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Dune (2021)
Drinking sand from a comically large cup
The great Alejandro Jodorowsky attempted to adapt Frank Herbert's "Dune" in the mid-1970s to no avail. The fail was so spectacular that it even inspired an entire documentary. The only adaptation after that was David Lynch's 1984 epic, which was modest to say the least.
It's clear then, that putting this gargantuan and outreaching novel on the screen demands a disgusting amount of resources, at least if you want to do it right. So, I am honestly happy that it was Denis Villeneuve who took it up on himself. That is because the "Sicario" and "Blade Runner 2049" director is a man who loves adding the finishing touches on his movies--he is clean, stylized, elegant and fiercely imposing. He is also a director who likes to take his time and loves panoramic views. Whether is the neon-soaked skyline of "Blade Runner 2049" or the "Sicario" desert, he loves being out in the open and having a clear view on things.
That being said, "Dune" is a slow movie, almost to the point where it's funny but not quite. Villeneuve pushes the limits when it comes to his worst tendencies of stretching things out and leaving them float in his own puritan vision. Thankfully, this also gives space to his characters to thrive and makes a great point for the argument that an entertaining blockbuster can go as far as containing arthouse elements and still succeed commercially. OK, "Dune" is nowhere near arthouse obviously, but it does contain the panache and pretentiousness that comes with it.
Speaking of story and characters, Frank Herbert's universe is made up of spacefaring civilizations known as Houses, each having its own slice of territories and authority who are governed by an Emperor. Their power is mostly reflected in how much "spice"--a sand-like fuel crucial for interstellar traver that is found on the planet Arrakis--each House controls. So, naturally, everyone fights for it. The focus is on House Atreides ruled by the respected Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac), his wife Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) and their son Paul (Timothée Chalamet). I will not go further into the plot as it's complex and detailed--which is another point for the way in which Villeneuve does not squander the space it gave his script with his slow pacing, but fills it with lore to the brim--but know that things not only go south, but escalate.
I will mention however, the relationship between Paul and his mother. Chalamet plays Paul as the greenhorn prince he is, but also hides a dark power inherited from his mother who comes from a long line of "space witches" to simplify. For Paul this is both a gift and a curse which often puts him at odds with his mother and it plays out pretty nicely. To what end? Unless you read the novel, we don't know. Villeneuve spends this movie's entire two and a half hours runtime setting up the scene and building up towards the inevitable sequel. Sure, it's a bit ridiculous, but at the same time, I understand, because there are many pieces to be set on the table, and the unflashy but crisp, top-tier visual effects combining the shapeless form of the desert and the well-defined structure of its futuristic metal world keep the thing rolling until the very end even when no battles, explosions or the occasional gargantuan sand-worm are on the screen.
I am not surprised filmmakers wanted to adapt Frank Herbert's novel. It's a story for the people by the people. Beneath all its flares, it contains the same themes of greed, power, interventionism and the corruption that comes with it against which the common man has been fighting since the dawn of modern civilization. Doesn't add anything new to the table, but holy heck does it make for some great entertainment.
Poor Things (2023)
A fairy tale for the times
I don't know about you, but I grew up in the Balkans. And they don't water things down there. When I was told the story of the Red Riding Hood, the ending was that of the wolf gobbling up both the girl and her grandma, and a hunter coming, fatally shooting the wolf, and opening its carcass to free them--the actual ending is even darker with the hunter never arriving to save the day. Also, in Cinderella, the evil sisters cut up their toes to fit in Cinderella's shoes. If I ruined your childhood, I apologize, but perhaps is for the better. It is this kind of shock one must be able to take in order to enjoy this movie. And it would be a shame not to do so, because this is one of the funniest movies of the year.
It also is--in my view--a fairy tale. It involves a damsel who runs away with a handsome prince to escape an overprotecting parent and live happily ever after. Along the way, she encounters the harsh realities of life, grows, learns and loves. However, before you rush to play this for your children, you must know the details. The parent, Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe) is sort of a Frankenstein character, who engineered our damsel named Bella Baxter (Emma Stone) by placing inside her head the brain of her unborn child who died after our damsel killed herself by jumping off a bridge because she was miserable with her controlling husband--and I do mean controlling. The "handsome prince" in question is... well... Mark Ruffalo who kills it as Duncan Wedderburn, a debauched lawyer who can't wait to take advantage of Bella's age of innocence but he gets what's coming to him, and in the most classically funny way possible. After hearing these details, some of you might be detractors, disgusted with what you've just read, and that brings me to the great point this movie makes.
And that is that our view of morality can often be not only shallow, but also purely aesthetic. Sure, this movie crosses some rightfully dubious boundaries, but nonetheless it gets its point across. There is also a great antithesis that is present in all of Yorgos Lanthimos' movies which is people purveying depravity among opulent settings. It was there in "The Favourite", in which Queen Anne revels in her disgusting spoiled world among palace walls paved with gold and is here now, more than ever before. It perfectly encompasses the hypocrisy of nobility, who often proliferate the idea of aesthetic morality and in their ignorance believe and impose purity as an act of goodwill. In here, the palace walls are replaced by the entire world, as Bella travels with Duncan all over in hyperbolized, dream-induced recreations of aesthetically beautiful cities like Paris. The cinematography resulting from this it's quite staggering.
But of course, you don't need to think about all that to enjoy this movie. When it boils down to it, this is simply a great comedy--and these are hard to come by, as comedy is harder than drama to pull off. The relationship between the rapidly growing Bella and Duncan is like watching the age-old comedic duo formula involving the good-hearted but ignorant buddy accidentally tormenting the more aware and angry friend of his with acts of kindness that misfire. We love these things because they give people a wake up call to get off from their high horse and snuffs out arrogance. But of course, I said this is a fairy tale so it's only natural to ask the question: do they live happily ever after? You'll have to see to find out.
The Iron Claw (2023)
Like toy soldiers
Watching Sean Durkin's "The Iron Claw" is like watching a very slow trainwreck. And I don't mean the subject matter which is the tragic true story of the inseparable Von Erich brothers, who made history in the intensely competitive world of professional wrestling in the early 1980s. Each but one of them died young in different ways, one more terrible than the other. No, I mean Durkin's directing which seems to involve leaving its actors with as little room to act as possible.
The acting is stiff, tense, even in moments is not supposed to. It continuously foreshadows the tragedies that are about to unfold, but not in a good way. Durkin seems to have fallen for the cardinal sin of over-dramatization. Most moviemakers do that, I think, in order to offer justice--perhaps even respect--to whatever dark subject matter they are portraying. But it's not needed. The unfolding of said darkness is the drama itself. But while great art is smart enough to realize not to lie in our faces and blatantly ignore the inevitable demise of its characters, it also knows that it has to live before it dies. Unfortunately, "The Iron Claw" spends its entire time dying so when the actual tragedy hits, its emotional gravitas is snuffed out.
It's a shame really, because acting wise, each of the Von Erich brothers is portrayed pretty well despite the situation. Harris Dickinson plays the talented Harry with the professionalism and honesty he displayed in the ring, while Stanley Simmons plays the reluctant Mike with the adequate innocence and insecurity he had about joining the family business. Even better was Jeremy Allen White who offered a deep emotional performance as the competitive and depressed Kerry. But the breakthrough was Zac Efron, whose starring performance as the sole survivor Kevin I initially thought was pretty deadpan, but after watching some footage of the actual Kevin Von Erich, I realized just how well he nailed his accent and brooding mannerisms. OK, breakthrough is saying too much, but in the confined space Sean Durkin gave his actors from a directorial point of view, they all outdid themselves. Still, kudos to Durkin--who also wrote the script--for flushing out each of the brothers' differing personalities.
Of course, I also admire Holt McCallany's performance as the patriarch of the family, Fritz, who was such a business-oriented dad that he had no trouble ranking his sons. "The order can always change" he says, and I bet that made them feel loved. Not much can be said about the women in the movie, though. Lily James' Pan was reduced to the frustrated mother and wife of Kevin even though she was the movie's liveliest being and Maura Tierney's Doris Von Erich--the mother of the Von Erich brothers--was straight up terrible, emotionless, as if she couldn't wait to be anywhere else.
At least, placed among this slow drab were the inevitable wrestling scenes who are the highlight. They are weighty, noisy, dark and muscular. Great lighting and camera angles help build the fantasy and fascination of this form of entertainment that I can only call peak performance art. However, in between them you will find a mixed bag of lifeless drama which heads slowly but surely towards an inevitable and dry wreck.
The Zone of Interest (2023)
A weight left carried by horror
If it were released 30 years go, perhaps I would consider "The Zone of Interest" a masterpiece. This movie is the kind of dark, cold breeze that would pierce the skin of everyone watching it and run deep in the marrow of our bones. But as horrifying as The Holocaust was, it was also tossed around in movies and burnt into the hearts of humanity in what seems like forever. It's such a darkly defining moment in our civilization, that it's hard to believe it happened less than a Century ago.
My guess is director Jonathan Glazer also thought of this. Hence why he decided to adapt Martin Amis' 2014 novel of the same name with the very original approach of watching the events from the point of view of the Nazis. So, he set up cameras through the entirety of the Höss household--whose patriarch Rudolf was the commandant of Auschwitz and their residence was literally next to it--and let his actors simply live. It is admittedly haunting to watch these characters through mostly static shots--like Big Brother watching--as they go about their day, celebrating their wealth and life while right next to them, there is death happening constantly. The exquisite sound design is key as screams, gunshots and cries of agony are ever present in the background with the family so accustomed to them, that they simply ignore them. They also don't bother not to take any belongings that they could wear or use. In one scene, Hedwig (Sandra Hüller)--Höss' wife--tries a coat in the mirror, and one of their children inspects not only toys, but also teeth that were extracted from the prisoners.
But while I understand and appreciate Glazer's approach as emotionally cold and dehumanizing, it also feels a tad sucked out of ideas, his unconventional take born out of a need for originality and while the angle he approached the story, definitely is that, it also lacks emotional catharsis. That's the whole point, you might say. And I understand. I truly can imagine Glazer's vision as masterful, but it's also one which is fighting against the very nature of art.
Still, I think about this movie sometimes. It works, but its emotional weight is all carried by the horror of what is presented. Darkness is a powerful weapon in cinema, so a movie like this is nearly impossible to fail. But still, greatness requires a bit of a push. It's like trying to win a game by only stopping your opponent from increasing their score--eventually, you're going to have to start working on increasing yours as well.
The Holdovers (2023)
A machine for empathy
If cinema really is a machine for empathy, like the great late Roger Ebert said, then Alexander Payne is one of the directors who creates the most empathic of characters in modern cinema. I don't mean pity. You don't feel bad for these characters, you just... feel for them.
"The Holdovers" may not be flawless, but its three central characters are worthy of empathy. The movie takes place in the winter of 1970-71 and stars Paul Giamatti as Paul Hunham, a strict classics teacher at a New England boarding school who is forced to chaperone a handful of students with nowhere to go on Christmas break--these are named "holdovers". Da'Vine Joy Randolph and Dominic Sessa play Mary Lamb, the school cafeteria manager and Angus Tully, one of the students who stays on campus. You're probably thinking, these people have some real familial and emotional struggles if they have nowhere to go during the Winter holidays, and you'd be right.
Paul is not necessarily a bad guy despite the fact that all he does is give students more work--even during the holidays--and has a strict, even ridiculous disciplinary code. He is a social outcast, past his middle age, filled with regret and a pathological disgust for the highbrow students he teaches, who believes are spoiled by their parents' wealth. Giamatti's performance comes natural to him, as he easily and elegantly throws intellectual insults at the students--he is the kind of guy whose idea of cussing is calling people "philistines". Is arguably the greatest performance I've seen all year.
His character is also very Payne-esque. This is a director who loves characters who have nothing to show but failure and are struggling their entire lives. But not because he wants to put them down. He wants to rummage them, digging up their misery to great emotional release. One of the harshest truths in his movies is that they are not about overcoming your condition, but about surviving it. It's about fighting for getting better, but also getting used to the idea that that better might never come. It's a dark reality, but one in which he finds warmth through human connection.
But moving on with the characters, Angus is a fifteen year old who comes from a rich family--pretty much the formula that Paul despises--and is rebellious and undisciplined. Needless to say, he also hates Paul--all the students do. But he also hides a great pain which I will not spoil here. The greatness of this film though, comes when the two are left alone during the holidays, and by interacting with each other, slowly chip away at the prejudices they've built until they find a middle ground and understand neither of them are how they expected each other to be. It's a classic situation which often happens in reality and it's a beautiful, warm, emotionally bare process. By the end, both of them are changed by the experience, Angus changing the direction in which his life is about to go, and Paul getting a new perspective on the life he has built until then. Also, it's worth mentioning that this is Dominic Sessa's very first role as an acting student. His performance is promising and he is inevitably heading towards becoming a bona fide actor and star.
So where does that leave Mary? She is a rough cut, no-nonsense woman who is smart enough to argue with both Paul and Angus about how wrong each one of them is about each other, but at the same time, she is going through pain of her own having lost her husband a few years back and her son, that very year, in the Vietnam War. Da'Vine Joy Randolph gives a brutal, honest and painful performance as both a thick-skinned working class woman and a broken-down bereaved mother and widow and everything in between. Alongside Paul and Angus, the three create an emotional vortex which while it might contain a lot of back-and-forth traditional pats on the back, it also packs a heavy load of emotions which are both human and real.
Barbie (2023)
Turns out life in plastic is not that fantastic
Greta Gerwig's blockbuster behemoth "Barbie" has been called many things, both praised and beaten to the ground. But it's neither a masterpiece, nor as vile as some detractors claim. Instead, it's one of the most original blockbusters in decades and that is definitely something.
Because this is such a big movie, there have been many criticisms even from established and legendary directors. Great filmmakers were quick to criticize its silliness. And while I agree that Barbie's political message is pushed at an intimidating level, is its silliness that makes it work. I have always argued that one of the greatest traits of pop culture is its relentless sense of humor--if it's also backed up by intelligence.
And "Barbie" is an intelligent movie, no doubt. However, while its feminist stance is well-researched and makes some good points, it's also pushed way too hard, hitting the brakes hard on its potentially great pacing and fun feel. Plus, its parody of toxic masculinity is already well-established through its plot and structure, so this preachy way of doubling down its message explicitly feels redundant. Not to mention that one of the greatest points the movie makes is seen rather than heard.
Greta Garwig and her co-writer Noah Baumbach know not to beat the same militant drum so they are not afraid to point out how women themselves also have their part of the blame for their situation as well. For instance, when Ryan Gosling's Ken takes control of Barbie World and turns it into his own "mojo dojo casa house", the other Barbies actually enjoy playing server to him and his himbos. It's this collective Stockholm-like Syndrome that is a big part of the problem. The message is clear: it's up to you to take your destiny into your own hands and stand up for yourself because no one else would. This, I believe, is the truest message of "Barbie" but is one which unfortunately lies beyond unnecessary antagonistic political muck.
Speaking of Ryan Gosling, as much as Margot Robbie's protagonist Barbie is a perfect cast, is Gosling's Ken who steals the entire movie. Arguably the best performance of his career, it also reminded me just not what a great comedic actor he is, but also an unlikely one. Comedy is often physical, as we find a lot of humor in imperfect bodies. Think of the great Charlie Chaplin's diminutive stature and square moustache, and how about Laurel and Hardy! But Gosling manages to be funny while also looking like a Greek sculpture. The way he plays Ken like a big macho doofus with nothing between his ears is top tier entertainment.
In the end, "Barbie" has been labeled as many things. But while is nowhere near a great movie, it's great entertainment. Between Will Ferrell's Mattel CEO claiming he's a man of the people just because some of his friends are Jewish and a John Cena cameo dressed as a mermaid with really fake hair, this is a blast. And while I advise you to be aware of its politics, try not to get bogged down in them too much even if Gerwig insists upon it.
American Fiction (2023)
He wrote what on the blackboard?
Cord Jefferson takes so much pride in his vision of pointing out how the liberal elite is as dumb as it thinks it's smart when it comes to the way in which it handles artistic work by minorities that not only he preaches his point once and then does something about it; in fact, he preaches about it again and again and again, and then does nothing about it by ending the movie in a very meta way, but also in more of a miss than hit.
This movie's issues reminds me of Mike Judge's "Idiocracy" which was more frustrating than it was enlightening, although the problems are nowhere near that persistent here. The movie stars Jeffrey Wright as Thelonious 'Monk' Ellison--nicknamed after a certain legendary jazz pianist. He is an extremely smart and talented writer, but his work is often overlooked by publishing companies because it's not "black" enough. Frustrated at the hypocrisy of the publishing world, he then proceeds to write an extremely stereotypical "black" novel intentionally titled with a misspell as "My Pafology" (although he later renames it to the F-word just to see how far he can push his publishers' ignorance). The point is not only true, loud and clear, but it's also something that I don't remember being tackled by Hollywood before--which I think is very ironic.
The first instance of where director Cord Jefferson stands in his directorial debut is at the very first scene of the movie, in which Monk wrote the title of an old book on the blackboard which contains the N-word. One of his students becomes very uncomfortable because of that--a white student--to which Monk hilariously responds: "Well, I got over it so I'm pretty sure you can too". The student then storms out. The issue that Jefferson presents here is the hypocrisy of people who fight for freedom only to impose a borderline Orwellian statement which is anything but freedom. And this piece of structure repeats in the movie over and over again only with different people and different situations.
Monk, then, is a smart guy--even labeled as genius multiple times--but he is also naive enough to believe racism is non-existent. For him, the issue with the publishers was never about race, or politics for that matter. It was strictly intellectual. Jeffrey Wright does a great controlled performance with subtle body movements like a painter applying the final precise brushstrokes to his latest masterpiece when he plays Monk as a condescending, unlikeable guy who knows how smart it is and is not afraid to show off. And that makes him distant to his family members. At the beginning of the movie, he travels home to his family--of which he is not very fond of--and tragedy strikes as his sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross) dies from a heart attack after a brief appearance and his mother Agnes (Leslie Uggams) gets diagnosed with Alzheimer's and needs around the clock care. This events help him ground into human connections, especially with his loose, maverick, but heartful brother Clifford played by Sterling K. Brown and rivaling the performance of Jeffrey Wright.
Once again, as many ideas as this movie has, whether are the social or the familial ones, Jefferson struggles to extract any form of catharsis or even solace and leaves them hanging without going anywhere. Even when Monk has a deep discussion with fellow writer Sintara Golden (Issa Rae) who writes the exact kind of stereotypical book Monk parodies, not much progress is made. However, Jefferson puts a very interesting point on the table and is not afraid to point fingers at institutions. Even if he annoyingly pokes you in the face while doing it.
Past Lives (2023)
To live and love at the crossroads between cultures
WOMAN: "Who do you think they are to each other?"
MAN: "Hmm... I don't know."
WOMAN: "Yeah, this is a hard one."
MAN: "I think the white guy and the Asian girl are a couple, and the Asian guy is her brother."
WOMAN: "Or the Asian girl and the Asian guy are a couple, and the white guy is their American friend."
MAN: "They're not even talking to the white guy."
WOMAN: "Maybe they are tourists, and the white guy is their tour guide."
MAN: "Drinking at 4:00 a.m.?"
WOMAN: "Yeah, you're right, that makes no sense."
This is how Korean-Canadian playwright and screenwriter Celine Song's directorial debut starts, as two strangers watch the three central characters--Nora (Greta Lee), a South-Korean immigrant based in New York; Arthur (John Magaro), her American husband; and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), her South-Korean childhood lover--sit at the bar. The two strangers speculate about their relationships but reach no viable conclusion. As they discuss, we don't see the strangers, we see what they see. The frame looks as if it's behind something, blurring the edges of the screen, emulating a feeling of stalking--peering into personal lives we shouldn't see. These odd frames are pretty standard in this movie, as Celing Song rarely places the characters in the center of the frame. The camera is either stuck behind something or, when it zooms out, the people are off center, usually in the lower half of the screen, and their environments tower over them. This offers a great sense of human imperfection, grounding the characters in the culture they find themselves in. Song was approved to film this movie in the real streets of New York, and I am glad she made something special out of it.
Returning at the bar scene, how could anyone draw any conclusions? Song has created one of the most original love stories in cinema, the kind that you can't make up. That's because she didn't. The movie is in fact based on her real experience of when, happily married in America, she gets a visit from her childhood lover she hasn't seen in decades. Now that you know the intrigue, it's inevitable not to imagine it would degenerate into a conflict. However, it never does. Song's writing expertise masterfully navigates the vagaries of the situation by giving the characters a healthy amount of emotional wisdom and intelligence. At no point Arthur and Hae Sung trade any punches. In fact, they don't even trade any harsh words. Hae Sung knows that nothing is going to change after over 20 years and Arthur is confident enough in Nora to let her spend time with Hae Sung on her own as well.
Still, the alternative Hollywood-esque conflictual path the movie could've taken is not lost on Song. At one point, while Arthur and Nora lay in bed, Arthur starts thinking about this exact thing. He says: "What a good story this is. Childhood sweethearts who reconnect 20 years later only to realize they were meant for each other. In the story, I would be the evil white American husband standing in the way of destiny." They then proceed to laugh it off. This is the only time the movie is even thinking about this situation and even here, it's being taken for a laugh. Celine Song hits the ground running, and she wastes no time waving her ego and intelligence in the face of the predictability of Hollywood. Many people who know her or interviewed her described just what a blunt, smart woman she is. And this is the same for the character of Nora. Stuck in a cultural limbo between the industrial glass of the New York City skyline and the modest, artistic architecture of her South-Korean home, she knows how to talk with both Arthur and Hae Sung.
However, she is more NY than Korea. When first talking to Arthur, she explains to him the Korean idea of something called "in-yun". This is the concept that each time two people even as little as walk past one another and brush their clothes in their past lives, means they will eventually be together after 8,000 reincarnations. Nora doesn't believe in it, but Hae Sung does. When finally the two men meet each other, Hae Sung hurts when he sees how much Arthur truly loves Nora, and Arthur is glad he came to visit and understands him. This kind of empathy is absolutely heartbreaking. Because the characters don't engage in any kind of negative emotions or degenerative conflict, we feel for them even more. This also helps due to their humble and realistic acting and conversational style. It's difficult to pull off great acting in a drama without being... well... dramatic. But this is what happens here.
Nora, for instance, keeps herself astute and emotionless throughout the whole thing. I imagine this is how Song herself was in her situation, and how she still is now. As the movie progressed, I was starting to slightly dislike this, until the ending came. In there, Nora walks with Hae Sung to get a cab which will take him to the airport to get home. As she walks back to Arthur, she finally blows up in tears. It is at this point I realized what a key character Arthur is, as he was patient, understanding and at the end hugs Nora as she is crying. Too many movies portray the husband or father as a difficult character, but the way in which Song honors Arthur--and all the characters in fact--demands respect and, more importantly, releases an unbearable amount of emotional weight which lingers way past after you've finished watching it.
La sociedad de la nieve (2023)
A story difficult to swallow
In 1972, the Uruguayan Air Force flight 571, chartered to transport a rugby team to Santiago, Chile, experiences an unexpected incident and crashes into a glacier in the heart of the Andes. Of the 45 passengers on board, only 16 manage to survive. Trapped in one of the most inaccessible and hostile environments on the planet, they are forced to resort to cannibalism to stay alive.
This is pretty much the story and the facts and it's pretty disturbing. But the physical, mental and especially spiritual ordeal of this disaster is impossible to quantify through words or art--in this case, cinema. A mental wall comes up every time I thought of what these people went through: witnessing rescue aircraft flying overhead and not seeing them multiple times, listening on a half-working radio that the search has been called off for two months, maybe more, lying next to their closest friends and family members and hearing them die in agony from the elements while knowing they could be next and, of course, resorting to cannibalism to survive. Even as I write this, I can't stand thinking about it. But at the same time, my mind doesn't want me to go too deep into it. And I am sure this is the same struggle director/writer J. A. Bayona went through trying to adapt this story to film.
He got the point across, though. The immensity and unbreakable nature of the human spirit is more powerful here than in his equally devastating 2012 disaster-epic "The Impossible" even if that was a better movie. That is because here the subject matter is more traumatic. And this level of trauma comes from a movie which feels treated with an understandable sense of vicariousness. One of the more disturbing things movies like this point out about the artform is humanity's natural disturbing fetish with watching suffering from a distance. We don't get pleasure from it, but for some reason we can't stop witnessing it as long as we--as the viewers--are safe. This is the sense of vicariousness that I am talking about but here it's amplified by need more than want. This is a story which is impossible to get too close to as it's simply too traumatic.
As for the characters themselves they are mosty played by newcoming actors and while no performance is bad, there is not much sense of individuality which is again understandable considering the amount of characters. Still, two of them stand out to me: Numa Turcatti (Enzo Vogrincic) who serves as a sort of main character and the movie's narrator; he offers pockets of wisdom and morality as he is the last to resort to cannibalism; and Fernando 'Nando' Parrado (Agustín Pardella) who ends up wounded after the crash, not even being able to stand only to not just make a full recovery amidst the cold, but keeping his focus to the very end at which point he leads an expedition in which he spends ten days crossing the Andes to civilization leaving on nothing but... well, you know. I envy his spirit.
So, with all this talk about spirituality and death surrounding them for most of the movie's two and a half hours duration--not to mention most of the passengers being devoted Catholics--there is still not much depth when it comes to faith. It all boils down to whether one believes or not, whether their salvation had anything to do with divine intervention and there is not much thought and ruminations into why it's like that or why it's not. But of course, the ideas are present in the air--like this entire story, whose incomprehensible emotions cannot remain grounded and captured in any way, shape or form, because in their immensity, they float all around.
High Fidelity (2000)
Homemade everything
The loveliest thing about Stephen Frears' "High Fidelity" is how homemade everything is. The characters look, sound and think like everyday people you could genuinely meet walking down the street, not like the Hollywood version of them who always have a strange, distant aura about them. Let me put it this way: Hollywood is when you recognize great acting, but you can still tell it's acting. Here, the dialogue looks improvised, the characters look aesthetically imperfect like they indeed belong to the working class they portray. Even when the lead character breaks the fourth wall and narrates to the camera, it feels natural.
The movie stars impossible-to-hate everyday man's actor John Cusack as Rob Gordon, who owns a used record store called Championship Vinyl in Chicago. He, along with his two employees, the ultra-confident but snobbish Barry (Jack Black) and his polar opposite, the shy and well-mannered Dick (Todd Louiso) are well-versed in popular music and just pop culture in general and they make sure everyone knows of it. Initially, Rob hired Barry and Dick just temporary, but they kept coming for the past four years probably because they have nothing better to do. On the other hand, Rob often confides in them as they are his only friends. The plot revolves around Rob's inability to keep a relationship going and the movie finds him right in the middle of another break-up from his most recent girlfriend, Laura (Iben Hjejle). We can't really tell at the start of the movie that Laura is special because of Frears' modesty in direction, but the movie naturally grows into a successful love story. For instance, the break-up seems pretty routine: she grabs her things and leaves and Rob runs to the window screaming his frustrations to her as she drives away. Great stuff.
However, the movie evolves gracefully towards a happy ending with a respectable level of happiness, to keep in touch with its grounded approach. Rob grows in and out of frustrations, reconciles with his exes to make himself feel better and then realizes they are not exes for no reason, and suffers greatly when he knows Laura moved in with his obnoxious, pseudo-spiritual neighbour Ian (Tim Robbins). There is a funeral, there are arguments, and there is pop. And this is a great, yet silent point this movie makes, and the point is even mentioned by Rob himself: "Call me superficial, but stuff like music, movies, books matter!" He even calls them "fetishist properties" in the starting scene. But it does point out how much our lives are driven by entertainment and popular art, which are so deeply bored into our brains that we don't even value them despite the fact that they're everywhere.
There are many reasons why movies can be great--and often every great movie comes with its own reason--but "High Fidelity" contains a very common one. The movie itself it's like the story it tells. The theme of love and all its conundrums its expressed by the music that keeps popping out here and there, its moments of humor are also pop's way of getting through life and, most importantly, like pop and love itself, its aesthetically imperfect and homemade.
Flight (2012)
The pathology of addiction
Whip Whitaker is an airline pilot. At the start of Robert Zemeckis' "Flight" he rescues nearly all of the 102 passengers on board his plane after a technical malfunction. He never loses his composure, is incredibly confident and emanates authority behind his aviator glasses. As he wakes up in the hospital with minor injuries, the people call him a hero. However, he consumed both alcohol and drugs before the flight and didn't even sleep. This was found in the toxicology report, and that could mean life in prison. You can see where things go from here.
Unlike Whip Whitaker however, Denzel Washington rarely drinks. Yet he offers the best performance of his career due to the pathological depth with which writer John Gatins cross-examines his lead character. Yes, we all know alcoholics are alcoholics because they can't stop drinking, but "Flight" tries to get as close as possible into the why and the how of the matter. Throughout the picture, Whip is a conflicted man. He constantly tells himself and everyone around him that he can stop drinking at any time and even does at one point in the movie, only to relapse after finding out he might be going to prison. Sure, this would be a shocker for most of us, but it also shows how addiction is about finding an excuse to delve back into the forbidden fruit. When Whip is not addicted to finding alcohol, he is addicted to finding a reason to find alcohol.
Of course, his personality doesn't help. Having lost his wife and son due to his problem, he then befriends a heroin addict named Nicole (Kelly Reilly) who--unlike him--managed to stay clean. She insists they go together to an AA meeting and he reluctantly agrees, but feels out of place. This isn't the type of guy to go "Hi, my name is Whip and I'm an alcoholic" and that doesn't bode well for him. He isn't big on religion either, unlike his co-pilot Ken (Brian Geraghty) with whom he prays together when he visits Ken in the hospital, although Ken was doing most of the prayer. He is a practical man, a role which fits Washington perfectly, so as long as he can handle his alcohol consumption he sees no reason to stop it.
As the movie goes along, things are looking up for Whip. He has an old and loyal friend Charlie (Bruce Greenwood) who sticks by him and helps him out unconditionally, Hugh Lang (Don Cheadle), a skilled lawyer who has cleared his name of any legal troubles as best as he could but on the other hand there is also his personal drug dealer Harling Mays (a flamboyant John Goodman) who visits him anywhere he goes as he is always on "the list" and makes sure Whip has "everything" he needs. This varied and contradicting personalities surrounding and influencing Whip help keep the viewer engaged as you could feel the ending could go either way. When I eventually reached it, it was both cathartic and poignant, but nonetheless powerful.
It also revealed to me the main reason why this is Washington's best performance yet. This is an actor who exudes power in every scene no matter the situation he is in. Just watch him in "The Hurricane" where he spends nearly the entire movie in jail, wrongly accused of murder. Not for once, does he show despair, not to mention defeat. Here, though, he gracefully showcases great vulnerability despite kicking butt as a CIA operative the same year in "Safe House".
Stand by Me (1986)
Do you guys wanna see a dead body?
Rob Reiner, one of the most unhinged and unpredictable directors, adapted Stephen King's "The Body", in which four childhood friends embark on a journey to see a dead body, in a great manner. It evokes classic greats like "The 400 Blows" when it comes to children expressing complex human emotions. You wouldn't think of complex from the synopsis, though. There is no deep, serious reason the four main characters want to witness something like that other than the morbid curiosity which develops at a young age, but the movie takes no time in switching its gears up a notch.
The four friends are Chris Chambers (River Phoenix), Gordie Lachance (Wil Wheaton--who also narrates the story as a now adult writer), Teddy Duchamp (Corey Feldman) and Vern Tessio (Jerry O'Connell). They all come from different households, most of them troubled. Chris--the de facto leader of the group is viewed as a hopeless basket case, Teddy's father nearly burned his ear during one of his PTSD outbursts as a post-Normany WWII Veteran, Gordie's parents are mourning the death of his bigger brother Denny, and Vern... is just Vern. He is the one who initially suggests the journey with innocent childish enthusiasm. In a way, each four friends find themselves together because of their traumas, and this is what Reiner and writers Raynold Gideon and Bruce Evans focus on.
The journey, in which the kids face death multiple times, it's a brutal but powerful coming of age passage. Two moments remain in my head more than anything more than a week after seeing the movie. First, is the scene in which after stopping at a junkyard for water, they are caught trespassing by owner Milo Pressman (William Bronder). Once they escape over a fence, Milo calls Teddy's mentally ill veteran father a "loony" and refers to how he almost burned Teddy's ear off. An enraged Teddy tries to attack Milo but the other boys restrain him. After which, the boys ask themselves why would Teddy stand up for his father after all he's done to him. This shows that Teddy is more mature than his age because he realizes his father is a hero and respects him, and more so, understands his outbursts are not intended. Second, is when Gordie has second thoughts about being a writer with Chris giving him the kind of advice his parents never did and tells him not to stray from his path so that he can make something of himself. Again, another example of an unexpected amount of maturity and emotional wisdom way beyond these characters' years--this is the backbone of this movie.
Sure, the movie is not perfect. There are moments in which Rob Reiner's cheekiness pushes tragedy too far, like poetically killing characters in the end in ways that are neither tragic nor darkly comedic. But I will admit, these pseudo-chaotic moments are also what contributes to the cult power of this movie, and will keep it fresh for a long time.
American Gangster (2007)
The ruthless efficiency of capitalism
Seeing "American Gangster"--one of the most intelligent gangster movies ever--I came to understand Walter Benjamin's take on capitalism as a religion. Drug lord Frank Lucas is so enticed by its efficiency and lack of morality, that he practices it mercilessly in order to make enough money to buy his mother a big house, get better seats at the Fight of the Century than Italian mobsters and fatally shoot a guy in the middle of a crowded New York City street in broad daylight. And yes, before you ask, "This is America!" was also shouted at one point by Lucas in order to justify his ways.
Of course, Lucas never saw it that way. Like all morally bent characters, he believes he is doing good for the community, claiming he is sharing his wealth with the less fortunate. Yet one cannot help but think about the amount of those same less fortunate that had to become drug addicts in order for all that supposed wealth to exist. Drug addicts--it's easy to look down on them, but in Lucas' case, they were a necessity for his wealth. This is just an example of the amount of intelligence this movie throws at you, the disturbing art of a hierarchal system of living taken apart and cross-examined. Still, despite all this, Ridley Scott's arrogance to love his villains more than they're worth almost got the better of him if it wasn't for Denzel Washington's performance as Frank Lucas. What an actor this man is! Subtle but powerful, elegant yet dominant, I don't think I ever recall him playing a weak man. He is everything that the real Frank Lucas apparently wasn't. He doesn't look the part of the drug lord at all; always wearing a suit, never flashing his wad of cash, married to a nice, mature woman, and taking his mother to church every Sunday--a true working class hero if one wouldn't know any better.
And that is exactly the point. For a long time, the law didn't know Lucas was behind everything--of course, racial discrimination happening at the time in America also played a part, the police couldn't even consider a black man could attain such power. But one cop eventually did: Russell Crowe plays underdog Richie Roberts, a by-the-book narc with high ambitions, who, after turning in a million dollars in unmarked drug money instead of unofficially sharing it with his colleagues, essentially got him blacklisted in the entire corrupt police force he was part of. This didn't stop him. He overcame and eventually caught Lucas. But it didn't end in a shootout. Instead, the two sat at the table for an intelligent conversation on what transpired and, more importantly, what is about to. But even if Lucas didn't get the absolute battering some might expect, it was the character of Roberts, played proudly by Russell Crowe, that helped Scott yet again.
You see, Ridley Scott loves bad guys. So, if he is going to have one taken down, it needs to be done by somebody with an incredible character. This is why Roberts is written to be such a powerful terrier. He has to in order to be worthy of bagging such a catch. And what kind of catch Lucas is? The kind of guy who views himself as such a businessman that he even created a brand for the dust he is selling, calling it "Blue Magic". There is even a scene in which he confronts a business partner of him who decided to dilute the quality, explaining to him that is this quality that makes it sell so well. It's once again, an example of how far ahead Lucas' thinking is of anyone else.
There are many issues with American Gangster that, anyone who wants to pinpoint them, will. For many the main one being the discrepancies between the movie and reality. But it doesn't matter. Adaptation doesn't mean imitation. In fact, it's closer to inspiration. "Schindler's List" writer Steven Zaillian understands this things, which is why he was able to turn American Gangster into something bigger than the sum of its parts, a movie whose greatness does not come from its perfection, but from its introspection, conflict, style and intelligence.
Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)
Evil in plain sight
Veteran Martin Scorsese's epic "Killers of the Flower Moon" is his most disturbing work since 2016's "Silence" in which the soundtrack was absent in favor of screams of pain and agony. Here, a soundtrack exists. Made, in fact, by The Band veteran guitarist Robbie Robertson not to mention a scene near the end in which Blind Willie Johnson hums melancholically as the sun sets on the evil of William K. Hale.
Speaking of evil, is its very boldness that is so disturbing. Sure, Scorsese is no stranger at exploring the darkness of macho men who have no restraint when exercising their power, but while his past movies revolved around mobsters who hid their faces and kept as much distance as possible from their victims, in here, the evil is in plain sight, presented as an ally, a friend and a confidant. In one scene, William Hale (Robert De Niro) even bestows a traditional Osage blessing on a sick Indian woman in their native tongue only to then order hits on their community with the same disturbing detachment that can only be compared to the architects of The Holocaust.
Sure, some people argue that someone like Scorsese is not adequate to tell the story of a culture he had no part of. He is aware of that, so much so that he allowed the Osage actors--most of them actual members of the Osage community--to improvise freely while filming their inner circle. And then again, this movie is not as different from his older themes anyway as Hale and his nephew Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) act like Mafia bosses and the hits that they make are equally brutal and secretive. The interaction between William and Ernest is nothing like mobsters, though. They are clearly not veterans of mob-like hits, and Ernest--while morally sentient and a First World War war hero, is also too much of a simpleton not to be corrupted and intimidated by his uncle's power.
This easily-influenced character brutally tossed around was played flawlessly by DiCaprio who did the best performance of his career. He was brilliantly vulnerable as a fearful, weak man torn between the love he has for his wife and the greed present in his nature. But while we all know DiCaprio is great, the true revelation is Lily Gladstone as Mollie Burkhart, Ernest's wife and the heiress to a great Osage fortune. Very few actors can act simply by existing in a scene and she is one of them. While DiCaprio sunk generously in Ernest's weakness, Mollie displays nothing but pure strength. There is dignity in her eyes, power in her voice and nobility in her struggles. She is a beacon of human resilience in the face of evil. Scorsese gave Gladstone the opportunity to honor her native ancestors, and she did.
Throughout the movie, there are mentions of various historical massacres with the notable one being the Tulsa Massacre. This is not a coincidence. Scorsese wanted to get the idea across that these murders are history repeating itself again, shining a light on the pattern of blood and hypocrisy on which America was built and how minorities always got the short end of the stick. In one final disturbing act, the movie focused on the resilience of Hale's evil. Even when facing imprisonment for his crimes, Hale continued to act like he's done good, even writing courteous letters to his Osage "friends". His lies ran so deep that I started wondering if he actually believed them himself. Eventually, during the ending, the movie deals with this evil in a very stark dark humor manner akin to a stand-up show.
Its running time might be three and a half hours, but "Killers of the Flower Moon" is perfectly paced and grounded to give weight to its already disturbing darkness which settled itself so cozy into each unseen crevasse of man's heart and soul that is hard to think it could ever be ripped apart without destroying everything alongside it.
Groundhog Day (1993)
The wisdom hiding in the shadow
It is one thing for directors to have their own favorite actors. Everyone has different tastes regarding who performs better, who is more fit to be cast, who sells more tickets, who is more attractive. But when the director and actor know each other, when they understand each other, that's when details like that don't matter anymore. Their personal bond sparks greatness. With that being said, director Harold Ramis and lead star Bill Murray worked together since the beginning. And that is why "Groundhog Day" is a masterpiece. It was created by Ramis specifically for Murray.
He stars as weatherman Phil who, each year on February 2nd--Groundhog Day--is sent to the small village of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania to report whether Punxsutawney Phil the groundhog will cast a shadow or not as he emerges from his burrow. As it is the tradition on Groundhog Day, if the groundhog sees his shadow and swoops back in the hole, there will be six more weeks of winter-like weather. Phil thinks this is nonsense and, to be fair, I do too. But that is not the point. The point is Phil. He is cynical and self-centered, offers an ironic half-hearted report on the situation and cannot wait to get out of dodge asap. He travels with his producer, loving and angelic Rita (Andy McDowell) and his cameraman, good sport Larry (Chris Elliott). Both take Phil's attitude pretty well, as they are used with the shenanigans of "the talent".
But I feel as if I sold Phil short. He is not the typical Hollywood noisy, offensive and harassing type of stick-in-the-mud. In fact, he never screams once in the movie. He is sardonic, meticulous with words, his misery regarding those around him is not part of past traumas or ideologies--that's just how he is. Others actors would've done a great job as Phil, but Murray--who is known to have a bit of an attitude on set himself--lives him. I can't help but wonder if this is how Ramis sees his lifelong friend throughout their years of conflict and reconciliation.
So, Phil has a lot to learn--not only for the sake of those around him but himself as well. People like Phil are so self-absorbed that they can't seem to be able to ever let their hair down. Like him, I also don't believe in the mannerisms of a groundhog. But unlike him, I don't consider that as an excuse not to have a great time. He is insulting of the people at the festivities as if frustrated by those around him who he thinks are blind to the truth. While I am sure some people believe in the myth of Groundhog Day as it is their right, I am sure most people there are skeptical as well, it's just that who cares? Why pass a good time? Unlike Phil, they are not stuck in a dark corner of their mind and I am sure Ramis doesn't want his friend to be stuck there either.
So, the gauntlet begins. When Phil goes to bed on the night of February 2nd, he wakes up in the same exact day: same song playing on the radio, same people around him, and so on. On his way to the festivities, he first meets and obnoxious but friendly guy who tries to make small talk, then he meets an overly-talkative friend from school who sells insurance and he steps in a puddle much to his annoyance. Ramis changes the way these interactions happen each day by letting Phil be the natural catalyst. They range from funny during his first few iterations as he is confused to dark and desperate after a few iterations have passed. Who knows how many times he's been stuck. At one point, he is able to predict even the smallest gust of wind, the tiniest human interactions, each car driving past him. From humorously claiming "I am a god" to killing himself over and over again just to escape his Sisyphean nightmare, it's safe to say the number of iterations could spawn years.
Eventually, though, he changes. He starts to appreciate life and each of its moments, even if for him, the moments are limited to one day. He realizes he loves Rita and eventually they fall for one another. But what seals this movie for me, is that even after Phil changes as a human being, the iterations don't stop immediately. By that point, is almost as if he is accepting of his fate or he simply does not care anymore. All he cares about is leaving that day to the fullest, making sure everyone around him is as content as he is. It is an idealistic outcome, a spiritual parable and a change who some might argue is too good to be true. For those who would use that argument not to enjoy this movie, perhaps they also see too much of Phil in themselves.
Midnight Express (1978)
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
For better or for worse, director Alan Parker gets his point across. I say for worse because while the idea of Turkey's fascist approach to the prison system is in full, merciless force, bearing its worst tendencies down on lead character Billy Hayes (Brad Davis), one cannot help but feel he was asking for it. It also doesn't help the fact that Hayes is not a very likeable protagonist.
I get Parker's approach to his lead character, though. He wants to make him a stern, martyr-like figure; one that doesn't break easily, but he extends this attitude to his entire personality. And he is a fit character for the movie though, as he wasn't smuggling hardcore drugs, but hashish which falls safely into Western boundaries. Too bad he is irritating to be around and spawns dark glasses at night. Still, when his ordeal first starts, he is indeed facing his initial purgatory in the Turkish prison system pretty well. His father is a well-known insurance salesman and has many connections in Turkey, so perhaps this thought in the back of his mind gave him a sense of security.
So, initially, due to a scuffed trial and his family's influence, Billy gets away with only three years despite the fact the prosecutor asked for life sentence... which is what he gets eventually. This is where his Dante-esque ironic punishment starts. It's funny how Turkey is looked down upon for its corruption, yet it was corruption that could've saved Billy and it was brute justice that damned him. When first hearing his life sentence, Hayes goes into a horrible, xenophobic rant tearing down into the entire country of Turkey calling them a "nation of pigs". It's not true, of course and he doesn't believe it either. This comes from the mouth of a broken man who was just told his life is over and has nothing to lose so he might as well tear into everyone. As horrifying as it is, it feels like very natural behavior, almost like manifesting a sort of survival instinct. It is the movie's most powerful moment.
I also love the subtle way in which director Alan Parker presents Hayes' stint in prison. The place is a hellish, lawless realm in which Billy befriends other damned souls and Western prisoners like Jimmy (Randy Quaid), an American who stole two candlesticks from a mosque; Max (John Hurt), an English heroin addict; and Erich (Norbert Weisser), a Swedish drug smuggler. Erich is the only one who looks a little bit lively as his condemnation is coming to an end, but aesthetically, everyone else is a mess, broken and accepting of their fate. The prison itself is also riddled with black, muddy walls, dirt and darkness. Eventually, Billy loses himself so much that he gets condemned to the insane ward which is even deeper in the ground, as if being condemned to a higher tier of punishment. And this is where the movie makes its point clear.
Instead of rehabilitation, the Turkish prison system is hellbent on destroying their inmates, almost as if their sins are beyond retribution. In the insane ward, Hayes begins going in circles around a poll seemingly made of mud and clay like he was born insane, not driven to it. Once again, I couldn't help but compare it to Dante's "Inferno". "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" would be a fit message at the prison's entrance. Not because its inmates are undeserving of hope, but because their saviors are non-existent.
Oppenheimer (2023)
Imagining the unimaginable
Christopher Nolan is a difficult guy to work with. He is a principled filmmaker, despises 3D and avoids CGI as much as possible. Yet his movies are anything but traditional. Throughout his career, he showed an exceptionally masochistic pleasure in challenging himself with complex and ambitious scripts--sometimes too complex and ambitious for his own good. In a way, he is like the title character of his latest biopic "Oppenheimer". I feel like if he and the man himself would have met each other they'd be good friends.
The movie stars Cillian Murphy as the titular Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer a.k.a. Father of the Atomic Bomb--a title which brought the real Oppenheimer both pride and shame. Murphy is not only a great actor, but also a usual Nolan collaborator yet this is his first starring role--and what a role it is. Not only Murphy resembles the real Oppenheimer to quite a degree, but his performance proves he was long overdue for a starring part--Oscar-caliber performance, check.
In case the three hour runtime is not enough of a hint for you, this movie is not as much about the first Atomic Bombs which devastated the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan as much as it is about the title character himself. It does not start at the Los Alamos Research Facility, rather it arrives at it. First, it shows Oppenheimer as a neurotic mess of a student at Cambridge. He was clumsy with experiments and a loner. At one point, he poisoned his professor's apple with cyanide at the end of class only to wake up alarmingly the next day and rush to the lab in order to prevent anyone from eating it. This goes to show just how easily he would lose control in a moment of anger and despair and how hard his rationale would have to fight to come forward. This is definitely a scary aspect about the man but also one that I find fascinating.
Eventually he would go to Germany to study theoretical physics where he would transform into the genius he is known as today. But his neurotic tendencies never changed. Nolan is fascinated by Oppenheimer himself more than anything Oppenheimer himself achieved technically because he was a difficult guy to understand. "You don't even know what you believe anymore" his Los Alamos colleague and future hydrogen bomb architect Edward Teller (Benny Safdie) tells him in frustration. But Nolan loves these hard-to-pin-down recluses because from a certain point of view, he is one himself and because he loves a challenge. Politically, Oppenheimer leaned to the left, but he never joined any parties--his stances were more sudden bursts rather than focused maneuvers. He would even argue with fellow fifth columnists at the political meetings he attended. Romantically, he cared about his long-suffering wife Kitty (Emily Blunt) despite the fact he couldn't help but cheat on her with an intelligent but self-destructive girl he met at the aforementioned meetings--Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh). In her, he felt challenged, not scientifically, but with emotional wisdom and he related with her troubled nature. As for the deployment of the Atomic Bomb, he was clearly against, but understood there was no choice and that gave him whatever tiny bit of closure it could.
The bombing itself was never shown but I don't believe it was because it would've been controversial--there is even a scene in which the higher-ups in the U. S. Army discuss which cities to choose as the targets with disturbing detachment. In fact, the reason is the same reason why Nolan avoids using 3D despite the fact his movies are worthy. Because visual spectacle alone reduces the movie to a shell of itself. Things like 3D push the idea that for a blockbuster to be successful it needs to display circus-like amusement, when in fact, if made properly a great blockbuster can be as great as any other artistically ambitious movie. I feel like this is what his whole career is based on--he wants the blockbuster to be taken seriously because it deserves it and he tries to prove it again and again by making his movies more intelligent, methodical and more complex. Sure, sometimes it bites him, but the idea is clear.
So, this is why "Oppenheimer" is great; because the movie itself is like its title character: intelligent, fast-paced, urgent, neurotic and hard to understand. Like other Nolan movies it can get tough to follow with a multitude of characters and cameos ranging from actors like Casey Affleck to Rami Malek. But the stand out support character is Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.) who plays the politically clever AEC chairman with the same fast-talking mouth like his notorious Tony Stark but without the clever jokes and attitude. He and Oppenheimer don't get along simply because of their nature and the movie bounces back and forth between their point of views, flanking the plot by unraveling certain things and obscuring other. So, yeah, this is a handful of a movie which almost never slows down but you don't want it to. The characters interact efficiently, they speak, they listen, they argue, they clash and they reconcile--it's impossible to be on top of everything.
Bu that's fine, because you don't have to. Most artists--especially the good ones--have a degree of arrogance. Nolan is no exception. He makes his movies complicated because he considers his audience smart enough to get them and if they don't then he simply can't be bothered. He respects the moviegoer as a person who doesn't flinch at every dumbed down blockbuster playing on a weeknight and he always makes sure not to forget to include an element of humanity in his work.
Here, is the conversations between Oppenheimer and Albert Einstein (Tom Conti). It's the only time the movie slows down. Nolan doesn't do that for anybody. We don't really know what they talked about in real life so Nolan decided to imagine the unimaginable and filled the gaps with what he felt they needed to hear from each other. Helluva of a way to pay his respects.
Apocalypto (2006)
An adolescent fascination with ancient brutality
Mel Gibson is not the most thorough of directors. While other filmmakers are great because of their natural ability to provide insight into their films by picking an idea and obsessing over it, Gibson is more of an audiovisual ravager--in that his movies capture moments that have the potential of looking and sounding good on screen--and that's not necessarily a bad thing.
As a Christian-born-turned-agnostic millennial I actually really liked his "Passion of the Christ" for instance. Getting to visually experience the disturbing physical ordeal of Jesus Christ gave a new dimension to the story every Christian knows all too well. It's one thing to talk about it, but it takes a certain kind of guts to put it on the screen in atrocious detail to really test one's faith. I respect Gibson for doing that. Like in "The Passion", "Apocalypto" also contains violence. And like in "The Passion", he also insisted on the actors speaking their lines in the original tongue of the time in which the story is being set. This movie goes one step forward, though, in the sense that Gibson has hired actors as close as possible from a native point of view to the characters in the story. In this case, the story takes place as the Mayan kingdom faces its decline and they are prepared to do whatever it takes to survive. This leads them to a pretty brutal ritualistic killing which I won't describe but just be warn this movie is not for the squeamish.
The issue here, is the purpose of the violence. If in "The Passion" the violence carried emotional weight, here is driven by the director's adolescent fascination with ancient ruthlessness and brutality. I can virtually imagine Gibson talking to his friends like: "dude, did you know about the crazy things the Mayans did?" Still, it's executed flawlessly. The physical sensation experienced watching this movie is one difficult to describe, but its engine is Gibson's thorough audiovisual mastery. His movies are close to being performance art without the experimental pretensions. He is a serious filmmaker who wants to be taken seriously.
This movie has been criticized for the way it depicts the ancient Mayans, who were much more cultured and civilized than presented here. While I understand the criticisms, one needs to note this movie takes place during a very specific and brief period of time when the Mayans were desperate. You can see glimpses of Gibson acknowledging them as more than savages. The most obvious is in a particular scene in which a slave who wasn't of no use to anybody was simply let go freely. As for the potential racism in the ending, I believe it was incidental. The white conquistadors docking on the shores of what is now Mexico are treated with a grain of salt by the natives.
In the end, I believe critics over-complicate this movie. For all its social and historical content, Mel Gibson wants nothing to do with it. He is simply a man who admires the stopping power of primal physical brutality and when it comes from reality, even more so. His straightforward audiovisual punch makes him unpretentious, and his technical execution makes him a filmmaker worth talking about. And these things are enough for me... barely.
The Hurricane (1999)
The man they couldn't knock out
In Norman Jewison's "The Hurricane", Denzel Washington plays the titular Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter, a boxer wrongly imprisoned for murder who spent nearly 20 years of his life behind bars. Despite the fact that Washington plays a man being pushed around and tossed aside by both the legal system and personal enemies, he somehow always controls every scene he's in. That's because Washington is a great actor, who plays every character he's given with unbridled confidence and intimidating authority, always making the best of his condition.
In this movie, he not only improves his own condition, but also the condition of a person he has never even met. Miles away, an underprivileged African-American youth from Brooklyn, Lesra Martin (Vicellous Reon Shannon) is inspired to make something of his life when Lesra picks Rubin's autobiographical book blind from a pile of old books at the request of his Canadian activists foster parents who encouraged him to read. This is the most powerful arc of this movie, as it's the foundation of Carter's divination by director Norman Jewison. For me, the most jaw-dropping thing about Carter was not necessarily his morality, as he was not the perfect man portrayed in the movie, but his ability to focus on maintaining his dignity. This is another reason why Washington is such a great pick for this role: this is an actor who cares about dignity, a man who never wants to lose power in every scene he is. When Lesra visits him for the first time in prison, he sits at a table in the corner of the room, so detached you'd think he is in a different room altogether and behaves with the attitude of an elder teacher.
Of course, he has to do that. "In order to survive in this place, I must release myself from the need to want for things". He acts with the airs of an urban monk, but he has to. Imagine being wrongfully accused of murder and having to spend decades behind bars. Alfred Hitchcock admitted this as his biggest fear in life. Unless you learn extreme focus, the only alternative is anger, desperation and self-destruction. His impossible stance on his condition really moved me, but that doesn't mean Carter has nothing to learn. In a scene, he watches television with a fellow African-American prison inmate who, replying to Carter's pseudo-racist comments on white people, says: "they're not all bad". This is a scene which I feel wasn't pushed on enough, but Carter got the message, learning to be better than his racist enemies hiding in the shadows.
The mysterious nature of these enemies makes it tricky for Jewison to materialize them in the movie. In real life, there weren't any names accused for Carter's wrongful imprisonment as it was a mix of racism and neglect. When Lisa, Terry and Sam (Lesra's Canadian foster parents, portrayed by Deborah Kara Unger, John Hannah and Liev Schreiber respectively) start their journey to get Carter out, they are doing the kind of investigating which looks exactly like police work yet which was clearly never done properly. A villain does present himself though in the form of police officer Della Pesca (Dan Hedaya), a racist, corrupt high-ranking detective whose evil motivation is never detailed. He only exists to give a generic face to the evil surrounding Carter as even at the final trial when he is finally released from prison, Della Pesca is not accused of anything, but rather simply ignored. This is a character which cannot exist in any other state other than purposely destroying Carter's life--once that's no longer possible, he simply disappears. This untouchable nature he has, does serve to show the overarching reach of the powers that be, but they still hurt the movie a bit.
"The kindest thing I can say about my childhood is that I survived it" is a line I still remember from the movie. A movie which had no mercy on its title character--as did life itself--until the very ending which tries its best to redeem the US Justice system. But even though I was moved close to tears by Rubin 'The Hurricane' Carter's unbreakable and hate-free stance as he walked down the court's steps as a free man after nearly 20 years, there is still a long road ahead to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.
Source Code (2011)
And they lived happily ever after
The man wakes up in a commuter train en route to Chicago with his forehead pressed against the window of his seat. He feels under the weather. In front of him is a woman. She resumes a conversation, talking to him like he knows him for years, because she does--but he doesn't know her. She calls him Sean but that's not his name. Confused, he goes to the bathroom, looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize his own face. Shortly after, the train blows up killing everyone inside--fade to black.
If this headline got you hooked you have to thank the movie more than my writing. This is how Duncan Jones' "Source Code" begins, a movie labeled as science fiction but whose greatness lies in its moments of deep emotions and love, not to mention that the "science" in it is stretched uncomfortably thin delving into ideas that would make philosophy itself scratch its head. So what happened after the explosion? Did the man die? Of course not, this was only the beginning. The man wakes up in a makeshift capsule, surrounded by black walls and various computer screens. His real identity is that of U. S. Army pilot Captain Colter Stevens (Jake Gyllenhaal) and it is explained to him that he is part of an experimental method which allows him to enter the last 8 minutes of someone's brain before they die reliving their last moments--as I said, scratch its head--the purpose for this is for him to find clues as to who caused the explosion so that another explosion can be prevented. When the 8 minutes pass, he wakes up in his capsule and tries again.
If at this point you think the movie becomes a whodunit, you'd be wrong. The perpetrator is caught and he is dangerously close to being a cliché--just another sad extremist white young man looking to "cleanse" the world. But that's not a problem because the movie is not about him. Rather, it's a story of love and regret, as Colter--who is dead in the real world and can only live his life through Sean's last 8 minutes--tries to reconcile with his father while also falling in love with the woman in front of him, whose name is Christina Warren (Michelle Monaghan).
I admire writer Ben Ripley for really focusing on the 8 minutes Colter spends inside Sean's mind again and again. His writing focuses on that train and the people inside it, enough to make the movie work and distracting us from the mind-boggling nature of its science fiction. It all reduces down to how people interact. Each iteration, Colter learns more about Christina and about the people around him. Even if he never knows all the details of Sean's history with Christina, he feels he wronged her and that she deserves the best. This main arc is so mesmerizing that I couldn't care less about the political games and ethical dilemmas revolving around Colter's condition in the real world at the same time. By the time he goes inside Sean's mind for the last time, his mind is settled on spending as much as possible of the 8 minutes with Christina. He navigates his surroundings with grace, apprehends the criminal in no time and returns to be with her.
I like the power that love has in the movie. Director Duncan Jones took an existential hypothesis of the highest order, filled the screen with questions and restlessness and then let love wash over and settle the storm into what can literally be called a happily ever after.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
Anything is better than not loving at all
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resigned...
That was 18th Century English poet Alexander Pope. This stanza is quoted by one of the characters of the film who makes the adorable mistake of calling him "Pope Alexander". It is quite the beautiful stanza, good enough to impress people, as that was what said character was trying to do. But besides that, the quote also makes a great point. It claims that happiness can only be found in nothingness because someone who demands nothing, needs nothing. Therefore, that someone has everything.
But writer Charlie Kaufman alongside director/writer Michel Gondry challenge this philosophy by adhering to the ideology that man's happiness is, in fact, not found in having everything, but rather in their ability to want. Even modern philosophers like Jacques Lacan believed this. But I will not get into it. I will leave that to Kaufman, one of the greatest writers of this Century, to elaborate. He is a writer interested--like myself--in the place where the common and the esoteric clash. His characters are everyday working class people and he puts them through philosophical conundrums and thought experiments. It's one thing to put the question: "What would you do if?"... It's another to live it.
The main character is Joel Barish (Jim Carrey). But even while portrayed by the shapeless, flamboyant actor, Joel is anything but. He is a somber, bored out of his life downer. He then meets an exact opposite--the outgoing, colorful (in more ways than one) and "impulsive"--as she calls herself--Clementine Kruczynski (Kate Winslet). You know the saying that opposites attract and the movie sticks by it, but Clementine is a handful and while she does her best to unwind Joel, she only succeeds up to one point. Even in the most playful scenes he can only relax so much. They make a great couple. Until they don't anymore.
They eventually break up, and while the details for why are never disclosed, it's safe to say they both suffered greatly after. But there is a solution--an experimental medical procedure to erase the memory of your significant other and to cull the suffering. Joel, while baffled by the fact that something like this even exists, gets on with it. Here is an example of why this is a great movie. In any other film, the place where Joel goes to get his procedure would have been presented with all the sci-fi panache--perhaps it would've been a secret underground laboratory filled with bizarre research and visual conglomerates but in here it looks like any other doctor's office. The employees are also pretty casual about it. Mary (Kirsten Dunst) the secretary, Stan (Mark Ruffalo) and Patrick (Elijah Wood) the guys who do the procedure and Dr. Mierzwiak (Tom Wilkinson) take their job pretty casually--FDA approved and all, I suppose.
Here's where one might argue: how come something like this is treated with such normality? It makes no sense in the real contemporary world the movie takes place. But no movie takes place in the real world. A new world is created every single time a script is written. Any movie takes place in a real world which simply warps reality in the areas in which the movie takes place. In sci-fi epics, an entire galaxy might me warped; here is only a town. So, can there exist such a medical procedure simply because Charlie Kaufman says so? Of course! Call it a new iteration. In here, Stan and Patrick go to Joel's house, they put a funny looking metal hat on his head while he sleeps, connect it to a computer and literally delete blocks of his memory containing Clementine. Nothing they haven't done before. Hell, they can even put the thing on auto-pilot. At one point, Mary arrives--she is romantically involved with Stan--and starts looking through Joel's fridge while he's asleep. Not soon enough both she and Stan get high and Stan begins to argue why The Clash was the only band that mattered. I love this stuff. This is not only for comedic effect, but also to keep things as unpretentious as possible, and let the philosophical implications of such a procedure speak for themselves rather than being pushed on through cheap dramatization.
But while I thought that this might be why I adore this movie so much, while it certainly contributes to it, is not the biggest selling point. Nor is it the ending which states that no matter how lost they become, two souls who are made for each other will always get back together. No, it's the realization that it wasn't the bad memories that made Joel suffer, but the good ones; memories, constantly reminding himself of the great moments he spent together with Clementine and the impossibility of making new ones. During the removal process, Gondry and Kaufman treat us to surreal but not overly saturated scenes inside Joel's head as things, including Clementine, literally vanish around him. It is at that point when he doesn't want to go through with the procedure anymore. For him, it was better that he loved and suffered, rather than to not have loved at all.
Saturday Night Fever (1977)
The king of the dance floor
This is one of those movies that has an aura about it. A glamorous outer shell which serves as presentation and to cover the darkness inside it. And it works. How else could I explain that, in a movie containing both an attempted rape and a suicide, the only thing I will remember is John Travolta in his immaculate white suit breaking it down on the dance floor?
John Travolta plays Tony Manero, a 19-years old American-Italian living in Brooklyn with his parents. He has a dead-end job and no plans for college. But he seems to be content, at least for now, as long as he has his friends and the 2001 Odyssey nightclub. He changes when he sees a girl on the dance floor. Stephanie (Karen Lynn Gorney) is close to being his match in dancing skills and is also part of the Manhattan upper class. She has an office job and seems to be doing pretty well. She also takes no time to lay into Tony about his shortcomings. While her snobbism is not sympathetic, it serves to wake something in Tony. He becomes more aware of himself and the world around him.
But is this sudden realization to become more responsible real or just driven by his insecurities and needs to impress Stephanie? At first it might be the latter, but as the movie progresses, he thinks about it more and more. Everything eventually culminates in a nervous breakdown one evening after winning a dance competition at the Odyssey. A win he believes he did not deserve and was given to him and Stephanie simply because the other couple were Puerto Rican. This racism--and the racism of his friends as well--pisses him off. Yet he is not driven by hatred, but rather frustrated by stupidity. I always consider stupidity a bigger insult to racism than evil because evil is held to a higher standard while stupidity is simply tossed aside. Indeed, by the end of the movie Tony becomes a man trying to overcome his condition.
But don't think this movie scoffs at the lower-to-middle class. Stephanie has her own mistakes to be ashamed of mostly related to the ways in which a young woman like her might be able to climb the corporate ranks. And she is also not the only woman in Tony's life. Anette (Donna Pescow) is an ex-girlfriend of his, stuck in the friend zone but is probably the only girl who truly loves him. He is too young to understand her feelings but it's easy to see how well they are made for each other. But the movie keeps them at an emotional distance and is ruthless in their separation. Perhaps their impossibility is what makes me wish they would reconcile even more.
Still, while these ideas are all fine and dandy, this movie is not without flaws. The subplot of Tony's brother Frank Jr. (Martin Shakar) is dealt with really quickly. Frank is a priest, highly regarded by Tony's parents--his mother always calls him "father" and crosses herself each time she mentions her name--but he shocked everyone when he decided to abandon priesthood. He doesn't have a specific reason, simply not feeling like he belongs. He then leaves the movie and is never mentioned again. But not without leaving a mark. For Tony, peer pressure is a real thing and he has a guilty sense of satisfaction seeing his brother move backwards for a change. He by no means hates him, their interactions being very friendly, but he feels pressure has been taken away from him and was given time to breathe. So is this really a flaw at all?
I always claimed that a truly great movie can depict any form of evil as long as it contains the smallest glimmer of humanity. This usually comes at the ending, but not in "Saturday Night Fever". Director John Badham gets it out of the way early, the first time Tony sets foot on the dance floor in his outlandish sense of fashion. The ending, in fact, offers no guarantees and doesn't solve any immediate problems. When Tony runs to Stephanie's apartment we get a feeling he has matured, perhaps understanding what true love is. But in no way do I get a sense that once the screen turns black these characters will head towards the proverbial "happy ever after", nor they are obliged to do so.
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (2023)
The outcasts rule again
I think James Gunn is among the better of the MCU directors, and a man who truly loves art and embraces its ideology. Art--movies included of course--loves its outcasts. "Star Wars"--arguably the most iconic sci-fi series of all time--was all about rebels fighting against oppressive imperialism. This ideology is picked up further even by blockbuster-oriented projects like the MCU and is at its most visible here, in "Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3", at least since Ryan Coogler's 2018 "Black Panther".
The movie's villain is known only as The High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji)--a compulsively obsessed scientist with a God complex driven by nothing other than perfection. He has developed a scientific (well, sci-fi) method of speed-running lifeforms through millions of years of natural evolution in order to create a perfect civilization. I think the authoritarian approach--depicted in such an extreme view--is visible here. Obviously, the movie doesn't get too deep about it. But while it keeps a safe distance from politics, it touches a bit on psychology. The High Evolutionary comes out as an insecure villain, one who is frustrated when one of his creations outsmarts him. Again, the movie doesn't delve deep into these ideas either, as this is not its purpose. Still, the simple fact that they are being touched upon is enough.
Probably what you're most interested about is whether this is a proper Marvel movie. Which means: is it funny, is it visually stunning and is it entertaining? The answer to all those questions is yes even if not in equal measure. The comedy still lands most of the time, with each member of the gang filling their role as they should: from Chris Pratt's loveable and dorky Starlord, Pom Klementieff's awkward Mantis and not to mention Dave Bautista's Drax the Destroyer--he is still the whole-hearted big guy we all love. Actors will always improve at their role if they play it long enough. Directors know this, and James Gunn really puts his characters through many interactions, contradictions and heated arguments. The amount of characters the movie tries to juggle can make it unwieldly sometimes, but nonetheless they are all comfortable in the positions they are in. Visually, it's still a treat. Except the Dr. Strange movies, the Guardians series offer the best visual set-pieces and each movie ups the previous one with this one being no exception--that's entertainment.
That being said, this is also the most tear-jerking of the three movies--and also among the entire MCU franchise--it revolves around Rocket (Bradley Cooper) and his tragic and disturbing origin story. At the beginning, he is attacked and spends most of the movie on life support. From there, the movie forks into flashbacks describing his creation. While those flashbacks, depicting him in cages recall dark ages in humanity's past they also cheat a bit into getting to you. Here, James Gunn uses the fact that humanity tends to show more empathy towards animals than fellow humans even though we should consider humans more precious--if you saw the movie, you will know what I mean. There is something about the purity and innocence of our less sentient friends that we feel we must defend. It's a cheap shot, but I admit it got to me.
But of course it did. This is "Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3", the third installment in the Marvel's "Guardians" sub-series so why did it not feel special? It has nothing to do with the movie and I apologize if you find this answer ambiguous. What I mean is that while the first two movies felt like an event, this one feels like just another one in an ever-growing expansion. A drop in the ocean. Maybe it's simply because the MCU has become increasingly big, with more plotlines moving in parallel than ever before. Or maybe, we've gotten used to the experience of Marvel movies after more than a decade of them. Or maybe... it's just me.
Babylon (2022)
Nostalgia is wasted on the young
I admire Damien Chazelle for wanting it all. He is an ambitious young man whose "Babylon" is nothing short of a doctoral thesis on the pre-Golden Age Hollywood era. It contains everything from urban legends, early-Hollywood depravity, privileged critics and, last but not least, the artists themselves whose stars shine as bright as they are brief. It is strange why a director who still has years ahead of him would entangle in such brutal retrospectives. Perhaps he is responding to the critics who said his 2016 "La La Land"--a more gentile take on the Hollywood machine--was too soft and shallow. Or perhaps he just wants to be taken more seriously.
Whatever his reasoning is, he is struggling to push it to the audience in a manner that would satisfy him. You can tell, first of all, by this movie's three hours runtime and then by the insistence on depravity. Because adrenaline-inducing scenes is what he is all about, each one of them is stretched and insisted upon to the limit. Partially, it works. The depictions of the art of filmmaking are chaotic, stress-inducing for its participants, even life-threatening. These scenes serve to show just how much work goes into making a simple scene and how much can luck influence the final product. It almost justifies the characters' need for the Sodom they indulge themselves in during their many private parties. They are means to survival.
Among the many movie people, three stand out: an emotionally unstable but starstruck young woman, a veteran actor whose time is ticking down and a composed Mexican immigrant whose intelligence and powers of observation allow him to climb the ladder to the top. All these characters rise and fall from grace in different ways, but they never unite to a greater whole. It's almost as if the movie begs to be split into three different ones for each of them.
The actress Nellie LaRoy (another freewheelin' performance by Margot Robbie) succumbs to both her own emotional traumas and Hollywood addictions; the Mexican Manny Torres (Diego Calva), despite being as straight of an arrow as possible in that world, is dragged down by love. But the most powerful story is that of Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt). His story of a has-been actor chewed and spit by the Hollywood machine sounds like a cliché but Pitt plays Jack using his own brand of laidback charm and that really made me warm up to the character. At one point he has a discussion with the magazine writer Elinor St. John (Jean Smart) who explains to him how this world is bigger than him, and that while his time has passed, he will live each time a movie with him is played. It's the singular most powerful moment in an otherwise messy movie, a second of poignancy the truth of which--while I cannot confirm or deny--I can feel it's there even today.
Some argue that Chazelle's depiction on the cruelty of Hollywood as an inhuman machine is cynical and--once again--shallow. While I can't help but feel the same I cannot comment whether he is correct or maybe overdramatizing. But I can argue about the ending. It's a confusing one, which attempts to draw some sort of nostalgia, but Chazelle is simply to young for such a complex and tormenting emotion to truly settle down. He thinks it did, and I understand. At 26 years old, I feel it two. But I know that is nothing compare to what is to come as I'll get older.
In Bruges (2008)
Just like French fries, this noir is all Belgium
OK, perhaps not a noir per-se, even if it definitely has the style and the attitude. Not Hollywood made, for instance, but with a sense of black comedy and caustic wit worthy of standing amongst that genre. This is all thanks to writer/director Martin McDonagh's experience as a playwright and his uncanny ability to mix comedy and tragedy--the bipolar canvass on which all theatre is built--with a boldness that is not concerned with coming off a bit strange.
This is a fact that few filmmakers understand. Cinema is not meant to replicate reality, nor it has any responsibility to rationalize its characters' thoughts, actions and personalities. If it's effective at whatever it aims to do, then it's a success. The end justifies the means; in fact, sometimes the means themselves are part of the end. It's definitely the case here. To give you a debrief, "In Bruges" finds its two stars lying low in the titular town after committing murder for money. One of them, Ray (Colin Farrell) would rather be anywhere but there, while his more senior partner Ken (Brendan Gleeson) visually eats up a tourist card and proclaims that Bruges is the most well preserved medieval city in the world. From here, the plot revolves in an ineffable, but palpable manner. There is no surrealism, avant-garde or any other form of the abstract--this movie keeps it real.
To return to the "means and ends" metaphor, here the means represent the way in which the plot unfolds, and the ends is all about execution. It's not about what the characters do, but how they do it. I will not describe anything as this is something you must experience yourself, but know that the plot manifests in a brutalist manner, its characters driven by logical arguments and principles even if that means destroying themselves. The movie is also not polished, an approach which serves its impactful style and cheeky Irish attitude. While there are no bad performances, Colin Farrell's portrayal of the disturbed Ray, whose conscience is burdened by a collateral victim he shot dead, is--like this movie--juggling between funny and tragic in a seamless manner. He never felt more at home.
McDonagh's tribute to the world of theatre that made him is clear here. While there is plenty of action, this movie is at its most fascinating in the way in which the characters verbally combat each other. I'm not saying that this movie could be a theatre play, but there is an underlying sense of inner turmoil in Ray, not to mention an artistically ambitious flamboyance in Farrell's--and the entire cast's--performances. Among them is a beautiful girl, a "racist gnome" and an anger-driven villain out for blood. Curtains, please!