From Children of Men to When We Were Kings
March 2024 at the Movies
As the grey winter skies blossom into the baby blue beauties of spring, I decided to take the month of March as a time to sit in the dark and watch movies. Oh well! There is always another beautiful day around the corner. Plus, who needs fresh air when you have some fine (and not-so-fine) films in need of your attention? This month, at the movies…
Children of Men
One of the two films featured in last month’s paid subscriber exclusives, click here to subscribe and read my article about Children of Men and our need for hope.
Dune 2
Returning to the massive world of Frank Hubert’s Dune (as seen through the vision of Denis Villeneuve), I was tentative in my excitement. While I had enjoyed the first Dune it had left me feeling cold in many regards. It felt much like a film of pure exposition and worldbuilding, settling on this installment to fulfill the grandiose promises outlined in the first. While not all those promises may have been met, Villeneuve still builds upon that initial installment in both character and production design, in the end giving the film an emotional heft that was lacking in part one.
The film follows Paul Atrestees as he is coaxed and coerced into the false role his mother had laid out for him, and his eventual fall from grace that results in giving into this temptation. Villeneuve once again paints a beautiful and astonishing world, one of grandeur and intrigue. Timothee Chalamet proves he is capable of taking up the mantle of the galactic “hero”, and the slow-turning chaos reigned by Rebecca Ferguson is a delight to watch. Austin Butler nearly steals the film though as the sociopathetic counterpart to Paul’s leader. The one weak spot in the cast is Zendaya, who is never able to break free from her Disney Channel roots in her portrayal of puppy dog love. While this did distract at times, it’s the enormity of Villenuve’s vision that you go to this movie wanting, and in that regard it over-delivers. A stunning sci-fi epic.
Friday the 13th Part 3: 3-D
I love a good schlocky horror film. The slasher film genre dominated the 80s horror landscape for a reason, and growing up I had a deep fascination with these cultural touchstones that came before me. That fascination extended mostly to reading about the films and watching documentaries on their creation, but never have I done a deep dive into each horror franchise. As such, this is the first time I’ve seen the third Friday the 13th film, and it could easily be the only time. While I hold a particular reverence for the horror godfather that is Jason Voorhes, the films tend to be a dull rinse-and-repeat formula that neither shocks nor delights.
This film is notable for being the first time in which Jason donned his iconic hockey mask, which occurs at the start of the third act. In think that can sum up the entire franchise, the fact that it takes near the end of this film for something to resonate. The franchise built a legacy over multiple films, none of which seem to pass the test of time on their own. The Friday the 13th brand is a hollow, patchwork icon, one that only stands tall when you don’t look closely. With the third film, we can see the lack of depth and creativity that pervades the franchise at its core. It’s uninterested in exploration and thus is uninteresting in exploring as an audience.
Haxan
A classic in silent horror, Haxan is a delightfully devilish Swedish film from 1922. Masquerading as a historical depiction of witches and witchcraft from the Dark Ages, the film delves into devil worship and pacts with Satan with a glee unseen in most modern horror films. The set and character designs are lavish and beautiful, standing out in their outlandishness when compared to their contemporaries. Even by today’s standards there are disturbing sights and ideas in this film, one’s that should remain unseen by the faint of heart. But for those interested in either the silent era or horror history, this is a must-see.
The film doesn’t contain a traditional narrative, instead playing as an early mockumentary or supplementary text. No matter how outlandish the situation, director Benjamin Christensen wants us to believe this is the truth. This exacerbates the horror of the film, as the educational aura of the film is incredibly well done, and the audience is quick to assume the horrors presented are accurate. As we delve into flayed skins and boiling blood, this facade of realism dims but never completely fades, and it’s this lasting question of the truth of the text that lingers with us after the final frame. A delightful film of blood and bones.
Jabberwocky
I often enjoy delving into Terry Gilliam’s dirty and desperate worlds. The Monty Python alum has a very distinct visual style, with the comedic leanings formed from years in sketch comedy playing into his eventual directing career. With his first solo directing effort Jabberwocky these comedic influences are very evident, and even the influence of Monty Python and the Holy Grail leaves something of a stain across this film. A more bitter, sharper, and bleak version of that classic comedy, Jabberwocky is a showcase of Gilliam’s visual ideas while also showing the cracks for his lack of coherency.
The comedic story of a bumbling fool of a cooper who, through a series of errors and miscommunications, is mistaken for a knight, the film has many hilarious comedic beats. But these beats tend to drag along at times, and the darker, more crass edge Gilliam brings to them tends to clash against the sillier, more high-strung performances (especially from the lead Michael Pallin). Combine this with stretching a thin story out as far as possible and we can see why this film failed to capture a cult following like other Monty Python work. The film is a combination of two more successful Python works, The Holy Grail and Life of Brian, yet never is able to capture the moment as these films did. A film to see for any Python completionist, but one that is less than the sum of its parts.
John Wick 2
I previously reviewed both John Wick 2 as well as wrote about the mythologizing of the John Wick last year. For this rewatch I focused my attention specifically on the fight choreography, an element that the franchise has been known for. It did become apparent on this viewing that, much like how the Friday the 13th brand is built upon multiple minor moments across many films, the fight choreography of the John Wick world may not hold up under direct scrutiny when watching the second film. Considering the momentum that the franchise achieves in its subsequent films, this felt more like a film laying out a world for the characters and audience to play in, and less a full realization itself.
While the film still stands head and shoulders above most action films that get released today, the franchise has set a high standard and I feel it’s fair to say this doesn’t quite meet those expectations on rewatch. Given the things we eventually learn about the rules of this world, there isn’t always a clear motivation for John Wick or the other characters, and the future films seem to have better objectives as well as better designed ideas. Still, Keanu Reeves and Ian McShane are wonderful to see verbally spar in the verbose, grandiose terms the film lives in, and Lance Reddick will always be a highlight of a film he’s in. Still a great action film, just not one as great as you might remember.
The Last Wave
The first of two Peter Weir films I watched this month, The Last Wave is an ethereal and bewitching film from the Australian New Wave. Following a British lawyer who becomes involved in the murder trial for four Aboriginese men, the film weaves a tapestry of the fantastic and the foreboding into a stellar story. Opposing forces of colonialist views and the traditional Aboriginal lives are contrasted with each other and blended, forcing the characters and the audience into deciding what’s real, what’s dream, and what authority man holds on a world untamed. Weir’s eye for the otherworldly transforms the cityscape into a foreign land for its inhabitants, and the apocalyptic cloud that hangs over the film grows darker with each passing frame.
The film asks many questions and strategically answers very few. This leaves the audience wanting, but in a way that is devilish and delightful instead of frustrating. The performances from David Gulpilil and Nandjiwarra Amagula play into this greatly, as they play with both our expectations of the “mystical aboriginal” and counters those expectations. Richard Chamberlain is excellent in the lead role, guiding us deftly through a confusing onslaught of dream logic and visions. His turn from a stoic man of reason to a frantic man open to a world beyond our own allows us to be swept away in the film, even when it’s moving at a pace that can be hard to comprehend. An excellent, dark film from an emerging great.
Late Night With the Devil
I don’t want this review to be a singular tirade against the A.I. usage in this film, so I’m just going to put it here: I hated the A.I. It looked terrible, it was a poor thing for any production to do, and I wish they never do it again, and I don’t feel bad for not paying to watch this film because of it. Protect art, protect artists.
It’s all the more disappointing considering what a great film they have here. A throwback found footage film set during a 1970s late-night show, the film is so well crafted and cast that it doesn’t make sense that they cut corners on something so simple. Late Night With the Devil is a tightly directed piece of horror, with a truly fantastic performance from David Dastmalchian. Playing Jack Delroy, a second-rate Johnny Carson, he brings on a slew of weird and fascinating characters in hopes of boosting his ratings, only for his previous dealings with the unknown to come back for their revenge.
The film is slow burn in its horror, never letting on what’s the truth and what’s a lie. The mockumentary/found footage style is used wonderfully, and fans of both 70s horror and classic talk shows will find much to enjoy. Dastmalchian gets his first lead role and absolutely runs away with it, bringing the hackneyed charm as well as the genuine terror and, when it’s called upon, deep, dark regret. While the film doesn’t do anything new with its somewhat predictable story, it tells that story well and with gusto. The ending doesn’t exactly know what it wants to say, but there are still moments of excellence there (again mostly anchored around the lead performance). A very well done horror film, a good way to spend your evening.
Love Lies Bleeding
Love Lies Bleeding is a blood-soaked romantic thriller from director Rose Glass. Following Lou and Jackie (Kirsten Stewart and newcomer Katy O’Brien), new lovers in a dead-end desert town. Lou’s estranged father (Ed Harris) is a local criminal and Jackie’s new boss, her brother-in-law (Dave Franco) is abusive and manipulative, and there is a deep sense of danger as the two lesbian lovers get to know each other. Lies, murder, and intrigue follow as the reformed criminal and the vagrant bodybuilder try to navigate the dangers of 1989 America. A lesbian neo-noir, this film is held together by the undeniable chemistry between Stewart and O’Brien, and the intense, voyeuristic camera of Glass makes the blossoming relationship completely believable. Unfortunately, the energy of this couple and the first half of this film peters out quickly as the twists start to reveal themselves.
The problem isn’t that the twists are unbelievable or too daring, it’s almost the exact opposite. The film builds up these multiple mysteries that the audience is waiting to get unveiled, only for them to either not be answered or to be dull and simple. There are not revelations in this film, narratively or emotionally, and that leaves the second half of the film feeling empty and underdeveloped. If you were to take a guess how the story would resolve itself after the first ten minutes, you’d likely be close to correct. The film lacks surprise, and as the story builds out exactly as one would expect, the well-strung tension quickly deflates. A glossy, well-photographed disappointment.
Malcolm X
My Spike Lee appreciation watch has brought me to what many are likely to consider his magnum opus, Malcolm X. An epic tale of one of the most influential men of the 20th century, Malcolm X had the potential to fall into the trappings of the standard biopic. It does have some of those conventions, attempting to take the entire life of such a colossal figure and capture it within three hours. Yet with the careful and unflinching direction from Lee, the film not only captures Malcolm’s life but openly comments on the ideas of greatness and the follies he perpetuated in times of ill belief. Lee doesn’t shy away from the less glamourous aspects of Malcolm, nor does he allow Malcolm’s greatness to cloud the fact that he was just a man. With this Lee can make one of the greatest portraits of an American in cinema history.
Helping Lee create this portrait is a stunning performance from Denzel Washington. Washington not only embodies Malcolm as the spirit of a revolution but gives him depths as a man, gives him gentleness, gives him breath. While my exposure to Malcolm X as a figure is deeply minor, he always seemed to be painted in harsh tones by the stories passed down through media and history. In Malcolm X we see this not as harshness but as hardness, an unwillingness to back down when his beliefs held strong. And between these more visceral moments of the Malcolm X the world knew we are given moments of grace, such as when he returns to the man who tried to kill him, or when he proposes to his wife. In these moments we see a man instead of a figure, and it’s the melding of these two worlds, the grand and the minute, that Lee is able to create a living, breathing work of art that is more relevant today than ever.
Picnic at Hanging Rock
The second film from Peter Weir, both that I watched this month and that Weir directed, Picnic at Hanging Rock is a superbly made ethereal mystery. Much like his following film The Last Wave, Picnic is a hazy, dreamlike exploration of a world that colonizers may never truly understand. Based on a 1967 novel, the film follows the investigation and mystery surrounding the disappearance of three schoolgirls and a teacher during a day trip to the mythical monolith that is the Hanging Rock at the turn of the century. A deeply disturbing film without ever relying on shock or gore, this is a deftly made film that will leave you wondering and haunted long after the credits roll.
Focusing on the reverberations these disappearances have on the boarding school the girls attended as well as the surrounding community, we see paranoia and obsession grasp ahold of various people. There is a desperation in the film for answers, answers that most likely never come. The ghostly way director Weir captures the remaining girls, some of whom have transformed into women overnight, will linger in your mind as you lay awake in bed. As two men obsessively search the Hanging Rock, endangering themselves in the process, the audience becomes overcome with a sense of dread, not for what they may discover but for what they never will. The film is about the unknowable world, the things a purported “civilized society” can never comprehend. As we grow closer together, the further we grow from the world outside our door, and that distance leaves mystery and horror. A beautiful ghost story in which society is the thing being haunted.
Requiem for a Dream
In returning to Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream for last month’s feature on heroin and addiction, I was apprehensive. Not for the reason most are when considering this film, held by many as a daunting piece of art they feel no need to return to. I did not fear becoming sick to my stomach, as my first viewing of this was lackluster. Aronofsky is not a director I enjoy often, finding his work to be very obvious and overt. That was my initial reaction to Requiem for a Dream, a self-indulgent D.A.R.E. PSA that doesn’t concern itself with the interiority of its characters enough to truly let the horrors of their world sink in. The second time around, I can admit that I got it (somewhat) wrong.
While the garish, in-your-faceness of the film still drags across the screen at times, when Aronofsky is smart enough to let us sit with these sad people, the film truly is undeniable. The quiet kitchen scene between mother and son (Ellen Burston and Jared Leto) as they fail to realize they are losing each other forever. The hopes of a street thug who dreams of anything else. A woman who loves to design clothes, but loves the feeling of letting go of her spirit just a little bit more. The moments when we see their hopes and dreams, and we know that they are lost forever, are much more horrific than any scene involving exploitation and amputation.
Salesman
Following a group of door-to-door bible salesmen in 1960s America, Salesman is a landmark documentary. Deeply intimate and revealing of the four men we follow, directors Albert and David Maysles's camera is unblinking and furtively explorative of the exploitation these men sow their seeds in. Capturing the four salesmen (who go by the monikers the Badger, the Gipper, the Rabbit, and the Bull) as they badger, bark, and bite away at the dignity of anyone they come across, all in the hope of selling them some fancy Bible that everyone knows they can’t afford and they don’t need. While one may be tempted to pity these men, trying to simply make their way to the American Dream, we can see through the sweat that comes off their skin and the silver that laces their tongue that they are modern-day snake oil salesmen and that the victims here are anyone duped by their silk words.
As these men travel from Boston down to Florida, we follow them as flies on the walls. Even when they speak to us with no one else around, they aren’t speaking to us as much as they are speaking to themselves, making themselves believe whatever they need to in that moment. We cringe whenever they successfully make a sale and cheer when they are turned away without a second thought. The tension felt in simply wanting these quiet, low-income folks to be left alone is thrilling A film that captures a cultural revolution, a quiet churning of the status quo, as the extravagance these men peddle falls to the wayside, and the sweaty desperation grows with each no they receive. A brilliant, must-see film.
Tokyo Story
Considered one of the absolute titans in Japanese cinema, Tokyo Story quietly and easily earns the praise it’s received over the decades. A simple film with a deep well of emotional intelligence, director Yasujiro Ozu’s gentle direction allows for the quiet moments of this family drama to resonate deeply. The story of an elderly couple who travel to the city to visit their children, only to be set aside and passed around as a burden, few films will have one questioning their relationships with their parents, their children, and the priorities we decide to have as much as this one.
Ozu is not a flashy director, instead focusing on character and symbolism to explain the world his characters inhabit. The two parents in Tokyo Story Shukichi and Tomi (Chishu Ryu and Chieko Higashiyama) are aware of how their children see them, trying as best as they can to balance being an unwelcome interjection in the busy city lives and having moments with their children they never get to see. The only one who treats them properly is not even their own kin, but their widowed daughter-in-law Noriko (Setsuko Hara), who’s kindest and grace shows that it is not impossibility that holds back the adult children, but unwillingness. The poor treatment of the parents, neglectful and distant, is all the more tragic in the second half of the film, with the revelation that the parents are saddened but not surprised by their dismissal. Children must outgrow their parents, but parents never outgrow their children, and it’s this unbearably unfair system that we must accept. A quiet, tragic masterpiece about never letting go of those you’ve let you go.
Trainspotting
The second film discussed in last month’s featured article, Trainspotting is the film that put both Danny Boyle and Ewan McGregor on the track for international stardom. A breakneck, no-holds-barred look at addiction and petty lives in Glasgow, the film is vibrant, dirty, and incredibly exciting. While Requiem for a Dream’s overtness felt agonizing and overbearing, the energy that Boyle gives to similar subject matter is much better suited. Without ever shying away from the tragedy and pain that comes with addiction, Boyle always shows us what compels people to fall into the lifestyle. This isn’t a moral pandering, this is truth telling. These characters are vile and pitiful and we love them all the same.
McGregor is incredibly exciting to watch as Rentboy, but it’s the ensemble that makes this film worth revisiting. Every character here has close to zero redeemable qualities, and watching them squander away every day and every possible opportunity is equal parts entertaining and hurtful. They are not people we should want to see succeed, whether it be the two sociopaths in Sick Boy and Franco (Johnny Lee Miller and Robert Carlyle) or the simple stupidity of Spud (Ewan Bremner), but their viscous charm still forces us to want them to make just one right decision. But when they fail and we see the harsh realities they exist in, we don’t feel catharsis, we don’t feel right about it, even if we pity them. They deserve better without deserving better, and it’s this magic trick that makes Trainspotting a classic of the Gen X nothing matters generation.
When We Were Kings
The second documentary of the month, When We Were Kings follows Muhammed Ali and George Foreman as they cross the Atlantic to box in the legendary Rumble in the Jungle. A film not about boxing as much as it is about the philosophy of Ali, we see as he is embraced by this world he never knew, and in a way he never was in what he was led to believe was his home. The people of Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo) love him unconditionally, for he was the first black man to seemingly conquer the world. Ali finds a home, and a soul outside himself, in this foreign land, and it’s this out-of-body experience that makes the film so compelling.
Featuring talking heads with many scholars on the subject of manhood and black America (including my current obsession Spike Lee), documentarian Leon Gast had much more on his mind than a boxing match. The film touches on idolization, the black experience in 60s America, the political tensions of the Zaire regime, and what being a boxer meant for these men. The punished poet that Ali was, his rhymes coming easily at times and labored at others, constantly speaking yet never saying everything he had to say, this film captures how he was truly an individual, unlike anyone before or since. While the portrayal of Foreman is noticeably lacking in comparison, the film isn’t hurt by this, instead delving into the man who ultimately would be more than a boxer, both in this documentary and to the world as a whole. A deeply intriguing story about the human spirit and how one man can lay the world at his feet.