Everything Everywhere All at Once dominated at the Oscars this year, celebrating the ending of awards season with the most accolades a film has ever won with a total of 165 awards.
Everything Everywhere All at Once is a little movie with big heart and it's gone big places in a well-deserved way. Made with a relatively low budget of around $20 million and shot hyper-quickly over the course of less than 2 months, with a small cast of characters, very few locations, and all editing and visual effects done in-house - EEAAO was a passion project for writer/directors, the Daniels. Kwan & Scheinert are formerly known for Swiss Army Man, an equally strange movie that made little splash in comparison to the cannonball of EEAAO. Like the Daniels, the casting choices in the film favored actors with unconventional careers. Ke Huy Quan, a beloved child actor who had been out of the film industry for two decades. Jamie Lee Curtis, a scream queen and genre star. And Michelle Yeoh, who is primarily known for 90s martial arts films and experienced a career revival similar to Quan's. The Daniels sought out underrated and unconventional film stars for EEAAO, in a movie built on strange choices, and the finished project, while still unconventional, was rated just right this year.
I'm coming up on my 30s next year, which is a difficult milestone for anyone. It's easy in our world to think that once our 20s are over, we're too late. That if we don't make the right connections, end up in the right place at the right time and fast, then it's best that we give up and surrender to a life of mediocrity, normalcy; that it's time to finally "grow up." Ke Huy Quan, Michelle Yeoh, and Jamie Lee Curtis are all performers that I grew up watching. Indiana Jones and The Goonies, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, and Halloween are all insta-classics that I was shown over and over as a small child, which were never thought of as old movies at the time and now, suddenly, are. When Ke Huy Quan accepted his award and said, "I almost gave up on mine, keep your dreams alive" and Michelle Yeoh said "Never let anyone tell you you're past your prime" these are statements that hit not only me but everyone from my generation and older who has thought about giving up. When Jamie Lee Curtis thanked the fans that have supported her through years of making genre films and said "this is a win for us", she was talking about the impact that genre filmmaking has had on the industry, which is too-little recognized. Is Jamie Lee the first scream queen to win an Oscar? I struggle to think of another.
For the Daniels to be so highly recognized as to receive the awards for best original screenplay as well as best directing for an oddball science fiction film, as a team consisting of a queer artist and an artist of color, shows that the Academy is beginning to move away from long-held beliefs that favor the white-dominated high-drama Oscar brand of filmmaking. 2023 is perhaps the first Academy season to inspire me. It shows that passion and love is what art is all about. That as long as we don't give up, our time can come. When you love what you're making and put your heart into it, your audience will find the work, and they will love it too. And it's never too late for that. That is a big and beautiful sentiment for something as sterilized as the Academy Awards. Like EEAAO, the Oscars this year packaged a lot of real, human emotion into an unexpected place. It meant a lot to me on a personal level to see, and it gives me hope for the future of art and genre filmmaking.
I watched every Coen movie, so you don't have to! Here I discuss the recurrent themes and motifs that can be found throughout their filmography by analyzing Miller's Crossing.
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Standing in the back room at work, I ask one of my coworkers how she feels about the Coen brothers, because I've just finished watching their complete filmography. She tells me: "Too nihilistic."
I'm sitting in a cafe with my mentor from college. He gushes when he finds out about my watch project, telling me how much he loves the Coens, that he's seen almost all of their work. It's a little surprising, maybe. He's one of the most optimistic people I know.
There are two ways to answer the question, What is a film about? There's the discussion of plot points - the quick and easy answer, or we can go deeper, and talk about themes. On the surface, the Coen filmography contains films with vastly different plot summaries, films that vary widely in genre and tone, but when we go deeper, we see that each one of their films exists in conversation with the other. The filmography tells an ongoing narration; every story, underneath, is the same story. This is the only story. It's the story of our lives.
Joel and Ethan Coen have been household names since the 80s. Some of the biggest films of the last few decades can be attributed to these two brothers and their regular band of cohorts. You'd be hard pressed to find even a casual viewer that isn't familiar with their work. The Coens are a unique type of filmmaker, who sit at the crossroads between genre and art. Like Tarantino, for the Coens there isn't a strong separation between a popcorn flick and an arthouse film. They grew up watching movies and loving them, and so they make movies that are wholly and unapologetically about the experience of watching movies and loving them. Crime thrillers and romcoms, Oscar-bait dramas with silly musical numbers - whether your thing is surrealist horror or slapstick, the Coens have got something for you. The care and specificity with which they engage in genre tropes perhaps makes their sheer auteur-ness even more impressive. They've made just about every kind of movie there is, but no matter what, you can always tell it's made by the Coens.
All of us exist in a world where disaster can strike at any time. Most people choose to live in blissful ignorance of this fact, even when the disaster comes and strikes them right in the face. The Coens have had their finger on this fact for the entirety of their careers. This knowledge permeates the stories in their work. As Tommy says in Miller's Crossing, "Play with fire and you gotta deal with the consequences, even if you get knocked off."
Before I undertook the project of watching every Coen film, Miller's Crossing wasn't even on my radar. Despite critical acclaim and a generally high audience rating, it hasn't been well remembered through the years. It's a crime thriller, the genre the Coens appear to be most comfortable in, and it's not even their best (most people would place Fargo or No Country for Old Men at the top of the list). However, Miller's Crossing holds a special place in the Coen filmography, as their third wide-release feature film and, as such, their first movie with a truly tight script. Miller's Crossing is where the Coens really learned what they were doing and what it's all about. Because it symbolizes the moment in which the Coens hone their craft to a fine point (and because it's one of my favorites), I've chosen Miller's Crossing as a launching-off point for a larger discussion on the running themes and motifs that the Coens utilize across their filmography.
Miller's Crossing is a story about consequences. Something I love picking out when watching Coen movies is how often the characters will speak as if to us: telling us the themes of the story, giving us their character thesis statement. If there is a thesis statement for Miller's Crossing and our protagonist Tom, it's "play with fire, and you gotta deal with the consequences."
Miller's Crossing is also a film about relationships, and just how consequential our dealings with others can be.
Tom is chief advisor to mob boss, Leo. Together, they run the town. That is, until a small timer named Caspar threatens to off Leo's girlfriend's, Verna's, brother, Bernie. Tom is insistent that Leo give Bernie up, because otherwise he has too much to lose. But Leo refuses, not wanting to risk his relationship with Verna. This would be hard enough for Leo as it is, but to make matters more difficult, Tom and Verna have been fucking around behind his back. If this sounds convoluted, it is. This relationship square is the driving force of Miller's Crossing, a recipe for disaster that only the Coens could cook.
Tom is played by Gabriel Byrne, who began his career in theatre. This casting choice is excellent, as Miller's Crossing is very like a stage play. In sets, dialogue, and cinematography, the film is a throwback to the theatrical filmmaking style of the postwar era. This allows us to feel even closer to the characters, as though we are right there in the room. We follow Tommy like we're right beside him. His experiences are our experiences, his consequences are our consequences. Like all Coen protagonists, Tom is a bit of an everyman. He's a closed-mouthed blank slate who speaks carefully and gives little about himself away, allowing the audience to project onto him whatever we like. By making their protagonists fairly average people, the Coens increase audience relatability, and this is necessary when discussing the big themes that we see most commonly represented in their work: not just consequence, but also the domino effect, chance and serendipity, improbability, and the indifferent universe. Who among us has not experienced a string of events so unlikely that it seems like a sign from God? Who in this world has not cursed their past decisions which seemed so inconsequential at the time, only to realize the consequences are inescapable?
Tom never shies from consequence. He drifts through the story accepting everything that comes to him. When he tells Caspar off, he accepts that he'll be beaten for it. When he comes clean with Leo about sleeping with Verna, he accepts that their friendship is over. When he goes deeper into debt, he accepts that his bookie will come after him. Regardless, Tom makes his decisions without fear; it's rare that he even hesitates.
Miller's Crossing gets its name from Miller's Crossing, a spot in the woods where Tom experiences his own personal crossroads. When his working relationship with Leo ends and he joints up with Caspar instead, Tom is asked to kill Bernie, as a sign of his changed loyalties. He takes Bernie out to Miller's Crossing, where he decides in the final moment not to kill him, instead popping off in the air and telling him to get lost. Of course, Bernie doesn't get lost. Instead he soon returns to make Tom's life hell, hanging his existence over him and threatening to tell Caspar of his actions.
In addition to the Coens usual themes, they also utilize repeating motifs - often, these are used in such a way that they inform on the themes and the characters. One of the most common motifs throughout the Coen filmography is my personal favorite - the man behind the desk. In film, the conversation with the man on the other side of the desk is a power play. It's a demonstration of the dynamic between two characters - we can tell a lot about these people based on who is on what side of the desk and how they behave in that setting. In Miller's Crossing, the man behind the desk trope is perfectly illustrated in our villainous character, Caspar.
Caspar is a small-timer until he lashes out at Leo for his refusal to deliver Bernie. Then, following a series of attacks on Leo and his men, he quickly rises through the ranks. When we first see Caspar on his own turf, Tom is still working with Leo, and is summoned by Caspar for a conversation where Caspar tries to win him over. In this scene, we see Caspar seated, not behind a desk, but behind a table. The table is not in an office, but in a wide open warehouse with little other furnishings. When Tom sits across from him, it is more like they are on equal ground. Tom does not defer to Caspar in this scene, but mouths off to him instead, taking the resulting beating in stride as usual.
The second time Tom sits across from Caspar, we're now in Caspar's office, and he sits behind a real desk. The room is small, but it's obvious that Caspar is more comfortable here. We are on his turf. Tommy switches sides in this scene, asking to join up with Caspar.
Finally, at the height of his power, Caspar has knocked Leo off his throne. While in a meeting with the mayor, Caspar becomes so enraged and egotistical that he kicks the mayor out of his own office, taking the seat at his desk. He kicks his feet up on the desk, looking at home in his opulent surroundings.
Tom drifts from event to event in such a way where he appears to be at the mercy of his surroundings. He is constantly beaten on (figuratively and literally) and yet he commands the respect of those around him, allowing him to always walk away intact. The ending of the film casts this into a new light. Tom, pulling strings behind the scenes, has orchestrated a final climactic moment that gets both Bernie and Caspar killed, erasing his problems as well as Leo's. As the advisor character, the one who whispers in the powerful man's ear, the twist is perfectly in character for Tom.
"Do you always know why you do things, Leo?" Tom asks at the end of the film. "Sure," Leo says. Tom, who by the end of the story, gives the illusion that he's known how it would turn out all along, tells us instead that he's been making it up.
With Caspar dead and Tom's gun staring him down, Bernie cries out: "You can't just shoot me like that! I mean, Jesus Christ, it don't make sense!" Death is senseless. Life is senseless. All of us are just along for the ride.
Finally, Leo asks Tom to come and work with him again. He tells Tom he forgives him for sleeping with Verna. Tom's response is: "I didn't ask for that and I don't want it." You gotta deal with the consequences, even if you get knocked off.
Come back soon for part two, in which I discuss how the Coens play with self-awareness and twist their typical tropes in knots in their 2009 comedy A Serious Man.
a double-analysis of movies with doubles; a coupling of stories about separation.
Forty years apart, Possession (dir. Andrzej Żuławski) and Skinamarink (dir. Kyle Edward Ball) tell stories about the horrors of home life. Like mirror images of one another, both films utilize similar motifs and themes to describe the slow disintegration of a family unit, Possession by focusing on the parents, and Skinamarink as told by children. Paired together, this slow-burning ache of a double-feature will light your skin up in a cold fire and take you back to a place of child-like helplessness and surrender.
Art doesn't change anything but people, but people go out and change the world. Art is nonthreatening, but the person who is given ideas by art is one of the most threatening figures we know. And that is why art that is about communication and relationships is so strong; through depictions of the bonds that are possible between people, a special bond is formed between the work and the viewer. This is the heart of the power that lies in films like Possession and Skinamarink, and this is also the weakness. Because film is not only - or not always - art. The general audience does not walk into a movie with the same awareness that they carry into a museum. But art, like relationships, demands full attention. It demands you to be carried away, to be lost. Possession and Skinamarink are art films, and they necessarily ask for your full surrender, your suspension of self. Art is a lover we get lost in. Art gives us ideas. Nothing could be scarier or sharper than that.
Let's get into it.
Possession tells the story of a couple in the process of separation. After returning home from a long job, main character Mark finds his home life irrevocably changed. His wife, Anna, is like a different person. There's somebody else, and she wants a divorce. Their young son, Bob, is caught in the center, oft-neglected, barely on screen, though the knowledge of his presence permeates the film - Mark and Anna's responsibility for him and his uncertain future adding a distinct tension to their relationship that prevents them from ever separating fully. A family of expats in the backdrop of divided Berlin, Mark and Anna live a divided existence, both together and apart, striving to get closer as they each try to get away.
Skinamarink is the feature debut from low-budget filmmaker Kyle Edward Ball (check out his Nightmares series on Youtube). Ostensibly a found-footage style analog horror from the perspective of children, Skinamarink takes place in a home already divided; opening with a phone call between father and mother, where it is implied only the father still lives in the house. Following a sleepwalking accident, the children awake to discover their father is missing, and other things are gone from their house too. The doors and windows to outside are the first to disappear, and others are soon to follow.
Like Bob in Possession, Kevin and Kaylee are rarely given screentime in Skinamarink, but the film is drenched in their presence. All three children are quite young, old enough to walk and talk but too little to be left alone. They are reliant on adults to move through the world, and in the absence of parental figures to guide them they float in a sort-of nonexistence, blithely accepting what comes. This is what makes Skinamarink in particular so terrifying. I'm delighted that I had the opportunity to see this in a theater, because this type of fear cannot be fully experienced unless we are dwarfed by the screen. Its cinematography, filled with bizarre close-ups, handheld camerawork, and distant ambient shots of floors and ceilings, places us in the position of children, where even a house is huge - big enough to be the whole world. The effect forces us into passivity; like children, we are helpless. We are forced to surrender to whatever happens, and it is the lack of control, more than anything, that scares us. Kevin and Kaylee, like many children of divorce (myself included) are forced to navigate this trauma by themselves, and they are wholly unprepared for the task, with little understanding of what's happening to them. All they truly understand is they are alone.
I'm reminded of a similar scene in Possession, when Mark returns home for the first time after leaving Anna, to find Bob alone in the apartment, covered in food. "You've been alone for a while, haven't you?" he says, and Bob nods. Bob is too young to know just how grievous his mother's error, but in his face we see it: his relief that his father is back, the fear that he may have been abandoned. This is one of the only scenes in which Bob is prominently featured. Though he is often discussed, Bob is an obstacle in Mark and Anna's relationship more than he is a person. Their child is a symbol of the part of their relationship that refuses to die: their connection to each other that they are desperate to nurture just as strongly as they long to escape.
That both films take place in enclosed spaces is no accident. The house, the apartment, the prominent placement of the Berlin wall - all are representatives of the boundary of the body and human connection. They show us how something that once brought us safety and belonging can just as easily become a prison. This, too, is a statement on helplessness, and the loss of control over our lives.
Perhaps most interestingly, both films also feature supernatural elements. These are framed as natural progressions of the story, and not directly pointed out as other. In Possession, it is eventually revealed that Anna's lover is not who we first think it to be, but is instead a grotesque creature not entirely human. In the climax of the film, the creature leaves the boundary of the apartment where Anna hides it, and enters the world as Mark. Wearing Mark's face, the creature is a double. He is Anna's creation - the perfect Mark. Anna has her own double in this film, too. Bob's teacher, who Mark develops a connection with, also wears Anna's face. In the position as Bob's primary caretaker, considering the lack of parental care he receives at home, Bob's teacher is the surrogate mother - the perfect Anna.
Skinamarink, too, features parental doubles. Following the disappearance of their father, Kevin and Kaylee spend the majority of their time downstairs, in front of the television. But that doesn't stop their occasional trips upstairs, to the bedrooms, where something both familiar and foreign lurks. Kaylee, the oldest, is the first to succumb to these forces. The dark thing inside their house alternately takes the form of the children's father and their mother, speaking to the children in their parents voices, giving them increasingly upsetting commands. Come upstairs, look under the bed, put the knife in your eye. When Kaylee refuses, the creature takes her mouth away - a clear symbol of the one piece of agency a child has, the voice, being stripped away.
The doppelganger has various meanings within horror. It has origins in many ancient myths, and has been highly theorized throughout history - relating to Freud's theory of the uncanny. In Possession and Skinamarink, stories of relationships and disintegration, lack of agency and control, the doubles are mirrored inversions of the original parents. In Skinamarink, the nurturing parents are taken away, and replaced with a destructive force. In Possession, Mark and Anna are the destructors, and their doubles, framed as the perfect non-threatening versions of their own partners, are both eventually abandoned by Mark and Anna, who find that they prefer the dysfunctional comfort of each other. Only the children, Kevin, Kaylee, and Bob, continue to be themselves, perhaps due to the inherent formlessness of childhood - they cannot be split, because they are not yet whole.
Both slow-moving films, light on plot and heavy on visuals, Skinamarink and Possession tell heart-wrenching stories of abandonment and neglect. They carry the distinct air of loss inside of them, and are films that leave room - movies that we walk away from desiring something we cannot have. They are stories of how, sometimes, things are taken away from us, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. No matter our age or how secure we may feel, anything can be lost in an instant, and we don't have to understand why. This is one of mankind's most primal fears. It's why, forty years later, Possession continues to be hailed as a cult-classic and why - I'm calling it now - forty years from now Skinamarink will too. Neither film is for everyone; they won't sit well with a general audience - I approach recommending them with caution. But for the viewer with the right mindset, one who is willing to surrender, they are films that you will not easily forget.
Possession is currently streaming on Shudder. Skinamarink is out in theaters now.
Plagued by strange memories, Neo’s life takes an unexpected turn when he finds himself back inside the Matrix.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention, EDITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Wow, hi. The Matrix is back and so am I.
Where to begin? How does a person talk about The Matrix? Do I start with a personal story, tell you how profoundly effected I was by the original film the first time I saw it, how I studied it for an entire month in a class called Philosophy of Science Fiction in college, how Neo is one of my favorite and most related to characters of all time? Probably there's no point; all this goes without saying. Too, enough has been said on what it's like to first see The Matrix as a small child and then come back for The Matrix Resurrections as an out transgender adult. I don't know if I need to talk about how deeply moved I was by this shlock, but just know: effected deeply, I was, and shlock, the film is.
The Matrix Resurrections is not what I expected out of a Matrix reboot, but it is just what I needed. This is not your typical big budget Hollywood franchise reboot - schmaltzy, glossy, safe. Instead Resurrections is capital-M Meta, self aware to its core, and so, so stupid. With a plot as thin as a sheet of paper and a runtime of 148 minutes, you know this film just has to be stuffed full of ridiculous fun stuff.
Neil Patrick Harris really shines as The Analyst, and I was overjoyed to see Jonathan Groff as Agent Smith (as I love his performance on Mindhunter). Though she has fairly limited screentime for most of the film, Carrie-Anne Moss makes up for it in the final act. She and Keanu Reeves continue to have great chemistry, and while he's far better as Neo than he is in most other roles, she brings something more out of him that starts to be genuinely great. There's a whole cast of new characters here, and everybody gets their little moment to shine. We don't ever quite edge into character study territory (which is a shame, with a plot as thin as this one), as Resurrections prefers to spend its time on worldbuilding, dialogue, poorly-choreographed shlockly action garbage, and heavy doses of nostalgia. Every scene is stretched to its limit here, and the film probably could have had that extra 30 minutes shaved off the runtime with no huge loss, but somehow, I love that about it: every scene is so fucking juicy, stuffed with so much love and joy and excitement, rich with jump cuts, sexy close ups, and solid performances. I really can't fault for wanting it all in there. I certainly enjoyed every second of it, even if I was a little too aware of how long it felt.
If I have one other thing to add, it's this: for me, a big part of the appeal of the Matrix franchise has always been body horror, rooted in ideas of commodity and autonomy, and this film is severely lacking in that. While we do get a few delicious moments (such as the human bombs, my personal favorite scene in the whole film, and of course Neo's resurgence from the pod), I would have liked to see a little more. However, like "bullet time", this lack could also be purposeful, a deliberate denial on Wachowski's part to give the audience what they want, and if this is the case, I respect it.
I don't know if Lana Wachowski wanted to do this movie; it's pretty clear that she agreed to make it to retain creative control over the series, as the reboot would have happened "with or without" her. But I'm so glad she did. Resurrections hints at the deeper philosophical and religious elements that the previous films had at the forefront, but here it strips all that away to leave us with - what else? - a love story. Love is what wakes us up, what gives us the strength to take risks and keep going. Love is what makes us fly. No, no, I'm not crying, I swear. I'm not crying over a fucking Matrix film. It's fine. I'm fine.
After finding a host body in investigative reporter Eddie Brock, the alien symbiote must face a new enemy, Carnage, the alter ego of serial killer Cletus Kasady.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention, WOODY HARRELSON: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Here's my review: Not gay enough.
Wait, let me try that again: From a movie that's been called tentacle porn by critics, I was hoping for a little more penetration.
Wait, no, here: Venom: Let There Be Carnage is a bit of a sloppy mess. It's not as bad as all that, but it's never so-bad-it's-good either. Don't get me wrong: I loved this film, but in comparison to Venom 1, it's like the little brother of the duo - immature, hyperactive, and mostly unsuccessful, though fuck if it doesn't keep trying.
Woody Harrelson is the best part of this film; perfectly cast. His performance is deliciously scenery-chewing and an absolute joy to watch. Tom Hardy, by contrast, is not given a lot to work with here, which feels weird, considering he's not only our protagonist, but also helped conceive the story of the film... he appears to spend most of the movie wandering around and talking to people, and while he, as before, plays 'constantly bewildered and a bit of a failure' really well, he lacks the passionate edge that made Eddie Brock a sympathetic character in Venom 1. Michelle Williams is, similarly, not given much to do here, despite having what feels like more screen time this go around.
The driving force of Let There Be Carnage is relationship drama. As director Andy Serkis has stated, the love story is at the forefront here - but it's still buried beneath a bunch of Hollywood-action-movie-trash. Even so, these are the film's greatest assets, little nuggets of gold that almost make the movie shine - if only they weren't covered by a pile of shit. The relationship between Cletus and Carnage acts as a dark inverse of Eddie's relationship with Venom, while Cletus and Frances offer an oddly bright success story in comparison to Eddie and Anne. There is so much potential here, that to see it go mostly unrealized is honestly kind of depressing. Fuck what all the critics are saying - this is the true failure of the film.
But Let There Be Carnage isn't a failure - it just has failings. Tonally, it's all over the place. To me (as you all know, a horror guy first and foremost, and not really a superhero guy at all), the joy of the Venom story is that it's a monster movie dressed up in superhero's costume. Venom isn't a hero, he's an anti-hero, and these types of stories are, by necessity, dark ones. And Let There Be Carnage just doesn't go there. It's too funny. This would be fine, if it was played as a dark comedy, but instead the whole thing is riddled with safe, predictable humor. It's thankfully not offensively stupid, as the comedy in most big budget American films is these days, but it's not shocking, or sick, or weird. The action is played straight, while the more domestic moments are played for comedy - and I would have preferred to see this reversed, to help balance out the more bombastic elements of the film and allow more of the character drama to shine. The pacing, however, is flawless. This is a crazy, brisk, anarchic little flick.
I liked this movie. No, really, I did. Is it good? No. Is it a dumpster fire? No. What is it exactly? Dude, I have no idea. But Tom Hardy is hot, Venom comes out at a rave, and there's a love confession thrown in there, so all in all, it's a good way to spend two hours, for sure.
Paralyzed by fear from shocking visions, a woman's torment worsens as she discovers her waking dreams are terrifying realities.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: LIGHTING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Let's get this out of the way: Malignant is not a great movie, but it's also not supposed to be.
I'm going to try to be light on details in this review, since director James Wan has stated he'd prefer if early viewers kept the twists to ourselves. But I will say this: the ends justify the means. The first half of this film felt a little slow to me, but once the pieces start piling up, it all comes together.
Malignant is just about the James Wanniest James Wan movie that James Wan has ever made. The official trailer has a little piece of press from Wan (giving the trailer a real William Castle or Alfred Hitchcock vibe) in which he states two things that I carried with me into this film: he wanted to get back to his roots, while giving horror audiences something new. In both of these, he succeeds. Malignant is an original story couched in a tonal and stylistic throwback to early-to-mid 2000s horror shlock. For those of us familiar with Wan, it's a welcome return to our era. Wan's directorial debut, 2004's Saw, while generally more bleak than the majority of theatrical horror of the time, is probably the film that best exemplifies horror of that era - in visuals, sound design, acting style, camera movement, and structure. Those of us that grew up around this time and/or fans of 2000s horror know exactly what I mean - these stories are generally original (though the 2000s did see their fair share of sequels, it was before the remake craze really took off) and executed to extremity, with a sort of 1980s shlock comedy flair, quick 'n dirty cinematography, and obscene amounts of gore. And Malignant delivers on all of it. There's a lot more of Saw in this film than Wan's other, more recent works, and for me that's a strength. It's a wild ride, unlike anything that we've seen in about twenty years, and I'd be absolutely fucking ecstatic if it ushered in a resurgence of new-millennium-flavored filmmaking. But I have no idea if it will. Wan's status as one of the most successful horror directors of our time is solid, but I have a feeling that for most of the younger generation - and modern audiences in general who weren't very interested in horror at that time - this is gonna go right over their heads. This flick has more in common with something like The Midnight Meat Train than The Conjuring.
I don't want to review the technical aspects of the movie too closely and color anyone else's experience, since this is just released. I'll only say a few things: To me, a good actor isn't necessarily someone who feels "real", but someone who plays a character the way they need to be played and really gives it their all. The actors, especially our lead, Annabelle Wallis, do just that. I was particularly impressed by the camerawork and lighting in this movie, though the sound design bothered me in the same way it does for all of Wan's films - he loves to dampen the visual impact of his scares through the addition of loud noises, a common tactic in modern horror which I hate. The gore is great, the transformation sequences are wonderful, and it's like a breath of fresh air to see the vibes of my formative years have not been forgotten.
I have nothing but respect for James Wan. He has a clear vision, and it's radically different than any other of the more serious horror greats of our time. I only hope that Malignant will be a hit, and allow more of his projects to be made, because the landscape of 2020s horror is stronger with him in it.
When indie singer Grey struggles to write her sophomore album, she teams up with a mysterious producer at his secluded cabin. Though their bond strengthens her music, it also starts to irreparably alter Grey’s body and mind.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️ 1/2
EFFECTS: ⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: PRIMAL CREATIVITY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Bet you all saw this one coming, didn't you?
The last few days have seen me eating Amelia Moses's entire filmography. By far the strongest of her films is her short, Undress Me, but Bloodthirsty comes a close second. I talked a lot in my review for her other feature, Bleed With Me, about why I vibe with her work and the recurring themes she explores through horror films, and we see all those at play again here: monstrous femininity, the abject body, hybridity of the self and the other. Bloodthirsty, like Bleed With Me, stars Lauren Beatty as the titular blood-drinker, and even has a scene that feels 100% like a Bleed With Me throwback, wherein she eats a dead rabbit in a forest. Moses is a filmmaker who knows what she's about and I respect it.
I went into this one with low expectations, because Moses didn't write the script, as she did for Bleed With Me - and it was obvious she didn't. Bleed With Me didn't have the most outstanding dialogue, but the dialogue in Bloodthirsty is pretty fucking awful. But, again, the story is good. Written by Wendy Hill-Tout, about a musician's relationship with a parental figure, and featuring original songs provided by her daughter, Lowell, the story behind Bloodthirsty comes across as genuine, despite lacking originality and being a bit clumsy in execution. Lauren Beatty is great here, actually, now that she's been given more to work with than she had in Bleed With Me, and her face is perfect for the role. Though the two supporting actors were admittedly nothing special - not terrible actors, but awkward. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the cinematography as well - a definite improvement visually over Bleed With Me.
Bloodthirsty is a film about the monster within, and how the artist must by nature connect to something primal and usually repressed. This is definitely a message we've heard before, but, as an artist myself, for me it always hits. I could tell that this movie was written by artists for artists, and that really endeared me to it. The pacing is pretty good, though, like Moses's other work, this is a slow and brooding build. At the very least, I was never bored - though I have to say, I was also never surprised. The climax of the film fell a little flat for me for this reason, and I would have liked it more if it had been either pushed a little farther and gone balls-to-the-wall insane, or kept up with the lazy ambiguity. As it is, the resolution feels just a little too safe.
This film has been compared to Raw many times, and I think they'd make a great double feature, but Raw is a coming of age story, and Bloodthirsty is about the "now what?" that follows being an established adult ("don't you just wanna go up into the Canadian wilderness and eat flesh instead of settling down with your career and your longterm girlfriend?" it asks, and yes girl, I totally do, thank you). I also have to say, I really enjoyed the music. God, I can't stop listening to this soundtrack. Films about pop stars often have truly awful original songs, but these ones feel real and true, and their creative progression throughout the film as the protagonist evolves is well done.
I might not recommend Bleed With Me, but I'd recommend this one any day. Who doesn't love a werewolf chick flick? C'mon.
During a winter getaway at an isolated cabin, a self-destructive young woman becomes convinced that her best friend is stealing her blood.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️ 1/2
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: EROTICISM: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Bleed With Me is not the best movie. Really, it's not even good. But I must confess, I loved this film, a lot. I struggle to articulate exactly why, and I can't picture myself seriously recommending it to anyone: this movie isn't gonna make you think, or change your life, and it's not a fun watch. The only explanation I've really been able to come up with comes down to personal preference - Bleed With Me is the sort of movie I would want to make.
Bleed With Me addresses a lot of my intersecting interests within horror: enclosed and isolated settings, a vague underlying tension of homoeroticism, love expressed through violent obsession and codependency, abjection, bodily fluids, manipulation, and the feminine experience. The dialogue is not that great, but the writing is actually rather good - we learn more about these characters through their actions than their words, and get the impression that everyone is always lying, spewing platitudes and socially acceptable niceties to cover up their inner nastiness. I rather enjoyed the pacing of this movie as well: it meanders, sluggish, which is suitable to the isolation that is so intrinsic to the story. The entirety of the film is told through our protagonist's eyes, so that we never see anything she doesn't see, and the horror comes from everything being twisted through her point of view. This is one of those unreliable narrator movies - is this really happening to her, or is she just crazy? - which a lot of people really hate (this kind of plot device is, admittedly, overdone in horror, and can come across as very lazy) - but the execution here worked for me. The acting is not outstanding, mostly due to the flat dialogue which gives the actors little to work with, but the lead actress has a subtlety about her, an unassuming nature, that makes her more endearing than other characters of her type.
After watching this film, I delved a little deeper into the writer/director, Amelia Moses. This is her feature film debut, but she also made a fantastic little short titled Undress Me, which you can view on her Vimeo page, and together they give a pretty good idea of what kinda shit she gets down with: both are rooted in femaleness and body horror, loss of control and a merging of the self with the other. And that kinda shit gets me really excited.
Thematically, Bleed With Me is awesome. The energy is there, a bubbling potential. And I'm really, really looking forward to seeing what Moses writes+directs next, because I think her career is going to grow into something really original and beautiful. So here's a little note from me: go ahead and add her to your list of arthouse horror filmmakers to keep an eye on.
Hello and welcome to a special edition of popcornflicks talks known as Dad Tapes, where I talk about movies in my tape collection that I inherited from my dad. This is 1982's The Wall.
A troubled rock star descends into madness in the midst of his physical and social isolation from everyone.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
MUSIC: obviously ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: ANIMATION: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Pink Floyd: The Wall is like i'm a horror film i'm surrealist video art i'm a character drama about generational trauma. i'm going through the five stages of grief i'm having feelings i'm shutting them out then i'm having feelings again. i'm a serious take on the cycle of war i'm depictions of police brutality and blind militarism i'm about wwii i'm about vietnam i'm about the fear of the bomb. i'm about my father and i am my father and i'll never be my father and my mother loves me she hates me she saves me she wants me dead. i'm about consumerism and searching searching searching for love and how often we watch things die. i'm about life. i'm uplifting i'm bleak i'm all the demons you see in your sleep. also, i have pacing issues.
Alright, forreal: I love this movie. Before tonight, I hadn't watched it in about 10 years, but I used to steal my dad's tape out of the high shelf in the family room closet and watch it over and over all through my teenage years. The tape I have now is still that copy, and it plays as beautifully as it did the first time I saw it, on my thirteenth birthday, when my dad very seriously sat me down and said, "You're old enough to watch this now." I wish I were making this up, but I'm really not. That's the kind of film stuff I was raised on. So, The Wall is sacred to me. I haven't watched the tape once since I left home in 2014, mostly out of superstition. Does it hold up as an adult with so much more experience (and an art degree) behind my back?
Short answer: yeah, it does. This movie kinda fucking rocks. It's a beautiful grotesque bundle of contradictions, a character study about the horrors of war and loss and social upheaval that becomes reflected in our personal lives as we live through it. The blend of live action and animation is perfect, the cinematography dynamic, the sound sharp and silent one moment then swelling to fill the room the next. Bob Geldorf is awesome in it, and he very well better be, since he's really the only actor with any serious screentime, apart from the child actor who plays little him (Kevin McKeon, apparently, who is also acceptable in the role). The film does drag in areas, lagging between each act instead of swiftly carrying us from one to another, perhaps due to the fact that music and film are different structures and attempting to pace a film the way you would an album doesn't work. The nonlinear timeline is sufficiently engaging without being annoying, and the gestalt effect of the plot you're rewarded with upon finishing is a joy. The moments of horror in this really stand out- after all this time, still gives me the shivers.
Hello and welcome to a special edition Thrift Store Highlight review, where I talk about a film I'd never heard of until I happened across it in a thrift store, thought "what the fuck?", and had to buy it. This is 2004's Dead & Breakfast.
On their way to a wedding, a group of friends take a wrong turn and end up in the small town of Lovelock. There, they check in to a bed-and-breakfast run by strange Mr. Wise (David Carradine). The next morning, the group, along with a mysterious man called the Drifter (Brent David Fraser), is detained by the sheriff regarding some suspicious deaths. During questioning, one of the friends, Johnny (Oz Perkins), inadvertently unleashes a demonic force that transforms the townspeople into zombies.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️ with an extra 1/2 for being all practical, no CGI
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention, EDITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Matthew Leutwyler's directorial debut, 2004's Dead & Breakfast, is the exact kind of film that gets me really excited - unapologetically shlocky, violence played to extreme hilarity, and unexpected moments of visual flair and originality that take a viewer completely off guard. I say this so that you know: though I had never heard of Leutwyler or this film, this review definitely comes from a place of bias.
Dead & Breakfast's opening credit sequence (released in 2004, the film actually has one - an aspect of movie viewing that I miss dearly in our contemporary world) features hand-drawn comic-ish panels that ease us into the type of story we can expect - thick black inks, stark whites, and pops of red - set to original music, and from the first few seconds, I was sucked right in. It becomes obvious right away that this film was a labor of love, made by a creative team. Drawings continue to be featured in the rest of the film as the scene we are watching fades into one of these panels, and then we hop into another scene, just like reading a comic book. This is one of the reasons I have chosen editing as my honorable mention for Dead & Breakfast. The drawings are well executed and fun, and create a rounded experience as the story progresses. Drawings aren't the only editing trick used in scene transitions, however - when discussing this film, it's important that we talk music.
Dead & Breakfast features a hapless cast of characters, all acting as horror movie stereotypes with an original twist - the pretty blonde girl is also a badass who can build a shotgun from pipes, the smart brunette is a linguistic expert, the asshole boyfriend works well under pressure while also providing most of the slapstick, the shy nerd becomes the villain. This opening ensemble of outsiders works well to balance each other out, but the good characterization doesn't end there. Once they reach the small country town of Lovelock, we begin to be introduced to a large group of townsfolk, and the movie starts to feel very Twin Peaks. From the moment they enter Lovelock, coming to a gas station, they find a band practicing outdoors by the pumps (also providing my favorite moment of cinematography in the entire film), even though they have no audience. It's a perfect "what the fuck?" moment, deliciously weird, and moments like this happen every time we are introduced to another character in Lovelock. The gas station attendant and the vocalist/lead guitarist of the band provide our original soundtrack, often tuning in between scenes to deliver songs of varying genres that illustrate the story so far - another reason I have chosen to highlight the editing. The guy is actually a good musician (the actor who plays him really wrote the songs) and instead of feeling childish and overdone, they are paced well enough and played well enough that I found myself heaving up in excitement whenever he came onscreen.
Let me be clear: Dead & Breakfast is not a good movie. It's shlock garbage, no doubt. With cast members like David Carradine (who has appeared in so many terrible b-movies, he has his own square on bad movie bingo) and his granddaughter Ever Carradine, plus the one and only Oz Perkins (son of Anthony Perkins and lately director of brooding, mysterious horror films such as The Blackcoat's Daughter), we really can't kid ourselves here. The performances are played to maximum effect, not human reality. The special effects, while admirably all done practically, are cheap. The comedy is reliant on random moments of slapstick that drag on so long you choose to believe that's part of the joke rather than be faced with the disappointing reality of these actors giving their all for something that just doesn't quite land. But, Dead & Breakfast is a film that's aware of its flaws, and embraces them - you can see that right up there on the tagline. It's charming as hell for someone like me, who revels in low budget, passion project horror. Is Dead & Breakfast "good"? No. But it's pretty fucking great.
An American oil-rig roughneck travels to Marseille, France, to visit his estranged daughter, in prison for a murder she claims she didn't commit. Confronted with language barriers, cultural differences and a complicated legal system, he soon builds a new life for himself as he makes it his personal mission to exonerate her.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️
SCORE: I struggle to remember, sooo... ⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
EFFECTS: N/A
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: THE HUMAN CONDITION: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I saw Stillwater for one reason only: I was traveling, far away from home, and wanted to go to a historic theater in the area I was visiting. The cinema I went to had only two showing rooms, so it was either this or Jungle Cruise. I wish I could say I was pleasantly surprised by Stillwater, but it was about what I expected: your typical "true story" Hollywood adaptation, with acceptable but unremarkable visuals, camerawork, dialogue, and music, and pacing issues. Stillwater is not an engaging enough film to warrant its 140 minute runtime and, alone in the theater, I found myself pulling out my phone during the movie, searching for something more exciting to do next.
That isn't to say the film is a total failure. Matt Damon is absolutely perfect as our country boy protagonist, so wholly in his role that he disappears into it, nearly unrecognizable as himself. The rest of the cast also perfectly embody their characters - nobody ever goes too far in this, and there are no charicatures here. Everyone in this film feels like a real person going through real experiences. If there is one memorable thing about Stillwater, it's this: These people feel like people you know, their story is one that you could hear anywhere, and the difficulties they face are our own... the struggle to transcend the past, the fight for a better future for us and those we love, and the communication challenges that stand in our way of navigating a life with others who are different from ourselves.
So, despite not being drawn into this film, there was a part of me that was touched by it. Watching it alone in an unfamiliar place meant that I identified with Damon's character, as he too is a fish out of water here. Though it's now been a week since I saw the film, I'm still thinking about Bill Baker. If I had watched it at home? Probably not.
The government sends the most dangerous supervillains in the world -- Bloodsport, Peacemaker, King Shark, Harley Quinn and others -- to the remote, enemy-infused island of Corto Maltese. Armed with high-tech weapons, they trek through the dangerous jungle on a search-and-destroy mission, with only Col. Rick Flag on the ground to make them behave.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
MUSIC: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: WEIRDNESS: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I should preface this review by admitting that I have only seen a handful of "hero" movies since they took off in popularity in the last decade, but almost all of those that I have seen and enjoyed had something to do with James Gunn. I've been fuckin' with his work since Slither was released when I was 12 - a perfect age for a film to spook you so bad you have to shut it off, only to immediately turn it back on again for more. There's a lot of Gunn's signature style left over from his horror days in The Suicide Squad. To me, Gunn's strength is in his truly original "shlock-seriousness." His films never pretend to be what they aren't - never aspiring to be art - but instead treat ridiculousness as a real part of the human experience. This is shlock with soul.
The Suicide Squad is a triumphant return to cinema for Gunn after his firing from Marvel, and the smartest move DC has made in a long time. The action scenes are well choreographed, actually play into the evolution of the story, and never overstay their welcome. The oddball cast of characters adds to the film's originality and is a breath of fresh air in modern cinema that's become oversaturated with sameness - and are all played by actors who are clearly having a great time doing it. With a standout soundtrack, an ending fit for a shlock epic, and just enough nastiness sprinkled in to keep us from getting too comfortable, The Suicide Squad feels like a weird little love letter to comic books. It was clearly made with heart, and honestly, what more could you want?
King Arthur's headstrong nephew embarks on a daring quest to confront the Green Knight, a mysterious giant who appears at Camelot. Risking his head, he sets off on an epic adventure to prove himself before his family and court.
CINEMATOGRAPHY: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
SCORE: ⭐️⭐️⭐️ & 1/2
PERFORMANCES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
EFFECTS: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
WRITING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Honorable mention: COSTUMES: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I must admit I've been waiting on this one for a while, a premiere ticket sitting in my inbox for weeks. And it did not disappoint.
I am normally a little wary of long movies adapted from written works, as I find they often have pacing issues, for the simple reason that a written story (whether it be a novel, a short, or an epic) is made to be consumed differently than a film, and to attempt a perfect filmic adaptation of a written work is a near impossible feat - by nature, the two mediums are structured differently. Perhaps The Green Knight succeeds due to its virtue of being based on legend, a story that was likely designed to be heard orally and not read. This film made me feel like an ancient peasant child sitting at the feet of a great storyteller, letting them weave something beautiful and unexpected in my mind. Not a high fantasy, not an action-adventure story, nor a great romance, like so many other Medieval period pieces, The Green Knight is a true, classically-told hero's journey, with stunning visuals and an incredible score. The film rests entirely on Dev Patel's shoulders, and he bears the weight like an honorable knight would; his performance had me entranced the entire time. Utterly captivating, I have honestly never seen anything quite like this one before.
