 Coming 2 America B *
34. 3/13 Stray B- *
35. 3/17 Body Brokers B- *
36. 3/19 Night of the Kings B+ *
37. 3/20 Notturno B *
38. 3/21 Two of Us B+ *
39. 3/26 Quo Vadis, Aida? A *
40. 3/27 Acasă, My Home A- *
41. 3/28 Tina A- *
42. 3/31 Godzilla vs. Kong C+ *
43. 4/6 Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar B *
44. 4/7 A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon B+ *
45. 4/9 Summertime B */****
46. 4/10 Potato Dreams of America B- */****
47. 4/11 Valentina B */****
48. 4/13 In the Same Breath B+ */****
49. 4/14 Collective A *
50. 4/15 Sumer of 85 C+ */****
51. 4/17 My Octopus Teacher B *
52. 4/18 Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street B+ */****
53. 4/20 The Man Who Sold His Skin B *
54. 4/21 Better Days B- *
55. 4/22 The Mole Agent B *
56. 5/5 Nobody B+
57. 5/7 The Mitchells vs the Machines B *
58. 5/9 The Disciple B *
59. 5/11 Shadow in the Clouds C+ *
60. 5/12 Finding You C+ */**
61. 5/15 Those Who Wish Me Dead B *
62. 5/16 Dance of the 41 A- *
63. 5/19 Shiva Baby B+ *
64. 5/22 Saint Maud B *
65. 5/23 Georgetown B- *
66. 5/24 The Dry B *
67. 5/26 New Order C
68. 5/30 Cruella B
69. 5/31 Plan B B+ *
70. 6/2 Hating Peter Tachell B+ *
71. 6/4 Raya and the Last Dragon B *
72. 6/6 Changing the Game B+ *
73. 6/8 Riders of Justice A- *
74. 6/11 In the Heights B+
75. 6/16 Holler B *
76. 6/17 The Sparks Brothers B+ */**
77. 6/23 Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It B+
78. 6/24 Luca B *
79. 6/30 Zola C+
80. 7/4 No Sudden Move B+ *
81. 7/5 The Tomorrow War B- *
82. 7/6 Wolfgang B+ *
83. 7/11 Black Widow B+
84. 7/17 Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain C+
85. 7/20 Pig B+
86. 7/22 Stillwater B
87. 7/27 Sublet B+ *
88. 7/31 The Green Knight B
89. 8/5 The Suicide Squad B+
90. 8/10 Nine Days B
91. 8/12 French Exit B+ *
92. 8/14 Free Guy B
93. 8/19 The Protégé B+
94. 8/21 Respect B
95. 8/24 Reminiscence C
96. 8/26 Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed B- *
97. 9/1 Together B+
98. 9/2 Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings B+
99. 9/7 Worth B+ *
100. 9/8 The Lost Leonardo B
101. 9/12 The Card Counter B
102. 9/18 Language Lessons B-
103. 9/21 Copshop B
104. 9/24 Dear Evan Hansen C+
105. 9/26 The Eyes of Tammy Faye B-
106. 10/4 Titane C
107. 10/7 No Time to Die B
108. 10/9 Lamb B-
109. 10/16 The Last Duel B+
110. 10/19 The Rescue B+
111. 10/21 Dune B+
112. 10/24 The French Dispatch B
113. 10/26 Mass A-
114. 11/4 Spencer A
115. 11/6 Eternals B
116. 11/9 Last Night in Soho B
117. 11/10 Passing A *
118. 11/11 The Hand of God B
119. 11/16 Belfast B+
120. 11/18 East of the Mountains B+
121. 11/20 King Richard B+
122. 11/29 House of Gucci B-
122. 12/2 The Power of the Dog A *
123. 12/3 C'mon C'mon A
124. 12/4 tick, tick... BOOM! B+ *
125. 12/5 Julia B
126. 12/7 Encanto B-
127. 12/12 Being the Ricardos B+
128. 12/13 West Side Story A-
129. 12/16 Spider-Man: No Way Home B+
130. 12/17 Drive My Car B             
131. 12/19 Nightmare Alley B+
132. 12/21 The Matrix Resurrections C+
133. 12/26 Licorice Pizza B+
134. 12/27 The Tradedy of Macbeth B+
135. 12/31 Don't Look Up C+ *

 

* Viewed streaming at home during COVID-19
** Advanced screening
*** SAG screener
**** SIFF screener

[posted 7:44 a.m.]

THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH

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

Let me start by saying I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. Take everything I say about The Tragedy of Macbeth with a grain of salt.

I was never anything even close to a scholar of Shakespeare. I read a good majority of his plays in a Shakespeare class in college, and retained almost none of it. Film adaptations of these 500-year-old plays have had a spotty record at best, when it comes to their ability to hold my attention. Modern reinterpretations of Shakespeare plays that still retain the original language have historically been more my jam. I’m thinking, of course, of Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 pop art version of Romeo + Juliet. Everything that movie was, Joel Coen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth is the complete opposite: minimalist, almost brutalist in design, black and white, subtle, and straightforward.

Still: I am one of those people who have difficulty following Shakespearean language. I barely managed to register the story, as I honestly can’t even recall if I have ever seen a production of Macbeth before, on stage or on film. I may very well have. This is what I think happened: Macbeth is told by a trio of witches that he’s destined to become king of Scotland, so, spurred on my his wife, he kills the current king, a decision that eventually drives him mad. He orchestrates some other gruesome murders here and there in the meantime. Am I close?

I can easily imagine lovers of Shakespeare, especially those with an intricate knowledge of the details and nuances of the original play, really loving this movie. God knows a lot of critics do: it has an astonishing “must-see” score of 89 on MetaCritic.com. The very worst of the reviews manage to be only barely mixed; absolutely no one hates this movie. I know many, many people who would be either bored to tears by it, or just completely baffled by the indecipherable language, or both. I’m not saying any of those people have any taste, mind you.

I do find myself wondering how much interest I would have had in this film had I not known it was directed by Joel Coen, a man whose previous work with brother Ethan Coen I have historically adored. This is Joel’s first solo venture, but he still enlists the ample talents of his longtime muse and wife, Frances McDormand, as Lady Macbeth. For the title character, Coen cast Denzel Washington, along with several other Black actors in key Scottish parts: Corey Hawkins as Macduff; Moses Ingram as Lady Macduff (god forbid any of these women get a name of their own); James Udom as Seyton; Olivia Washington as Children’s Nurse. There’s a few other recognizable faces in smaller parts as well, including Brendan Gleeson as the slain king; Stephen Root as Porter; and Harry Melling, formerly the portly Dudley Dursley in the Harry Potter films, as Malcolm, rightful heir to the throne.

The casting alone is worth some interest, and it must be said that Denzel Washington and Frances McDormand have a surprisingly subversive chemistry, and Washington carries the film capably. But truly, if there is any reason to see this film, it’s the stark production design and indelible black and white cinematography. It was shot entirely on constructed soundstages, always with incredible symmetry. The castles these people inhabit are almost always curiously empty of people besides the one or two characters we’re meant to be paying attention to, which both feels unnatural and draws attention to the visual design.

Joel Coen clearly wanted to evoke a vaguely otherworldly environment, and in that he succeeds handsomely. It’s a thing that helps the adaptation from stage to screen work. A lot of the time, it feels like you are indeed watching a stage play, especially given the amount of time characters speak to themselves. But, they are on gigantic sets that lean on the imposing sense of doom.

Speaking of which, I’m so out of it with Shakespeare, I didn’t even realize some very famous lines originated with it. “Out damned spot,” or “Doube double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.” Characters say such things and I snap to attention. Hey, I know that!

I have to admit, I wanted, maybe even expected, to love this The Tragedy of Macbeth. “Love” is a strong word, often used as hyperbole. I did eventually find my way into the challenging language and the narrative, thanks in large part to Washington and McDormand. I can’t say I expect to return to it any time soon, if ever. But I really cannot stress enough how the cinematography and production design elevate the entire experience, immensely.

Let’s fuck shit up it’ll turn out fine!

Overall: B+

LICORICE PIZZA

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

No one ever mentions licorice or pizza in Licorice Pizza. The phrase comes from a Southern California record store chain sold to Northern California chain Record Bar in 1985, which was sold a year later to Musicland, then the nation’s largest record retailer, which was rebranded as Sam Goody a year after that. This makes “Licorice Pizza” a local reference of nostalgia specific to Southern Californians, who these days are about the only people in the country to get the subtle in-joke of the title. The rest of us have to settle for explanations like this one.

No one even spends any time in a record store in this movie, which writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson presents as a relatively casual hang in the San Fernando Valley of yore. The same could be said of most of his films, except that, until now, his films tended to feature pretty dramatic turns of events.

Don’t go expecting any such thing here. Licorice Pizza is great on most fronts, with Anderson’s characteristically stellar direction, memorably detailed performances, and knowingly purposeful cinematography and editing. Which is to say, I loved everything about this movie, except for the story itself, which I didn’t dislike—it was just, fine. A bit slight, to be honest. This is clearly Anderson’s intent, and I can’t quite decide how I feel about that decision.

Inevitably, a director whose work I adore winds up disappointing me, given enough time. Such was finally the case with Paul Thomas Anderson only with the mystifying 2015 film Inherent Vice, which he then more than made up for with the gorgeous and nuanced Phantom Thread in 2018. Either way, those movies were big swings, as his films tend to be, albeit in wildly different ways. And if there is anything Licorice Pizza is not, it’s a big swing. And still, it features no less attention to detail. Some of the scenes I found most memorable would have been throwaway scenes in any other director’s movie, but here we get closeups incredibly well shot, where we see the subtlest movements of every part of a person’s face.

The one legitimately odd thing about this movie is that it’s functionally a love story between a 15-year-old boy and a 25-year-old woman. Should more people be talking about this? What if he had chosen to swap the genders of those characters? It would absolutely come across as creepy and people would be talking about it. It could be argued, I suppose, that it makes a difference having the woman as the older one, as it changes the power dynamic in a patriarchal society. Which one of them really has more functional power here? Alana has yet to learn true responsibility and lives with her parents in a state of arrested development; Gary is a successful child actor who uses his earnings to start new businesses, from waterbeds to pinball machines.

Gary, incidentally, is played by 17-year-old Cooper Hoffman, son of Philip Seymour Hoffman, in his very first role. There is a sweet poetry to this casting, given the elder Hoffman appeared in five of Anderson’s films. Alana, on the other hand, is played by 28-year-old Alana Haim (or at least, that’s how old she was during principal photography), also in her feature film debut. Alana is one of three sisters who make up the L.A.-based pop rock band Haim, for which Anderson has directed several music videos, subsequently writing this lead part for Alana.

It should be noted that there is no sex in this movie, so we don’t see Gary and Alana consummate their relationship, although it’s clear from the start that Gary would love for that to happen. For most of the story, such as it is, Alana reacts to Gary’s crush with amused derision, telling him they can be friends but not romantic. Spoiler alert! The do eventually kiss, and I have to admit that part, singular and brief as it is in the film, does squick me out a bit. The clear implication seems to be that when it comes to romance, it may not be guaranteed, but the potential is there.

Does Anderson want us to be thinking about this, I wonder? Fifty years ago, society at large didn’t bat much of an eye to relationships like this, which makes this movie a reflection of the era. That’s not a justification, but a reality of the time, and Licorice Pizza makes no clear moral judgment on the matter, evidently allowing us to make one for ourselves. That said, it also has no clear expectation of such judgments on the part of the audience, instead adopting a tone that is vaguely wistful, perhaps a look back with fondness in spite of it being a bit problematic.

In any case, the way this film ends is less a celebration of where these two find themselves than it is an observation of a specific place and point in time. This story is not big on closure, so much as narrative flourishes—such as Sean Penn as a casting agent who takes a shining to Alana; Tom Waits as his old friend, or Bradley Cooper as a pompous actor. The latter plays a pivotal part in a uniquely exciting sequence in which a rented truck runs out of gas and has to be coasted down a hill.

The young age gap aside, Licorice Pizza feels like a movie that might age well. I quite enjoyed the viewing experience of it, even as it lacked the clearer substance of Anderson’s previous films. I’m just not as eager to re-watch it as I have been so many of his others. I certainly wouldn’t say anyone needs to rush out to see this in theaters. It’s too casual a hang, and seems almost tailor made for sitting with it in your living room once it becomes available there, which will no doubt be soon enough.

They’d be flirting with disaster if they weren’t in such capable hands.

Overall: B+

THE MATRIX RESURRECTIONS

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

Maybe I’m just in a cynical space right now, but when it comes to The Matrix Resurrections, I just wasn’t feeling it. And believe me, I tried. I really, really wanted to like this movie. Sure, there are dim hopes for such a thing when it’s the fourth movie in a franchise, but eighteen years later, it was also an opportunity for redemption after the progressive letdowns of the 2003 sequels The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions.

Comparatively speaking, the best I can say for this new movie is it’s better than Revolutions was. I suppose. And I would rank Reloaded above this one only because of the thrilling reaction I had to it when it first came out. It may have been bewilderingly convoluted, but it was also packed with deeply exciting action sequences.

Nothing has ever had any hope of comparing to the cultural impact, the decades of influence, brought upon us by the 1999 original, however. It begs the question: why did the Wachowskis bother trying? They had a spectacularly memorable premise but, even when initially conceived as a trilogy, they had nowhere concrete to go with it. My most vivid memory association with the original Matrix isn’t even from its initial theatrical run—it was one or two years later, when it was given a rare re-release in theaters. I discovered I was in a theater full of devoted fans, who broke into cheers as soon as the open title appeared onscreen. It hit me then that The Matrix was a classic science fiction action movie that would be loved for years.

And here we are, 22 years later. To “resurrect” is to bring back from the dead. The Matrix was, indeed, loved for years, but it’s now been a full generation since its release. If the fans are honest with themselves, the movie’s continued influence on other filmmakers notwithstanding, its cultural relevance died a while ago. It was slowly fading into oblivion, only to have Lana Wachowski, this time without Lilly (turns out she was the one who made the smart choice), come along and give us the Matrix movie absolutely no one needed.

Resurrections wants us to play along with its many winking nods to the previous trilogy as a single entity, with meta references such as Keanu Reeves’s Thomas Anderson once again living a droning existence in the Matrix, only in this version, he is an award-winning game designer . . . of a trilogy called The Matrix. Characters refer to this trilogy of games, and ask questions about it, that the movie clearly assumes we all have about the movies. Except, of course, no one has been spending a lot of time debating the merits of the Matrix trilogy in a decade and a half.

I gave this movie the benefit of the doubt for a good half of it. But then it registered to be, with absolute clarity, how this movie has nothing more to offer than yet more sameness. Even acknowledging their diminishing returns, each of the first three movies at least showed us something we had never seen before. The third movie spent a disappointing majority of its time outside the Matrix and in the movie’s “real world” of machine overlords, which was nowhere near as interesting but at least it was different.

The Matrix Resurrections offers us absolutely nothing new. Nothing new in the story, nothing new in its visuals. The legacy of this franchise is of something so groundbreaking it sent ripples through the entertainment industry. Even with some movie critics being surprisingly effusive about Resurrections, I have a feeling audiences will greet it with a collective yawn. That’s what it deserves, anyway.

Frankly, I don’t think we needed to see Neo as a 57-year-old. And I don’t mean to be ageist here; all things otherwise being equal, one of the few things I love about this movie is how both the male and the female leads of an action movie are in their fifties; Carrie-Ann Moss, who looks fantastic, is 54. I just hate to see them in something so stale, and there’s something about the context of the Neo and Trinity characters that favors the memory of them in their thirties. Reeves fares far better in the John Wick franchise, which thus far has miraculously gotten better with each film. I have my doubts about a fourth, but I’d still be far more interested in a fourth John Wick film. Which, apparently, we are indeed getting in 2022.

I mean, shit, the least The Matrix Resurrections could do is give us a movie packed with thrilling, cleverly staged action sequences. There’s a climactic scene of Trinity driving a motorcycle with Neo riding behind her, through San Francisco streets with programmed citizens overtaken by the Matrix and attacking them like zombies, right down to multiple people just jumping out of high windows at them like human bombs. That sequence is pretty cool, but it also comes far too late in a two and half-hour movie which, up to that point, is mostly forgettable.

I also have to admit, I miss Hugo Weaving as Agent Smith. His absence actually makes logical sense, given he played a computer program that would never age and Weaving obviously has. Side note: how Neo and Trinity age is a plot point of its own, as they have only aged twenty years whereas the film is actually set sixty years later. Jada Pinkett Smith’s returns as Niobe, now under some thick and somewhat unconvincing old-age makeup. If we assume she was about 30 in the last movie (Pinkett Smith was 32), then Niobe would be around ninety now. Without Hugo Weaving, however, we still get an Agent Smith—now played by Jonathan Groff, adequately but with nowhere near the sinister screen presence Weaving cultivated.

The other new faces to the franchise includes Neil Patrick Harris, as Thomas Anderson’s (Neo’s) in-Matrix therapist. He predictably serves as catalyst for inevitable plot twists that don’t land as twists at all. There’s also Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, previously seen in HBO’s Watchmen series, as a new version of Morpheus, a manifestation of the version of him programmed by Neo in the video games he designed.

And that brings us back to the meta elements of Resurrections, a device I quite enjoy when it’s done well, but even that didn’t really work for me here. The Warner Brothers company itself gets name checked, as we are told they are demanding a fourth sequel—and they are going to make one with or without Mr. Anderson. The glib implication is that this very movie would have been made with our without either of the Wachowskis, but I get the distinct feeling that absolutely everyone involved here is quite consciously making an attempt at cashing in.

If this all seems familiar, it’s because it’s the same shit, different millennium.

Overall: C+

NIGHTMARE ALLEY

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

Nightmare Alley has a beautifully shot, gorgeous production design, and is editing in such a way that you don’t quite register its skillful construction until well into its second half. Which is to say, this film noir by the exceptionally gifted director Guillermo del Toro is a bit of a slow burn, but one that really pays off.

I have to admit some relief in how much I enjoyed this movie. Del Toro has a bit of a spotty history when it comes to my own tastes; Pan’s Labyrinth—my 10th-favorite movie of 2006—made an indelible impression, whereas the widespread acclaim and love for The Shape of Water (otherwise known, by me anyway, forever as Elisa Fucks a Fish) in 2017 left me legitimately bewildered. If nothing else, this is a director with a sensibility all his own, even as he veers into disparate genres.

In fact, Nightmare Alley is a departure for him in how straightforward it is. Instead of featuring anything truly paranormal, this is about carnival workers and illusionists who dupe people into thinking something supernatural is going on, but it’s all just smoke and mirrors (sometimes literally). I kept half-expecting the story to veer into something otherworldly, just because it would be on brand for del Toro, but this is a story entirely rooted in the real world.

This brings me back to the cinematography and production design, because these things alone give the film a look and tone that stops just short of feeling otherworldly. It’s a big part of why it’s easy to wonder whether we might see some magic onscreen.

Instead, the first hour or so is comparatively gritty, as we see Bradley Cooper’s Stanton Carlisle wander his way into a job with a traveling carnival. Most of the characters here are not seen again once the setting changes dramatically and the story skips forward two years, and yet a bunch of Stanton’s fellow carnies are played by a parade of famous faces: Willem Dafoe as their leader; Ron Pearlman as the strong man; Toni Collette as “Zeena the Seer,” David Strathairn as Zeena’s magician husband; and Rooney Mara as Molly, the woman who can withstand electrical current—and who develops a relationship with Stanton and thus goes away with him, ultimately developing a lounge act of their own.

It’s too bad so many of those great actors, while making for a great ensemble, don’t get any scenes that truly showcase their talents. This changes with a couple of new characters after the dramatic setting shift in both time and place, and we get the reliably fantastic Richard Jenkins as eccentric millionaire Ezra Grindle; and easily the best reason to see this film at all, Cate Blanchett Dr. Lilith Ritter, the psychiatrist who treats both Grindle and his wife, and who is slowly convinced to plot with Stanton to take Grindle as a mark.

I suppose the wild breach of ethnics involved in using recordings of patient sessions, in order to be convincing as a “mentalist” who can reads minds, is immaterial to the overall story here. It’s plot mechanics, but Guillermo del Toro has them well oiled. It takes a while even to figure out whether we (or Stanton) are supposed to trust Lilith, which is how things go for the mysterious women of film noir.

I mostly appreciate Nightmare Alley just for how cleanly the story winds up coming together. Spending so much time with Stanton working the carnival seems, in the moment, like a pointlessly extended prologue. But, he’s spending that time learning about the nefarious ways in which the carnival takes people for their money, in many cases exploiting both people and animals in rather disturbing ways. One of these ways is the basis for a bit of a plot twist at the end, which I saw coming about five minutes ahead, but I don’t mind predictability so long as it’s satisfying.

And I found Nightmare Alley to be very satisfying—surprisingly so, in fact, after the extended first act somewhat alters expectations. This movie isn’t necessarily the movie you expect going in, but it arrives at something else that still manages to be all that was hoped for it in the end. The fact that it takes a while for that to become clear is part of what makes it work. This is a film that makes you wonder whether it’s working at first, and then proves itself. Whether that’s what del Toro intended is anyone’s guess, but ultimately this is a movie that competently speaks for itself.

Just when you think you’ve got the tables turned, you find yourself turned around.

Overall: B+

DRIVE MY CAR

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

I’m going to be an outlier with this one. Not to say that Drive My Car is bad per se, while seemingly every other critic in the world regards it as a masterpiece—but, to say that this movie is fine. It’s not bad by any stretch, and I fully recognize that I may be missing what makes it a supposed masterwork. Maybe I don’t have the education needed to appreciate it fully. But if that’s the case, of what use is that to what few readers I have here?

There’s a lot to say about Drive My Car, to be sure, starting with the fact that over on MetaCritic.com, this movie is the sixth-best-reviewed movie of 2021, the second-best of the fall releases, and I kind of don’t get it. I could go and read some of those reviews to get a sense of what I may have missed and realize the movie is greater than I thought it was, but I’ll do that once I finish writing this. I don’t want my takes here to fall under their influence, lest my reaction become less genuine. And, to be fair, although MetaCritic has far more reliable metrics than Rotten Tomatoes, that site still faces legitimate criticisms: the 1-100 point scale given to each review that then is averaged is subjective to the scorer; it’s better just to find the few critics with a sensibility that speaks to you and seek out their reviews. (I will say this: most of my favorite sources for movie reviews loved it.)

What I keep thinking about is what the people I know would think about this movie. How many people in my life would have the patience, time, or bandwidth to sit through a three-hour, subtitled Japanese film that is incredibly quiet and measured, features largely deadpan deliveries, and features an incredible amount of stage-performed dialogue from Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya? I can think of maybe one. Okay, two: another friend did see the movie with me, after all. And when we left the theater and I said there was no need for it to be nearly that long, she emphatically agreed with me.

I will admit, the only reason I saw this movie at all was because the critical consensus was so shockingly high. And, I can even see how that happened. But, that also makes it a cliché: the independent or international feature that critics go apeshit for but audiences largely regard with indifference. There was a pretty good number of people at the showing I went to yesterday, especially for one as early as 4:30 and in the middle on an ongoing pandemic (not to mention at the start of a ramp-up to an unprecedented surge of infections, although a lot of people still haven’t quite registered that), but it was also in a theater known for showing these kinds of films, owned by SIFF, in a city of movie lovers.

I can’t even describe the story that makes it sound exciting, or worthy of such massive critical praise. Stage director Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima), grieving the sudden death of his actor-turned-screenwriter wife Oto (Reika Kirishima), lands a residency job at a Hiroshima theater directing Uncle Vanya. For insurance purposes, the theater company gives him no choice but to allow them to hire him a driver for his car, a quiet young woman named Misaki (Tôko Miura). The story is ostensibly about the developing relationship—always platonic and vaguely paternal, never romantic, which is a relief—between Kafuku and his driver Misaki. But also figuring into the story prominently is the very young and hot actor Kafuku hires to be his Vanya, Kôji Takatsuki (Masaki Okada), who may or may not have been having an affair with Oto before she died. And, to a lesser extent, a few of the other cast members of the play, particularly the Korean man who helps cast and produce it, as well as the mute Korean woman cast in the play even though she communicates via Korean sign language.

There’s a kind of intersectionality at play in Drive My Car, which I found at times fascinating and at times mystifying. What does “diversity” mean from such a wildly different vantage point from my own—from Japan, for instance? There are no queer characters here (at least not identified; I did wonder somewhat about Misaki), and they are all Asian. But, there is a truly unusual degree of multilingual representation, from the casting of a woman who speaks Korean Sign Language, to a common stage design element featuring about five different languages of subtitles on a huge screen behind the stage. I found myself a little jealous of that: I want to see a play with subtitles! Furthermore, Kafuku speaks only Japanese and English, yet he casts actors who speak other languages but neither of his. This is never presented as a challenge in the casting of his play, and he even happily casts someone who doesn’t speak Japanese, even though the scripts they are reading are translated from its original Russian to Japanese. How does that work? The movie doesn’t bother to get into it.

And god knows, it had the time. When I say we see a lot of line readings of Uncle Vanya, whether in rehearsal or in actual stage performances, I mean a lot. If you combined that with the amount of time we spend with Kafuku practicing lines from a recorded cassette of Oto reading the rest of the dialogue, while in the car as Misaki drives him, and then cut out all that Uncle Vanya content, this movie would be at least half an hour shorter. Maybe more.

It seems clear there is great meaning to this movie’s plot, among the content of those Uncle Vanya lines, some kind of direct emotional corollary that I just couldn’t register. Maybe I could if I had ever studied or even read Uncle Vanya, but I have not. And how much crossover is there in that Venn diagram, really, of people both audiences of Uncle Vanya and people intimately familiar with the Chekhov text?

To be fair, Drive My Car is still skillfully plotted. The story is really about Kafuku and Misaki quite gradually discovering themselves to be kindred spirits; it must be about a third of the way through the movie before Misaki even appears. Director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi likes to take his time to occasionally baffling degree: the opening credits occur fully forty minutes into the film, so far into it that it took me several moments to realize they were opening credits, as I was confused as to what the names onscreen were supposed to mean. Before that moment, though, we spend plenty of time getting a sense of Kafuku’s marriage, the nature of their relationship, and even their sex life, a part of which is both how the film opens and ultimately becomes a pivotal plot point.

Which is to say, Drive My Car has plenty to recommend it, and I don’t consider it to have been a waste of time. That said, what it does have to recommend it just takes so much time to come along, I’m hard pressed to imagine many people prioritizing it over the countless other entrainment options they have. This movie is “a ride” only in the literal sense, but its effect is a lot more like an extended, leisurely stroll. Even the performances are curious, in that the delivery is so stiff and deadpan most of the time, with the notable exception of when we see the actors performing their scenes from Uncle Vanya. Only then do we see them become in any way animated. otherwise, people stand still, hands at their sides. Even in the emotionally climactic scene between Kafuku and Misaki, as Kafuku breaks down, Hidetoshi Nishijima emotes plenty in his performance, but he’s still otherwise standing perfectly still.

Thus, there is something simultaneously emotionally raw, and emotionally detached, about Drive My Car. It’s technically dense with nuance, when it comes to plotting and story construction, but it rarely even employs the use of a score. That’s not to say we need to be emotionally manipulated here, but something about the performances feels detached from the reality of everyday human living. Perhaps something is getting lost in translation, culturally, from Japan to my local theater. Or maybe it’s just me. Plenty of American critics were clearly deeply moved by this movie, but I found it a sort of fascinating curiosity at best. There’s even a brief coda at the very end, revisiting Misaki at a later time, and it plops us, without any context whatsoever, right into the middle of the pandemic: she’s shopping at a grocery store, everyone is wearing face masks. This movie has nothing to say about COVID, though; it just brings us into the apparently current day at the end. Clearly the production up to that point had been prior to the pandemic.

And now I have reached a truly unusual 1500 words in this very review, offering an overlong take on an overlong movie. In my defense, spending several minutes reading this review might be more efficient than three hours watching the movie. Drive My Car does offer rewards to those with patience, and I consider myself among that group. My struggle here is not knowing how many such people are out there.

You might feel like this about halfway through the movie.

Overall: B

SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME

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

I guess I have to admit that Marvel Studios has genuinely grown on me in recent years. Somehow, even with mostly the same template for story arc as every other movie before it, lately they’ve managed to offer superhero movies I actually find compelling. This took a bit for me, because I grew so tired of superhero movies in the early 2010s that I mostly blew them off for several years, only bothering with the truly exceptional ones like Black Panther or Thor: Ragnarok or Logan. Even the latter two of those three examples, I never bothered to see in theaters and only discovered their delights later on streamers. After being underwhelmed by the likes of Thor: The Dark World or Avengers: Age of Ultron (what a turd), I was mostly over it. There are better movies to see.

Even as Marvel pulled me back in a bit in more recent years, I never bothered to see Tom Holland’s previous two Spider-Man movies in theaters to review; Homecoming (2017) looked pretty blah to me, and when I finally watched it sometime last year on Disney+, it basically met that expectation. Only a few months ago I finally watched Far From Home (2019), which was a little better but had a seriously dopey villain in Jake Gyllenhaal’s “Mysterio”—a persistent problem in all three of the Spider-Man franchises, to be honest. Only Alfred Molena’s Doctor Octopus from 2004’s Spider-Man 2 has proved to be particularly memorable or easy to swallow.

Enter Spider-Man: No Way Home, which I must say, is worth the wait—and clearly owes its existence, at least in the form it has taken, to Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, unquestionably the best Spider-Man movie ever made. I really don’t want to spoil anything, as this movie is absolutely best experienced coming in as cold as possible, with no knowledge of what’s coming—although I suppose it should still be said, you’ll have to have been familiar with not just the Tom Holland films, but all of the Spider-Man movies that came before, in order to appreciate it fully.

Granted, if you care at all about the MCU, you’d have to be living under a rock not to be exposed to any of the rumors long swirling around about this movie. Nevertheless, I will neither confirm nor deny any of it! I will only say that director Jon Watts (Cop Car) and co-writers Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers (both of whom wrote the previous two Spider-Man movies) offer some genuinely thrilling moments in this film. The audience laps it up, and it’s nice to be in a crowd where that’s happening not just in response to fan service, but to genuinely clever plotting.

Spider-Man: No Way Home may be my favorite Marvel movie that neither tries for overt comedy nor has anything to say about anything outside of its own very American world. Or, in this case, universe. Or universes. It’s still a world as presented within the confines of this film. What I mean to say is, this movie doesn’t go so much for nuance or social commentary (J.K. Simmons’s conspiracy theorist news anchor notwithstanding), but it does featured layered and impressively intricate writing, even if it does feel a bit rushed. Peter Parker’s meeting with Benedict Cumberbatch’s Doctor Strange, who serves as a vital yet convenient plot device, feels a little too easy as the inciting event for the story here. This is where we get into the sorts of things that made me step away from superhero movies as long as I did, but in this case it’s a minor quibble; the rest of the movie makes up for it.

Because this movie never takes itself too seriously, but neither does it trivialize its own proceedings. It strikes the perfect balance there, and manages to be earnest in only the right places. I actually shed a couple of years near the end, making this the first Marvel movie ever to make me cry. And it was just an emotional goodbye scene. So, either Marvel producers have finally gotten their shit together, or I’m just getting old and soft. It could be both.

I should mention the special effects. There’s nothing groundbreaking happening onscreen in this movie, but at least for the most part it’s convincingly rendered. One of the things that turned me off of Avengers: Age of Ultron was how cartoony it looked, in CGI scenes meant to look real. By and large that doesn’t happen here, although there’s a few moments when the rendering of Spider-Man leaping through the air looks like a transparently CGI effect. Those moments are progressively fewer in these movies, though, and I appreciate that.

I watched Doctor Strange for the first time just last night, in anticipation of this movie, and although I’m glad I did, it’s not necessary to have any appreciation for No Way Home. It just provides context for a couple of details related to that character that might not make total sense in this movie otherwise, but it has no bearing on Spider-Man’s own story. The amount of detail and connected backstory at play in the MCU remains one of my primary complaints about it, and it really is true that if you have never seen the Tobey Maguire or Andrew Garfield films, the experience of this movie will be wildly different, and more of a challenge to appreciate.

If you have, however, Spider-Man: No Way Home ties things together in a way you never thought possible. And this is extraordinarily rare for me, especially for superhero movies, but my advice is to see this as soon as possible, so you can experience its surprises and delights without spoilers. I had a blast at this movie, and it’s been about 17 years since a Spider-Man movie did that for me.

Spider-Man protects Zendaya from her rabid fans.

Overall: B+

WEST SIDE STORY

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

When Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise’s West Side Story was released in 1961, itself an adaptation of an original 1957 Broadway play by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim, it was a bona fide sensation. This mid-1950s musical set in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and inspired by William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, was the second-highest grossing movie of 1961 (to be fair, making less than half the gross of that year’s #1 movie, 101 Dalmatians), grossing $43.7 million—the equivalent of $406 million today. It then went on to be nominated for eleven Academy Awards, and it won ten of them.

In the context of its time, the West Side Story of sixty years ago was a perfect movie in the eyes of many—an audience of people who wouldn’t have any concept of what “brownface” even is, let alone have any issue with it. Only over time, over decades of long-established “classic movie musical” status, have people grown to understand its deeply problematic elements. This same movie that won Rita Moreno the first Oscar given to a Hispanic woman also cast white actors, notably Natalie Wood in the co-lead part of Maria, as Latin characters.

Say things like “it was a different time” all you want, watching movies like that is increasingly hard to swallow. Enter Steven Spielberg, who reportedly loved this movie since childhood, to offer the remake everyone thought no one needed, only to prove he could update it for modern audiences in nearly all the right ways. His 2021 West Side Story, which is less a remake of the 1961 film than a new adaptation of the original play—with some of the censored lines that didn’t make it into the 1961 version reinstated. (Conversely, some of the harsher lines about Puerto Rico in the “America” number are toned down a bit.)

There are some astonishing things about this version of West Side Story, not the least of which is the casting of Rita Moreno, who played Anita in 1961, as a replacement for the “Doc” drug store owner character. Here she is his widow. This is the only truly overt nod to the 1961 movie as opposed to the original play, and it’s amazing to think that Moreno was 30 years old in 1961. Consider that 1961 was sixty years ago. Just this past weekend, Moreno turned ninety. Granted, this movie that was originally supposed to be released a year ago but was postponed due to the pandemic, was shot in 2019, so onscreen Moreno is 88. Still a jaw droppingly vivacious screen presence.

So, let’s address the issue of Ansel Elgort in the co-lead part of Tony—something that has become an unfortunate stain on the legacy of a West Side Story clearly meant to correct problematic issues. Given Elgort’s multiple credible allegations of sexual assault, that leaves this West Side Story problematic in its own right, and I must admit: this knowledge marred my experience of the movie. And I thoroughly enjoyed it! But, I was also regularly distracted by the very presence of Elgort onscreen.

Previous to this, I thought of Elgort the actor as . . . fine. He was competent but bland and forgettable in The Fault in Our Stars (2016); he was serviceable in the otherwise thrilling Baby Driver (2017)—a movie which, incidentally, costarred fellow douche Kevin Spacey. The point is, Elgort was never quite poised for movie stardom. Some may have assumed West Side Story might put him over the edge—again, he is serviceable, and his singing is actually surprisingly good—but it’s pretty clear now that is never going to happen.

It’s hard to fault the rest of the people involved in the film, however—in a highly collaborative medium. As already noted, shooting took place in 2019; the allegations broke in 2020; Elgort’s deflections have been fairly unconvincing, but this all happened after the film was done. It’s not like he could be recast. The closest I can get to putting a positive spin on this is to note that all the bronzer used in the 1961 film—even on the Latino actors!—is right there onscreen, whereas this issue with Spielberg’s film is behind the scenes. If you can’t stomach seeing this movie after learning about Ansel Elgort, I absolutely won’t fault you for that. But if you can take the film at face value, and judge it solely as Spielberg’s vision of a genuinely improved film experience, you might just find yourself wowed by it.

It should be noted that this West Side Story has an incredible ensemble cast, with Ariana DeBose every bit as good as Rita Moreno ever was in the part of Anita; a truly dynamic screen presence in David Alvarez as Bernardo; a uniquely charismatic screen presence in Mike Faist as Riff; and an essence of effortless vocal purity in Rachel Zegler as Maria.

And then there’s the part of Anybodys, portrayed as a tomboy in the 1961 film (and, presumably, in the original play), but strongly suggested—though never explicitly stated—to be a trans boy as depicted by Iris Menas in the Spielberg film. This also certainly gets into deeply sensitive territory, but, all things considered, both Spielberg and Menas handle this character incredibly well. This could have been a choice that crashed and burned, and instead the part, which gets a slightly expanded character arc (as does that of Chino, a pivotal part with no real dimension in 1961), is handled with nuance and humanity. That said, I can’t quite decide how I feel about the decision to keep the “my brother wears a dress” line in the “Gee Officer Krupke” number, except to say that it fits with the characterization of the Jets as insensitive dipshits.

Most importantly. Spielberg shoots West Side Story in a way that infuses it with crackling energy, employing cinematography that makes its viewing an invigorating experience. This is the case from the opening shot, which trades the 1961 version’s famous overhead shots of Manhattan skyscrapers with an overhead tracking crane shot of blocks of rubble recently bulldozed, immediately and pointedly contextualizing the story with gentrification. A few Black characters are used briefly at times throughout the movie, clearly in the service of this point. The story just happens to be about rival gangs that are either white or Puerto Rican.

And yes, there is still ample choreography—one of the things that made me love this movie, actually. Once enough decades passed to render West Side Story dated, some have made fun of the seemingly effeminate nature of “tough guy” gangs incorporating ballet moves into their repertoire. Well, they kind of still do that here, but Justin Peck’s choreography is updated just enough to accept the way they move as a part of a modern movie musical. Choreography isn’t just for dancing, though (although there are multiple dance numbers here that are great, especially during “America”). It’s also for fight scenes, and there are moments in this adaptation that are surprisingly violent. The opening sequences marry the two, in fact: introductions of the Jets and the Sharks have them dancing aggressively through the streets, until we wind up at a beautifully shot mural of the Puerto Rican flag, which the Jets then begin defacing with paint from cans cleverly picked up during all that previously choreographed movement.

The great thing about West Side Story is now it all fits together in the end. This is the kind of movie that pulls you along as what seems like simply decent entertainment for a while, only for things to click into place in a way that systematically reveals how expertly constructed it was all along. To say that film adaptations of stage plays, even musicals, are hit and miss is an understatement. But, how much I thoroughly enjoyed this one can’t be overstated.

Just think of it as Spielberg’s best work in years.

BEING THE RICARDOS

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

There’s a lot of reasons to be skeptical of Being the Ricardos, and yet writer-director Aaron Sorkin systematically proves all of them unnecessary. To varying degrees, it’s a pleasant surprise on all fronts.

I suppose the one glaring exception, upon reflection, would be its climactic moment, which is rife with cliché—the very same thing that happened in Sorkin’s much-discussed movie from last year, The Trial of the Chicago 7. On the other hand, at least in Being the Ricardos, the huge audience applause we get at the end of the movie comes from an actual audience, as it takes place on the sound stage of I Love Lucy.

Much of this movie is set on the stage of that show, in fact, offering a bit of a “how the sausage was made” vibe to the storytelling. I would not begrudge anyone who is not into that part, honestly. I happened to find it compelling. Furthermore, Sorkin uses it to narrow the focus of what otherwise might be called a “biopic,” thereby doing what I have long wished most biopics would do: it limits the scope of the life being covered.

The story Sorkin tells here is about Lucille Ball being investigated as a Communist by the House Unamerican Activities Committee, in 1953, during production of the second season of I Love Lucy. Sorkin takes us through a single week of production, and thus the production of one episode of the show. We get flashbacks here and there, mostly regarding the early stages of the relationship between Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, and it works.

In fact, this is one of the things that most surprises in how well it works—Aaron Sorkin is usually so distinctive, you can recognize his dialogue in seconds. I found myself thinking about how, if I did not know this was written by Sorkin, I would never have guessed it. I tend to love his writing, actually, but this is still a benefit to the movie. The writing is still very good—in fact, it’s more natural and less stylized, even as it is recognizably polished. It just doesn’t veer into Sorkin’s characteristic territory of “over-polished.” Quick aside, I found myself amused maybe halfway through the movie, as it occurred to me I had not seen one of Sorkin’s infamous “walk and talk” scenes. Minutes later, there was a “walk and talk.” Just the one, though. It felt almost knowing in its inclusion. Is Sorkin trolling us now?

As for casting, it must be said that the greatest skepticism of this production has long been the idea of Nicole Kidman playing Lucille Ball. It just sounded like such a misguided idea, but the finished film illustrates how great talent should never be underestimated. Maybe wait until the finished product is before us before judging, because Kidman is excellent in this role, easily the best thing in the movie. As for Javier Bardem in the role of Desi Arnaz, there has been controversy regarding this, as Bardem is from Spain, thus of European descent, and his being a Spanish speaker notwithstanding, it’s actually not far removed from the history of casting white people in Latino roles. This is certainly a valid point, but, given that I am neither Latino, Hispanic, nor Spanish myself, I’ll leave this one for them to sort out—except to say that, while Barden is an undeniably great actor, it would not have been difficult to find a Latino actor just as talented.

To be fair, Sorkin also could have cast another actor just as talented as Nicole Kidman to play the role of Lucille Ball. But, this is the movie we’ve got, and the two leads are very good in their roles. But, especially Kidman. Still, the Bardem casting puts at least a mild but undeniable funk on the reception of the film. We also get J.K. Simmons as William Frawley and Nina Arianda as Vivian Vance, the actors who played Fred and Ethel, and they are both excellent as well. As is usual for Sorkin movies, it’s largely an ensemble piece—albeit one where everyone revolves around Lucille Ball as the central character—and the rest of the cast is filled out with a lot of relatively familiar, if not outright famous, faces.

Altogether, Being the Ricardos is a riveting journey through a week in the lives of some of the most famous people the U.S. has ever seen (they make it a note to point out that I Love Lucy used to get sixty million viewers; the most successful broadcast television shows today get a fraction of that). Sorken effectively humanizes them, as well as everyone around them, and even when the typical score crescendo occurs in a transparent bid to manipulate our emotions, I am powerless to it. This movie doesn’t break any new ground, but I thoroughly enjoyed it anyway; anyone with an interest in Lucille Ball’s story is bound to as well.

For some of us anyway, it exceeds all expectations.

Overall: B+