February saw me catching up with some Oscar-nominated films, hitting the theatres for some brand-new releases, and diving back into Oscar history. This month at the movies…
Argentina, 1985
I have a deep fascination with histories not told in North America. While I have some passing knowledge of various social and political movements and stories from around the world, I will always be a sucker for a film from a country, by a citizen of that country, talking about one of the most intriguing events in that country’s history. Films like South Korea’s The President’s Last Bang (Sang-Soo, 2005) and Romania’s Collective (Nanua, 2019) welcome western audiences into a life that they would find unfamiliar and contain unique, more personal perspectives on the situations than you would find in a Hollywood retelling of the same story. Argentine, 1985 can be easily added to this list of fantastic films that help broaden western perspectives.
The film tells the story of the Trial of the Juntas, the fascist military dictatorship that ruled Argentina from 1976 to 1983. Under their fascist control, it is believed that between 13,000-30,000 people were either murdered or “disappeared”, many of whose fates remain unknown to this day. The film follows the prosecuting attorney who, along with his young associates, his family, and the support of all those brave enough to come forward after the horrors they had faced. The film exists under a shadow of fear and paranoia, with many moments drawn as tensely as possible. Is there a bomb under the car? Is that man following our characters? Are the threatening phone calls they receive day and night ever going to be followed through with?
Yet even through this dark subject matter, the element that stands out is the pitch-black humor of the entire situation. Those familiar with Argentinian cinema will know that the dark, nihilistic humor is one of its most pervasive elements, and Argentina, 1985 is no different. Through the outrageous injustices that unfolded throughout the country and this trial, the overwrought evilness of the situation turns reality into parody, and the film leans heavily into just how ridiculous that evil is without undercutting the cruelty it still holds. This fine balance is nearly never found outside of great Argentinian films like this one.
Blonde
Biopics are always going to have an uphill battle when it comes to acclaim. If they play it too safe they fall into cliche, taking incredible stories and turning them into underwhelming and overdone tropes. If they branch too far out they can appear dishonest or disrespectful to the subject that they are attempting to idolize. With Blonde we have an added layer of complication, as this film is specifically not a biopic but an adaptation of a novel in which Marilyn Monroe is a character, being used to exemplify the pitfalls of fame and Hollywood. And while Monroe’s life was filled with an unfair share of heartbreak, both the novel and this film have no qualms with adding to this tragedy. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?
Unfortunately Blonde is not a good story, and the falsehoods and creative license taken not only diminishes the vision that the director sought but further proved they were part of the machine they were attempting to criticize. One wouldn’t be able to deny that Monroe was used up viciously by the horrors of fame. But what good does it do to her, to her memory and the joy her work was able to bring into the world, by pushing aside that joy and by using her as a puppet, a tool? This is a film with harsh things to say, important things to say about power and corruption, but it feeds into these ideas itself with such a cruel handling of someone who already had enough cruelty for a lifetime.
Deliver Us From Evil
Documentaries will never be as popular as narrative fiction films, for many reasons. The cinematic language of documentaries is more unfamiliar to those who don’t frequent the medium. They can have the tendency or reputation of being boring, dull, more of an educational lecture than a work of art. Another reason, one that doesn’t get as much attention as the others, is that the fantasies seen in fiction are much more palatable than the truths we actually live in. Deliver Us From Evil is an angry film, a rage-filled screech in the darkness that unknowingly engulfs us all. And no matter how angry the film is itself, it will not compare to how angry you will be after watching it.
Telling the story of sexual abuse within the Catholic church, focusing on but one man and his heinous crimes, the film shows the smiling, uncaring face of evil. Much like The Act of Killing (Oppenheimer, 2012) evil doesn’t hide in the shadows and doesn’t feel the need for shame or fear of reprisal. The world is set up for them to thrive, to destroy lives and never face repercussions. The film doesn’t feel the need to be flashy, or to play with the format, for the hatred you will feel for the subject matter is enough to drive your involvement in the film. This is not a story, this is an injustice, and one that the whole world should watch.
Fire of Love
A fierce documentary that blends hundreds of hours of archival footage with voice-over and animated segments, Fire of Love explores the connection between two lovers and the third love in their menage-a-trois, volcanos. While I could easily attack you all with puns about erupting emotions and fiery conflicts, such statements would not adhere to the truth the documentary exists in. The lines drawn between the dangers and joys of love and volcanos are not so neatly created for the simple fact that the love found in this film is not tumultuous at all, but tremendously contained and controlled. This is a story about an undying love two people had for one another, and the bizarre, dangerous world they decided to express that love.
The film is tinged with a sense of dread, of inevitability, like when you spot a familiar trope of a popular kid’s death in a war movie. The audience knows from the opening frames the fate of these lovers, yet there is never any despair in that. I’d argue that knowing that these two died side by side, engulfed in the only other thing they seemed to love, is more apt and poetic than most documentaries dare. It’s not heartbreaking to know that love lasted until the end of life and beyond. It’s beautiful, much like the film itself.
Glass Onion
When Knives Out (Johnson, 2019) came out, I enjoyed it if not loved it outright. It felt like a nice update to a dying genre, with a touch of social commentary and a fantastic cast to round out the experience. It felt like a film that, while I have not revisited it, would not be diminished from a rewatch (as the actual reveal of the mystery is less important than how that reveal comes about). Much of this can be said of its continuation Glass Onion, which also features the common sequel tropes of bigger, brasher, and more more more. In most cases this can spell disaster for a sequel, as tonal balance is such a hard thing to master in any film that when you mess with that balance it throws everything off. In comedy sequels it can lead to abysmal results (apologies to both Goon: Last of the Enforcers [Baruchel, 2017] and Pitch Perfect 2 [Banks, 2015]).
Luckily for all, Glass Onion not only is able to keep the balance of comedy and mystery but ups the social satire without becoming a preachy, unbearable screed. The twist part way through the film (which I won’t spoil here) almost demands a rewatch, a reevaluation of everything you’ve seen so far. The final twist doubles this effect, while also allowing us to laugh at the social commentary on the rich and famous. While this film may not be as timeless as the first, it’s so locked into the current sociopolitical climate that it serves as a time capsule for this moment. And, above all else, it’s just damn fun.
Infinity Pool
With Infinity Pool, the Cronenberg dynasty continues their domination of weird Canadian body horror, and honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way. Brandon’s (son of horror maestro David) previous film Possessor (Cronenberg, 2020) was a bizarre, techno-twist on the idea of possession and future murder-for-hire. With this film we see him going beyond the Canadian border and exploring privilege and exploitation, with a tinge of eat-the-rich commentary that is currently very popular within the zeitgeist. All while maintaining that Cronenbergian fierceness.
While this film isn’t as coherent as his previous works, with the writer/director giving in to some more psychedelic influences that I find more distracting than affecting, the horror and depravity on display are still incredibly effective. I don’t want to touch on the plot too much here, as I feel that the revelations are an important part of the journey with this film. I will say that how wealthy tourists exploit the poor and needy in other countries for nothing but empty half-joys is a startling and powerful message. By using the deprivation of one’s self into the most base, hedonistic desires, Cronenberg shines a mirror at the audience and asks us to look hard at what we really want in this world; a better one for all, or a better one for us?
Knock at the Cabin
I am a staunch M. Night Shamalyan defender. Undoubtedly my desire to have more mid-budget, artist-driven works in the theaters and available for the broader audience clouds my judgment somewhat in this regard, as even I can find his more oblique charms trying at times. The stilted dialogue and blatant themes have discouraged many from his works in recent years, and while I find these oddities part of the joys of his work I can also recognize that others do not.
With that said I feel confident in my recommendation of his latest, Knock at the Cabin. A thoughtful moral thriller, less concerned with cheap thrills and twists than with the ideals of family and the greater good. The film carefully lays out its story, with no secrets to hide and only the horror of the inevitable waiting for us at the end of its run. The decisions made are dark and dire, and the journey to those decisions is fraught and trying, but Shamalyan’s steady hand leads us the entire time. Is it worth saving a world that doesn’t want you? Is it worth sacrificing for people who would never sacrifice for you? Watch Knock at the Cabin and decide for yourself.
The Long Good Friday
If you have watched any British crime film from the last three decades, the one film that they all live in the shadow of is The Long Good Friday. In many ways, it’s a simple film, a whodunit set within the underworld. But its influences are unmatched within the genre. Small men who are larger than life, brutal tactics to get weak answers, a willingness to burn down the city and everyone in it if it means you get your way. This is the film Guy Ritchie has been chasing his entire career.
The film was the breakout performance for Bob Hoskins, and even over forty years later the performance stands as one of the best within the genre. The power Hoskins contains with each movement, each look and side-eye, is unmatched by any that has come close. Casual yet deliberate, a lion who already has your head within his gaping maw. Whether he bites down or not is decided on nothing but a whim. Add in the political commentary of the time, the way that a British man can’t help but underestimate and devalue those he didn’t even see as competition, as people, and we’re left with a brilliant film that entertains and shocks with equal glee.
Lucky
Harry Dean Stanton is one of my favourite actors. Every performance of his is reserved while retaining an edge, a crassness to him, a wrankle. It’s possible he simply reminds me of every old man, tobacco-chewing and mumble-voiced, sitting on a porch top and spilling wisdom once in a blue moon. Anyone who can evoke such a passionate image with just a smile or a wink is a performer I’ll be drawn to, for doing so much with so little will always be impressive. Here, in his final role, we get to see him do all that and more. Doing a little with a lot and a lot with a little.
A simple story of an old man, some regrets but not enough to pull him under, coming to terms with the life he has chosen and how it’s bound to end. Ninety-year-old Lucky (Stanton) lives in a small California, where he eats at a greasy spoon diner, listens to the radio, and drinks at the watering hole. After a medical scare (which scares his friends more than himself) he can’t help but think about what he’s done and if it’s enough. A film about legacy, and whether it’s worth a damn at all, can’t help but solidify Stanton’s legacy in the process. Add in a performance by David Lynch as a man whose best friend is a tortoise (it’s as great as you think) and we’re left with a wonderful film that’ll leave you with a trace of a smile on your lips for weeks after.
Out of Africa
For many, the Oscars have a reputation for dull, out-of-touch films being awarded their top prize of Best Picture, and I can’t help but feel that Out of Africa is in large part to blame for that. A bloated, turn-of-the-century epic about just how great it was to be a white colonizer in Africa, this film has aged about as well as that description implies. Add in a weak, uninspired love story, and you can’t help but wonder what the Academy or director Sidney Pollock were doing here.
Not to be entirely negative, there are of course aspects one can’t help but appreciate. The cinematography is outstanding, with these vistas of a foreign land selling us on the beauty of a world unexplored by our characters (and ourselves, for the most part). Meryl Streep as always is doing her best, and she and Robert Redford undoubtedly have chemistry we hardly see in films today (them both being two of the most beautiful people put on film together probably helped a little). Plus the simple fact that this is a romantic epic, shot on location, causes a pang of yearning, a realization of what modern cinema is missing. If only this didn’t literally put me to sleep on three separate occasions that yearning could’ve dragged this to a positive experience.
Puss in Boots: The Last Wish
I have not rewatched the Shrek films in well over a decade (possibly approaching two) and never bothered with the original Puss in Boots (Miller, 2011). My memories of them are fond-ish, the kind of glow only given to childhood favourites you haven’t dared to revisit. I can’t imagine that the magic I enjoyed as a child would transfer into adulthood. That is until I saw Puss in Boots: The Last Wish. The film that will make everyone ask: is the Shrek franchise fantastic?
While I can’t answer that question here, I can say that this one is most likely head and shoulders above the rest because it is head and shoulders above most animated films from the last decade. Few films targeted towards children would tackle such complicated themes as coming to terms with your own death and how age will eventually change your self-image (and I can’t recall such ideas coming up in the previous films in the series). The animation is also absolutely beautiful, with the action scenes jumping off the screen, taking their queue from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Persichetti, Ramsey, Rothman, 2018) giving the film a completely unique look compared to the others in the world of Shrek. And, on top of that, it’s just damn funny. An absolute blast to watch.
The Shop on Main Street
In a world where we seem to be barraged with World War II and Holocaust films every year, it can be hard to bring yourself to watch many. While there are undoubtedly thousands upon thousands of individual stories that could make compelling tales of strife and survival, the horrors of the time can be wary upon the soul. Add to that some films that treat the situation more for a chance of exploitation than actual reverence and it can easily become an oversaturated situation. With all that in mind, The Shop on Main Street should still be seen be any and all.
A Czech film that won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film in 1965, it tells the story of the Aryanization of Slovakia as seen through one man tasked with enforcing the laws. During this time, Jewish-owned businesses were forcefully taken over by gentiles, and we follow one of these men as he takes over a Jewish woman’s sewing shop, but is unable to bring himself to tell the elderly woman why he is now working in the shop and running her business. The relationship developed between this man who has gotten in over his head and the old woman who is unaware of what is becoming of her world has moments of kindness and beauty, constantly tinged with guilt and fear. A heart-wrenching final act brings forth the paranoia of the times and asks what a life is worth. A fantastic drama that deserves to be considered among the greats of Holocaust horrors.
Tar
The directorial works of Todd Fields are few and far between, but each of his films is so heavily layered with themes and subject matter that it makes any wait between his projects more than worth it. Like a masterful painting, the more you look at any of his films the more you take from them, the more they give. Each frame a story, each word a weapon, and with Tar these weapons are turned on many highly controversial subjects within modern society. A delicate, thoughtful film that dares to question what you believe, only to then question why you’re second-guessing yourself.
From cancel culture to identity politics to sexual harassment and the power dynamics between the haves and the have-nots, Tar gracefully flows from one subject to another. Folding these themes and elements together with the life of one woman, Lydia Tar, so fully realized in Cate Blanchett’s perfect portrayal. The performance is absolutely wonderful, just thinking back on it I don’t know many other characters that seem so fully realized, so completely lived in. Lydia Tar is every intellectual who’s looked down on your opinion, or thought you lesser for enjoying things not considered high class. It’s from self-hatred so severe yet hidden that this stems, and all the actions in this film stem. That’s just one reading, mine, and as with any Fields film there are nearly limitless ways to interpret this work. A wonderful dive into psychopathy.
The Time to Live and the Time to Die
In my research for next month’s 1985-focused newsletter, I’ve been doing so deep dives into the year, including that year’s Best Foreign Film Academy Award winner The Time to Live and the Time to Die. A Taiwanese coming-of-age story that focuses on the family of Ah-ha and his family’s new life away from China. The young boy expereinces love, life, and death in a place he is unsure whether he will ever be able to call home, all while at odds with his more traditional family, all of whom dream of the life they once had. While at times affecting and altogether a well-made slice-of-life drama, I can’t help but feel a distance from the film. At the time of its release it might have been considered a powerful experience but with the intervening years much of that power has been drained from the celluloid.
There is no surprise in this film, no revelations we haven’t seen before. Just on the right side of cliche, the film is trapped within the tropes of its coming-of-age drama. The fallouts and forgivenesses that we expect all happen without much pushback or innovation. It does these story beats justice, and at no time does the audience feel the drag of these known beats on their viewing, but when compared with other Taiwanese films such as Yi Yi (Yang, 2000) and Eat Drink Man Woman (Li, 1994) one can’t help but be let down by what could have been.
To Leslie
There is nothing unique to To Leslie. This is a story we’ve all seen before, the type of independent film that we say a handful of every year, one that gets some buzz along the festival circuit only to fade into obscurity come the rolling tides of time. Unfortunately for To Leslie I can’t see anything from this lasting against those lapping waves, as the film is destined to just be an oddity for Oscar addicts ten years from now, a piece of trivia only remembered because it beat the odds. The film itself hits all the beats of the addiction dramas we have seen over the years. The rock bottom that leads to yet another rock bottom. Will there be retribution? Can they be saved from themselves? You know the answers to all these questions from the opening frames. A wonderful performance from lead Andrea Riseborough and a gentle if a little unconvincing performance from Marc Maron can’t lift this film out of the plateau that is good-not-great films. A movie you’ll add to your watchlist that’ll never really be your best option.
The Whale
I have always struggled with Darren Aronofsky. While he has two films I absolutely adore (The Wrestler and Black Swan) his other films tend to leave me rolling my eyes throughout the runtime. Whether it’s the incredibly obvious messaging or the hyperactive techniques that for me exemplify the idea of style-over-substance, I feel a disconnect. With The Whale, this disconnect again rears its head, but not for the usual reasons but simply because this film is a lifeless, uninspired slog.
Now I will state that the one positive that I (as well as everyone else) agree upon is that Brendan Fraser is absolutely phenomenal. Acting with prosthetics is not simple task, and his ability to bring forth the emotions he’s been tasked with (and exceeds) in this film is simply incredible. His career best is unfortunately hampered by the film it is stuck in. An adaptation of a stage play, the camera is stiff and staged, no life is found within it. The problems commonly found within stage-to-screen adaptations are entrenched here. Whether it’s a script that prefers overwrought, obvious motivations and characters that just shout their thoughts instead of thinking them, or a location that goes unexplored by the camera and is simply a place that we as an audience develop no connection to over the course of two hours, this film feels more like a trap than an honest artistic expression. A sleepwalking effort from Aronofsky.