Shirley follows a young couple staying with famed novelist Shirley Jackson and her husband as she tries to break through writer’s block
Quick cut: Shirley is a haunting and devilishly entertaining look at the famed writer anchored by an electrifying performance by Elizabeth Moss.
★★★★
In the opening scene of Josephine Decker’s Shirley, Rose (Odessa Young), a spirited young woman on a train accompanying her husband Fred (Logan Lerman) to the college he’s assisting at, is just finishing the eponymous Shirley Jackson’s (Elizabeth Moss) infamous short story “The Lottery.” After she reads the final scene—a horrifying spectacle—she looks up at her husband and says, “it’s terrific,” like she’s fascinated at the horror. Then she goads him into the train bathroom for rough sex, which is shocking considering the movie takes place in the 1950s.
The film’s overwhelming and somewhat chaotic opening prepares you for its penchant for tension—sexual, suspenseful, and otherwise. On the other hand, the introduction to Shirley barely scratches the surface of the unpredictable rollercoaster that she is—bolstered by Moss’s stunningly committed performance. Though she’s troubled, plagued with agoraphobia, depression, and an aggressive bout of writer’s block, Shirley is also enigmatically endearing—even knowing her legacy now, she’s frustratingly overlooked.
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The young couple is staying with Jackson and her husband Stanley Edgar Hyman (Michael Stuhlbarg), a professor who Fred is assisting, while they wait for a place of their own. And since Shirley is nearly incapacitated by her writer’s block, Stanley asks Rose to help around the house and keep an eye on her—he asks in an almost dismissive way as if it’s her duty to help. Though Shirley is initially wary of Rose and Rose is terrified of Shirley—Moss portrays her as an almost supernatural figure or bomb just waiting to be set off—the two begin to bond as Rose becomes the muse for Shirley’s novel, which will eventually become her classic Hangsaman.
Decker’s style, dreamlike in its execution but deliberate in every decision, is perfect to give us insight into the mad genius of Jackson. Rough and horrifying cuts to nightmarish visions are mixed with moments of serenity, like when the main character of her story, an actual college girl that has gone missing, is literally brought into focus through Rose. Decker tells the story like one of Jackson’s own tales, mixing horror tropes and with the psychosexual drama. In particular, Tamar-kali’s score infused with jangly strings and incomprehensible melodies adds to the horror.
As the movie unfurls, it becomes clear that something more is afoot, though Sarah Gubbins’ brilliant screenplay is careful to keep us an arm’s length away as to prevent us from finding out until precisely the right moment. And while the central mystery and Shirley’s creative journey writing her novel is more than enough to keep you hooked, the movie’s themes of misogyny and control are what engross you—and Decker handles them with a steely indignance. The spars of words between Rose and Shirley cover so much ground on the power struggle between genders while Rose, beginning to come into herself, finds control over her husband in a stunning scene where she has sex with him on her terms—keeping her mouth just out or reach.
Logan Lerman and Odessa Young in Josephine Decker’s Shirley. Courtesy of NEON.
In Rose’s first interaction with Shirley, she tells her that reading “The Lottery” made her feel “terrifically horrible,” an apt description for the move itself. The horror-like atmosphere, Moss’ maniacal performance, and layered narrative make Shirley almost overwhelming, but when you find what to focus on it’s a rewarding experience. And when you learn more about the real Shirley—this is a fictional version pulled from Susan Scarf Merrell’s novel of the same name—you find her journey in the movie tragic but profound.
There are puzzle pieces missing, whether intentional or not I don’t know, but those missing pieces make Shirley an entertaining and stimulating watch. As all the characters spar with each other in various pairings you become attached to them, a surprising feeling considering the narrative they’re in. That’s a testament to the incredible development Gubbins does in her screenplay and Decker’s auteurist vision for the work. However, it would be a disservice not to mention Moss’ electrifying portrayal that’s almost impossible to untangle, but once you do her genius is apparent.
Shirley premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival. It will be released on
The Half of it is a modern retelling of Cyrano de Bergerac that explores sexuality, identity, friendship, and growing up queer
Quick cut: The Half of it is a melancholy, but an ultimately joyful, exploration of growing up and exploring your identity told through a thoughtful, meditative, and heartwarming story.
★★★★★
To steal a term from one of the great artists working today, The Half of It feels like future nostalgia. We’ve seen the modern take on the classic play Cyrano de Bergerac countless times — there are even two other Netflix originals with the same plot. However, director/writer Alice Wu finds a singular take with the story by mining achingly personal themes that elevate it past its high school movie tropes.
In The Half of it, our Cyrano is Ellie Chu (Leah Lewis), a shy straight-A student living in the small rural town Squahamish, Washington, where she and her parents immigrated to from China when she was a child — though her mother died shortly after. Her father (Collin Chou) spends his days as the signalman at the town’s only train station, and Ellie writes papers for other students to help pay the bills. This is why she is approached by jock Paul (Daniel Diemer) looking for help writing love letters to the school’s misunderstood it-girl Aster Flores (Alexxis Lemire), who he has a crush on but never able to talk to in person.
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Although Ellie is initially hesitant, her interest in Aster convinces her to play along. Ellie is clearly attracted to Aster though it’s never explicitly verbalized. It’s one of the many reasons The Half of It is so refreshing. Like any other high schooler struggling with their identity or sexuality, Ellie isn’t quick to accept or even understand her feelings. All she knows is she’s intrigued by Aster and wants to “talk” to her more through Paul’s letters. And that’s what happens.
Through various letter exchanges, we learn Aster is a lover of classic movies and art. Though Paul knows less than nothing about the subjects, Ellie tries to teach him for when he finally talks to Aster in person. While they’re spending time together, Paul begins to dig into Ellie’s background. At first, she rebuffs the questions. But after realizing Paul genuinely wants to get to know here, something no one in the small town has tried to do, she relents.
Wu’s screenplay is quietly brilliant. It’s filled with character development and background that is subtly tucked in between the lines. Unlike other high school coming-of-age movies, The Half of It doesn’t feel it needs to overly explain itself. As Paul and Ellie learn about each other and understand each of their unique plights, they adjust the way they interact. In that way, it feels like director great Mike Nichols’ best work. Like his seminal coming-of-age masterpiece The Graduate — which this movie explicitly references — or the hilarious The Birdcage, The Half of It brings the story and characters to the line of absurdity but never crosses it.
She adds a layer of melancholy on the otherwise joyful film. There are jokes and characters to serve as comedic foils, Wolfgang Novogratz‘s Trig is a standout, however at the core is a wildly sensitive drama about identity and the meaning of love. And though that sounds corny, the way The Half of it explores that meaning is through meaningful exchanges between characters.
Leah Lewis and Alexxis Lemire in Netflix’s The Half of It. Courtesy of Netflix.
In some way, every character is underestimated. Ellie is thought to be a quiet, unassuming A-student, but has a braveness waiting to be mined. Paul, who could have easily played into the dumb jock trope, has an underlying sweetness that shows itself in some of the movie’s most heartwarming scenes. Even Ellie’s dad, who is portrayed as holding his daughter back, has a complexity that is explored in a standout scene with Paul, where he explains his emotions in his native Mandarin.
On the surface, The Half of It is a serviceable high school dramedy. However, at its core, it’s a sensitive character study of identity and how the town we grew up in shapes it, for better and worse. And though it only skims the surface of sexuality, it’s distinctly queer. The gaze is queer. The themes are queer. This is a movie that only a person that has experienced it could accomplish. And although it has all this complexity, it still has the moments of joy and levity we crave in a coming-of-age. However, those moments happen where — and between characters — we least expect them. This is a love story. But not between who you think.
There’s a chance The Half of It fades into the background of the multitudes of Netflix romantic comedies that are shuffled away in the mysterious algorithm. But I hope that the right audience sees it. It feels like a cliche now, but if I had seen this movie when I was a kid, I feel like the world would have been different for me. I’d see it differently. I’d understand myself and how to love differently. I’d understand that confusion is just a part of understanding. And that running after a train may look ridiculous, but that’s love.
Schitt’s Creek went from underrated gem to an instant comedic classic. Here are our 10 favorite episodes to laugh, cry and swoon at.
Schitt’s Creek wrapped up its final season last month and officially cemented itself as one of the greatest sitcoms of the modern era. With memorable characters, iconic lines and some of the sweetest moments in an otherwise absurd comedy, it has gone from an underrated gem to a full-blown instant comedy classic.
It’s almost impossible to choose a favorite episode from the bunch — it’s like picking a favorite bébé, but after a dozen or so rewatches of the full series, I’ve come to a top ten best episodes of Schitt’s Creek. Here we go:
“Happy Anniversary” (season 2, episode 13)
Catherine O’Hara, Dan Levy, Annie Murphy, Dustin Milligan, Eugene Levy, Emily Hampshire, and Chris Elliott in the Schitt’s Creek episode “Happy Anniversary”
“Actually, those boys did burn a bridge last summer. Luckily they don’t get as bored as they used to.”
— Twyla
As you’ll see, almost every season finale made it on this list and it’s not hard to see why. Schitt’s Creek is at its best when pivots from absurdist comedy to heartwarming character study. And while the first two seasons lean on a comedy of manners for its storylines, “Happy Anniversary” starts to see the heartwarming edge that has made Schitt’s Creek so addicting.
Schitt’s Creek is a story about broken people realizing they’re broken and slowly healing and we begin to see that healing in this episode. The ending, which is one of those uplifting moments that fill you up with hope, finds the Roses breaking down their hard surfaces and finally letting themselves admit their love for each other, which is one of three times David (Dan Levy) has said: “I love you,” as he mentions in “Singles Week” (see below).
Best moment: In the first of many heartwarming scenes in the show’s history, the entire cast dancing together in Mutt’s barn is one of Schitt’s Creek‘s great moments.
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“Meet the Parents” (season 5, episode 11)
Noah Reid in the Schitt’s Creek episode “Meet the Parents”
“But there will be a safe word in case the gaggle of asymmetrical faces becomes too much.”
— Moira
Very few episodes revolve around a single storyline, but when it does happen they tend to be great. “Meet the Parents” starts off with a classic misunderstanding that triggers a perfect setup to explore sexuality, acceptance, and coming out.
Patrick’s (Noah Reid) coming out is so refreshing because the show is careful to remove any risk for the viewers by letting us know that it will all work out in the end. However, it doesn’t stop the show from teaching us a very important lesson. Coming out is a very personal journey that should be done on a person’s own terms. Schitt’s Creek greatest strength is teaching us those lessons without every feeling like it’s teaching us anything.
Best moment: Patrick’s coming out scene is one of the show’s best moments.
“The Hike” (season 5, episode 13)
Dan Levy and Noah Reid in the Schitt’s Creek episode “The Hike”
“Ew, Ted. What am I? Thirty-two?”
— Alexis
“The Hike” has three storylines that never cross, but fundamentally test the relationship each character has to each other. There’s Moira (Catherine O’Hara) and Stevie (Emily Hampshire) who deal with Johnny’s (Eugene Levy) health scare — and as we know Moira doesn’t deal with pressure well, Ted (Dustin Milligan) and Alexis (Annie Murphy) discussing their future, and, of course, David and Patrick taking the next step in their relationship.
And while some very serious conversations and events happen in the episode, it never loses its hilarious slapstick comedy that makes the show a delight to watch. Of course, though, it’s the pivot from those moments to moments of genuine growth and emotion that make the show great and David and Patrick’s picnic is one of the best.
Best moment: Is that even a question? Look above.
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“Happy Ending” (season 6, episode 14)
“Don’t answer that! Was it? Don’t.”
— Patrick
What makes a great series finale? For me, it’s a mix of smart callbacks, classic setups that feel familiar to the show, and an ending that says life goes on. In that case, “Happy Ending” is a perfect series finale. Without hounding us with awkward fan service and instead intelligently reminding us of our favorite moments, Schitt’s Creek gives us a chance to say goodbye to every one of our favorite characters while bidding them farewell to hopeful futures.
However, what makes it a truly great finale is that it feels like the best version of an episode of the show. It deals with comical misunderstandings, the best Moira-sims, Johnny troubleshooting an issue, and a classic Schitt’s Creek tender moment of love. You laugh, you cry, you swoon, and you cheer. That’s what this show does best.
Best moment: I don’t think I’ve laughed harder at anything than Moira’s entrance into the wedding.
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“Open Mic” (season 4, episode 6)
Noah Reid in the Schitt’s Creek episode “Open Mic”
“Okay, no, worst case scenario I watch improve.”
— David
“Open Mic” contains one of most iconic, if not the most, iconic moments in Schitt’s Creek as Patrick serenades David with a cover of Tina Turner’s “Simply the Best.” And the reason that moment is so iconic is that so many queer stories and romances are told through the lens of tragedy and sacrifice. This scene lets us see ourselves as the romantic leads in our own rom-com like any other kind of couple. It’s truly a watershed moment in queer television history.
However, “Open Mic” makes it onto this list because all three storylines harmonize into a hilarious episode filled with classic sitcom setups that also find a way to subtly move the story for each character forward.
Best moment:
“Housewarming” (season 5, episode 5)
Noah Reid, Dan Levy, Emily Hampshire, and Dustin Milligan in the Schitt’s Creek episode “Housewarming”
“Oh my god, John! Don’t forget to wash its hands.”
— Moira
While most of the entries on this list have some of the show’s most noteworthy or heartwarming moments, it’s the episodes that are just having silly fun I come back to most. No episode is a better example than “Housewarming,” which puts all the Roses and their respective partners in uncomfortable situations.
Moira and Johnny are tasked with caring for Jocelyn and Roland’s bébé, which leads to some of the funniest lines and line deliveries in the show’s history. It also gives Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara a chance to show why their partnership has endured for so many years. In the other storyline, we get a perfectly orchestrated sitcom setup when a game of spin to bottle leads to an awkward moment that is pitch-perfect every step of the way.
Best moment: Moira and Johnny trying to change Roland Jr.’s diaper is a masterclass in comedic delivery. So many of my favorite lines from the show come from this scene.
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“Singles Week” (season 5, episode 12)
Sarah Levy, Annie Murphy, and Dustin Milligan in the Schitt’s Creek episode “Singles Week”
“Don’t start without me you little frippet! You don’t have the media training.”
— Moira
Throughout the series, Alexis perhaps makes the biggest 180 of the Rose family by going from selfish and entitled rich girl to a full empathetic and giving woman. After two seasons of making decisions that benefit her, she finally does the most unselfish thing: she lets someone she loves go. That act of selflessness almost demands that she get some satisfaction, which pays off in the most romantic and swoonworthy way in the “Singles Week.”
However, what makes the episode truly great is other storylines. In one mismatched pairing, David helps Ted through his feelings for Alexis and delivers some much needed advice, despite feeling uncomfortable (in the most David-way possible). In the other, Moira brings an in-labor Jocelyn to the hospital threatening her time in the spotlight resulting in this iconic line:
Best moment: Ted’s big romantic gesture is as heartwarming as they come.
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“Life is a Cabaret” (season 5, episode 14)
Annie Murphy, Noah Reid, and Sarah Levy in the Schitt’s Creek episode “Life is a Cabaret”
“Jocelyn! I’m the one standing on the chair!”
— David
An episode of Schitt’s Creek rarely focuses on someone outside the Rose family, but in “Life is a Cabaret” Emily Hampshire‘s Stevie is front and center — both literally and figuratively. In one of the show’s most fruitful storylines, Stevie finds herself playing Sally Bowles in Moira’s community theater production of Cabaret. And while the idea of Moira directing the show that launched her career is hilarious, it also gives Stevie a chance to reflect on her own life, choices, and desires.
Using the iconic “Maybe it’s Time” number as an “I want” song for the character, we explore her feeling of directionless. As Stevie says, “I just wish I wasn’t watching it all happen from behind the desk.” It’s as profound as the show gets and gives Catherine O’Hara the chance to show a softer side of Moira. All the while, David’s engagement news is a hilarious through-line that connects it all.
Best moment: Emily Hampshire deserved an Emmy nomination for her performance of “Maybe it’s Time.” It would do Liza Minelli proud.
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“Start Spreading the News” (season 6, episode 13)
“What was I going to say? I just won $92 million?”
— Twyla
While there are certainly plenty of laughs in “Start Spreading the News,” the penultimate episode of Schitt’s Creek, it’s largely the dramatic fare that makes the episode one of the best of the series. As the series reaches its final episodes, each of the Roses and the people around them are beginning to make progress towards their futures, except for David. For him, his future has always been tied to his old life despite the happiness he’s found in this new life. In this episode, we watch him accept with the person he’s become and, more importantly, accept happiness.
Moira, Alexis, and David also find a way to acknowledge the relationships they’ve built in Schitt’s Creek. Specifically the Jazzagals, Twyla, and Stevie. “Start Spreading the News” doesn’t deliver any specific answers about each of the characters’ futures. Instead, it assures us that they will be okay, which is even more profound.
Best moment: There are so many small heartwarming moments in this episode, but none as fully emotional and intelligent as David and Stevie’s conversation in front of the house that looks like Kate Winslet’s cottage in The Holiday.
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“Grad Night” (season 3, episode 13)
Dan Levy and Noah Reid in the episode “Grad Night” of Schitt’s Creek
“Maybe there’s a job out there that I’m better suited for. And some other like gorgeous, slightly under-qualified girl is sitting at my desk asking herself the same question.”
— Alexis
“Grad Night” is perhaps one of the most important episodes in Schitt’s Creek history as it propels the show into its final three seasons. Alexis finally graduates from high school, which is impressive considering she’s ten years older than her classmates. More importantly, it begins Alexis on a path to finally find a calling all her own. Moira often underestimates (and sometimes forgets) Alexis, which makes her act of love at the graduation all the more heartwarming and the first crack in her absurd facade.
Meanwhile, this is also the episode that launches our favorite couple into the stratosphere. Patrick and David’s storyline in this episode so subtly explores sexuality and how it’s a constant discovery process in your own life. Patrick’s line, “I’ve never done that before… with a guy,” cuts warmly into your heart and is the perfect starting point to their love story.
Best moment: This is a tight race between Moira’s surprise performance at Alexis’ graduation and David and Patrick’s first kiss. I’m going to give a slight edge to the kiss because it is an elegant and heartwarming way for Patrick to come out.
Honorable mentions
There are so many episodes that were painful to leave off, the first of which is “Family Dinner” which has one of my favorite comedic scenes (pictured above). Then, of course, there’s David’s iconic “Simply the Best” lipsync in “The Olive Branch” which could have easily landed it in the top ten.
There are several episodes that feature Catherine O’Hara giving one of the best comedic performances of all time including “Wine and Roses,““Pregnancy Test” and “RIP Moira Rose”. And lastly, more than one episode that has the show’s patented heart-tugging moments like “Presidential Suite” and “Girls Night.”
Quick review: From Here to Eternity is the kind of old-school Hollywood melodrama that you can’t help but fall for. And while it only occasionally hits greatness, the performances by Burt Lancaster, Frank Sinatra, Montgomery Clift, Deborah Kerr, and Donna Reed are as iconic as they come.
★★★★
There’s something so old Hollywood about From Here to Eternity that it’s not hard to imagine why it won eight Oscars from thirteen nominations — coming close to tying All About Eve’s nominations record. And while the movie’s melodramatic storyline and gratuitous hero shots, including the iconic beach scene with a steamy Burt Lancaster, director Frank Zinneman was often lauded for his “social realism” in his time.
After discovering his parents had tragically died in the Holocaust, his focus shifted to movies set during World War II starting with his breakout The Seventh Cross starring Spencer Tracey. He then found Oscar success with The Search, nabbing his first nomination for Best Director, even though the war had just ended a few years earlier.
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But it’s High Noon that would become his most enduring work as his gritty and dark realism shifted to something more hopeful. As critic Stephen Prince put it, Zinneman had his protagonist “fight rather than run.” That same all-American heroism found it’s way into his adaptation of James Jones’ novel From Here to Eternity, published just two years earlier.
The movie follows three men in the U.S. Army stationed at Schofield Barracks on the island of Oahu during the precipice of the U.S. entering the war. Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt (Montgomery Clift — he worked with Zinneman in The Search, which earned him a Best Actor nod), a new transfer to the barracks, is regularly singled out for punishment and grunt work after he refused to join the boxing team.
First Sergeant Milton Warden, who was ordered to dole out the rough treatment by Captain Dana “Dynamite” Holmes (Philip Ober), takes pity on Prewitt and convinces the captain from court martialing him. However, he’s partially motivated by the fact that he’s carrying out an affair with Holmes’ wife Karen (Deborah Kerr). The third man to round out the trio is fast-talking and quick-witted Private Angelo Maggio (Frank Sinatra), who befriends Prewitt.
Part military drama, part soapy melodrama, before taking a turn completely towards war movie, From Here to Eternity truly thrives off the power of its star performances. Of the three leads, Sinatra’s exploration of the headstrong Maggio, who eventually finds himself in trouble with Staff Sergeant James R. “Fatso” Judson (Ernest Borgnine), is easily the most compelling (it would earn him the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor).
It’s hard to discern what Zinneman is trying to say with the movie. However, Maggio’s tragic storyline partially reveals it as the military’s brutality and hypocrisy for the sake of maintaining masculinity. Perhaps that’s a presumptuous assessment. But evaluating the movie through the lens of the novel (and removing the censorship that pared down the movie’s content) reveals its themes — at least somewhat.
Montgomery Clift as “Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt” and Donna Reed as “Lorene” in From Here to Eternity
Still, the movie’s most iconic scene, the beach scene, and Lancaster’s on-screen romance (and kiss!) with Kerr are what stick with you. It’s so classic Hollywood that it’s impossible to resist — even if the cynic in you resists. That storyline never really fits in with the rest of the movie thematically, yet it feels like a welcome respite from the overly masculine energy in other scenes. While Kerr and Donna Reed, who plays the hostess at a local social club and Prewitt’s love interest Lorene, are beholden to the men’s storylines, they also are the emotional core that challenges how the military takes over people’s lives.
There’s one scene between the three leads that propels the story into the final act that feels like the watershed moment we don’t talk about nearly enough. Part of that is because of the scene’s homoerotic energy. In the novel homosexuality in the military is a primary theme. More importantly, it’s the first scene where the main characters shed their usual stoic masculinity and finally express their feelings.
However, those moments are fleeting as to be expected in the era of chiseled jaw Hollywood leading men, which prevents From Here to Eternity from reaching greatness. Still, the iconic scenes and performances have endured for a reason. There’s so much charisma on screen that every frame feels like you’re being dared to look away. When they say there aren’t movie stars anymore, it’s movies like this that explain why.
True History of the Kelly Gang is a fictional punk rock western about the Australian bushranger Ned Kelly and his gang of outlaws
Quick review: True History of the Kelly Gang is a punky auteurist vision of adrenaline that makes the already chaotic story disorienting, and, most importantly, unrelenting.
★★★★
“Nothing you’re about to see is true.” That’s the cheeky title card that starts True History of the Kelly Gang (available on VOD April 24). And for a movie about an Australian bushranger — the equivalent of an American outlaw — known for his brutality and violence over several years in the 1870s, it’s a surprising start. However, director Justin Kurzel remains steadfast in his portrayal of this anti-hero (or pure villain depending on how you look at it) throughout the film and gives the story a punk rock patina that feels particularly apt to tell this version of Kelly’s story.
The movie, which is based on Peter Carey’s 2000 novel of the same name, portrays Kelly (played by 1917-breakout George Mackay) and his gang as the fearsome, gun-totting rebels that they’re notoriously known as. However, Kurzel infuses them with punk rock energy that includes having them go into battle wearing dresses to strike fear in their enemies. Plus, it makes the homoerotic energy between the members of the gang and with their primary foe even more compelling.
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The movie is split into three sections: boy, man, and monitor. In boy, a young Ned Kelly (Orlando Schwerdt) comes of age in the Australian bush with his mother Ellen (Essie Davis), a hardened Irish transplant, who is regularly harassed for sexual favors by Sergeant O’Neill (Charlie Hunnam), one of many toxic male figures in Ned’s life. His disdain for his alcoholic father and care for his mother is Oedipal in nature. It’s just another point in his childhood that explains his brute and violent nature as an adult.
However, no one affects him more than the old, grizzled bushranger Harry Power (Russell Crowe) who becomes his mentor as a favor to his mother. He experiences horrors and violence that no child should have to witness.
The first act’s visual flair, including striking cinematography by Ari Wegner that captures the desolation of the Australian outback and the distinctly modern stylistic sensibilities that Kurzel is attracted to in his period pieces, dunks us in the movie’s semi-fictional world that this Ned Kelly occupies.
The first half of the movie is far from typical, but it feels more like a traditional biopic. When we make the shift to the adult Ned Kelly all hell breaks loose. Kurzel delivers an expressionistic blur of sound and light that makes the already chaotic story disorienting, and, most importantly, unrelenting. However, it’s his foe that makes it most compelling.
Nicholas Hoult as “Constable Fitzpatrick” in Justin Kurzel’s True History of the Kelly Gang. Courtesy of IFC Films. An IFC Films release.
After Oscar-worthy character turns in Mad Max: Fury Road and The Favourite, Nicholas Hoult gets to dig his teeth into the meaty and campy Constable Fitzpatrick — a cartoon-ish mustache-twirling villain (without the ‘stache). In one stunning scene across from Kelly’s love interest Mary (Jojo Rabbit‘s Thomasin McKenzie), he employs an interrogation tactic involving a baby that feels so punk it could only live in this world.
True History of the Kelly Gang is greater than the sum of its parts. Watching it is a hypnotic experience that will be polarizing to mainstream audiences — it’s oddly meta for an outlaw who was similarly polarizing. Still, it’s impossible to not be affected by it in some way after its final frame. Kurzel takes a huge swing, whether or not he hits depends on you. Either way, the movie feels like a baseball bat to the head — in the best way.
Rachel Mason documents the story of the gay adult bookstore run by her elderly Jewish parents in Circus of Books
Quick review: Where the Circus of Books lacks focus, it makes up for in pure heart and a touching personal story that gives hope to a community. It will be available on Netflix on April 22.
★★★★
“I thought it was just a bookstore… with a circus theme.” That’s what Alaska, a drag queen and winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race All-Stars 2, had to say about Circus of Books, a store where she once worked in West Hollywood. And from the outside, the unassuming concrete facade wouldn’t really reveal that behind those walls was what co-owner Karen Mason called a “hardcore gay adult business.”
The way that Karen and her husband Barry, a straight Jewish couple, fell into owning a store selling gay porn is less interesting than the point in time it happened. It was the 80s and on the precipice of the gay liberation movement. A few gay activists from the time recall their involvement in a demonstration at the Black Cat bar protesting police brutality against the gay community. Those same men called Circus of Books the “the center of the gay universe in West Hollywood.”
However, for Barry and, specifically, Karen, it was always just business. Barry worked in movie special effects before inventing a device for dialysis machines that ended up costing more than they brought in. Karen was a journalist who eventually burned out. So, when the opportunity to distribute Hustlers magazine from Larry Flynt (yes, that Larry Flynt) presented itself they pounced.
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The director of the film is the couple’s daughter Rachel Mason, which adds some enjoyable banter between her and her mother, who feels almost too much of a stereotypical elderly mother. However, it’s that bickering that paints a full picture of Karen.
She’s an enigma. A deeply religious woman who owns a gay porn store. However, despite the assault on obscenity put forth by the Reagan administration at the time, which I wish was explored a bit more, she’s always compartmentalized her work from her beliefs. Thought many of their employees were gay, she always saw them first and foremost as people. When she says this, she doesn’t fully realize how much that means to the community. Because in the end for her it’s just business.
While the documentary perhaps begins to lose its story thread midway through, it all begins to click in the end. This isn’t a documentary about a quirky mom and pop shop and the cantankerous old couple that owns it. Circus of Books is Rachel Mason’s way of exploring her own family’s lore — the uplifting and the heartbreaking — and, more importantly, the complex woman that raised her.
Inside Circus of Books in West Hollywood, California
Throughout the movie, Karen chides her daughter over the purpose of it. She doesn’t understand what makes the store or their story special. What she doesn’t realize is that it’s her own journey that is the most interesting. The back half of the movie is an emotional look at Karen’s relationship and reaction to her son coming out, which challenges her ability to separate what she does from her personal life.
It’s when that story begins to take shape that Circus of Books finds its full potential. While there’s much to be desired out of an exploration of how the store stood as a symbol of the gay community and how both sex and porn play a key role in gay liberation, Rachel Mason’s real accomplishment is finding the story thread within her family.
The Circus of Books is now closed. Whenever we flash to the store in the present we see how it’s slowly become an artifact of its time. However, the movie makes a point to highlight that the store was just the physical location and that its meaning lives within Karen and Barry.
How Insidious and The Conjuring use the classic horror tension formula to create some of the best scenes of suspense in recent decades
The argument could be made that we are in a horror renaissance. Original horror movies, in particular, have been taking the limelight and propelling the genre past traps that it has fallen into in recent years. However, one filmmaker has been treading on old formulas and retooling them to create some smart horror recently. That filmmaker is James Wan. While I don’t think his movies are perfect, especially Insidious, he has perfected a horror formula that has been used in horror classics and repurposed them in modern settings. So, with Halloween coming up I thought it might be the perfect time to analyze two keys scenes that use this formula so well.
Insidious: A smart practice in tension that is squandered in the third act
Insidious is by no means a perfect horror movie. I need to put that out there right from the beginning. But the first two-thirds of the movie nail what the movie is at its core: a ghost story. Wan very smartly works the audience from the beginning by unsettling us with key imagery that sets the mood for the movie. That coupled with the perennially dark setting creates an atmosphere that is unrelenting (that is until the final third, but we’ll get there in a bit).
However, one of the smartest things that Wan does is show a lot of restraint. A huge trend in the 2000s horror genre was the cold open that was this initial scare that was supposed to come in place of real mood-building. Even strong movies like The Descent and The Ring did it. Instead, Insidious sees a slow but steady build. No long set up. No character introductions. We’re dropped into their world, but immediately know who they are as a family. Wan takes the time to earn the big scares. Take this scene for example:
Notice that nothing shocking happens in the first two minutes of the clip. The knock on the door isn’t meant to be a scare. There’s no music in the background. He doesn’t want to let the tension go too soon. He takes his time on the door to build it further. When nothing happens we’re put into a false sense of security when Rose Byrne gets up to check on the baby. Then we get the big scare of the man in the nursery with a clang of music that quickly dissipates, which puts us in another false sense of security. When we go back downstairs we get a subtle but unsettling image of the door being wide open.
Wan does this again later in the movie when the family moves to a different home, just as effectively. The horror elements of the movie are a clear call back to movies like The Changeling and The Poltergeist. The clown scene is a perfect example of this. However, what makes the first two-thirds of this movie so strong is the dynamic between the two leads, Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson. Byrne’s character Renai takes the brunt of the paranormal activity. She is mentally worn down to the point that she will do anything to solve the problem. Wilson’s Josh, on the other hand, will not accept that the family is haunted.
Even before the haunting, we get a pretty clear portrait into the couple’s life. Renai is a worn down musician who is trying to hold it down at home while her husband is at work. We get a sense that there is some tension when Josh doesn’t seem to take as much familial responsibility, so when the haunting increases and Josh is nowhere to be found that tension comes to a head. Of course, we learn later on that this is because of points in Josh’s past.
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The reason the third act doesn’t hold up is because of the clear mood shift. Once Elise’s team comes into the picture, a medium that Josh’s mother suggests helps, the film shifts to a black comedy that doesn’t match the first off. More than that, the plot becomes to muddled in a twist that goes on too long. It almost feels like the studio decided what the final act should be. This is so well demonstrated when we watch a demon sharpening his nails while listening to some ironically cheerful music. Insidious falls into the trap that most horror movies fall into nowadays: the third act twist.
Because of the mechanics of the twist and the flashes of humor, the tension is immediately gone for most of the act. And when Wan tries to ratchet it up again, it feels artificial (the slow-moving ghosts, the classic electricity goes out trope).
The Conjuring: A practice in slowly adding tension throughout the entire film
This brings me to Wan’s horror follow-up, The Conjuring. Based on the case files of real-life demonologists Ed and Lorraine Warren, The Conjuring takes a different approach to most ghost stories by focusing first on the paranormal investigators. Unlike Insidious, The Conjuring does begin with a cold open which features an entirely different case from the one focused on in the movie. This opening followed by the slow crawling title text is taken straight from The Exorcist. However, the reason the cold open works here is because we need to see what Ed and Lorraine do from the start and there really is no way to show that without showing a case.
From here though we are treated to the same slow-building scares we see in Insidious. This time, we are trained for scares not in just one scene, but the entire movie.
Note: If you haven’t seen The Conjuring (then I’m not completely sure why you’re reading this in the first place), there are some spoilers coming up in the next few paragraphs.
Hide-and-clap is the perfect example of the slow build scare. We are first introduced to the game when the four girls of the Perron family, the case that the Warrens take on, are playing in their new house. It is a fun and light scene that adds ease to the game. However, when the youngest daughter in the family asks for a game with the mother, played incredibly here by Lili Taylor, it takes on a more threatening tone when the claps are discovered to not be coming from the daughter.
Based on that set-up, we are trained to know that something involving this game is going to end up being a scare. That’s what this scene is:
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There’s a lot to break down in this scene, so bear with me. Before this scene, we hear claps again late at night. Of course, Carolyn, the mother, thinks it’s here children. But when we see them all fast asleep we know something more sinister is happening. The pictured hung up the staircase are then knocked down which leads Carolyn downstairs. The lack of music in this scene punctuates the tension. When the basement door opens we are expecting a scare when she goes down. Instead, she goes up which relieves the tension. So, when the door closes we are not expecting it. Again, the tension begins to build when nothing happens in the basement. However, when something does happen, the ball, we are taken aback because we are expecting a bigger scare. When the lights go out and she lights the match we know from past horror experiences that on the third light something is going to happen. When we do get to that third match we’re expecting something to be there when it’s lit. Nothing happens until a beat later when hands clap right next to her, bringing the entire scare full circle.
It’s this carefully mapped out and timed scare that makes The Conjuring so effective. It’s this tension that acts as a red herring for most of the movie that makes it so terrifying. Unlike Insidious though, The Conjuring stays the course and uses minimal CGI to simply enhance the scares rather than being the scare (The Conjuring 2 makes this mistake).
Across both films, the use of mundane imagery to translate horror is truly where Wan’s strength lies. The rolling of a ball, an open door that was locked, a pair of hands clapping are the true horror images of these films. But what makes the last third of Insidious ineffective and the second Conjuring film is the over-reliance on CGI and overly complicated compositions to convey horror. We didn’t need to see the demon crawling on the walls or the crooked man. All we needed to see is this mundane imagery that seeps into our daily routine to truly terrify us.
The Carnivores follows Alice, whose strain with her long-term girlfriend Bret is being manifested in her sick dog causing increasingly odd cravings
Quick review: The Carnivores for better or worse is uncategorizable with elements of drama, psychological thriller, horror, and even comedy — and I was happy to be confused.
With SXSW 2020 canceled, I’m doing my best to help review as many of the features that would have premiered there, particularly those of first-time filmmakers. If you know of a film that needs support, let me know!
From the start, you can tell there’s something offbeat about The Carnivores. It’s set in a normal suburb — filmed in SXSW’s home Austin — and the characters are just a normal couple. However, its idiosyncrasy quickly reveals itself to you — the dry humor, the absurdist storyline, and almost whimsical imagery. It’s all in service of a ridiculous narrative that sets its sights on long-term relationships and the insecurities that come along with them.
Alice (Tallie Medel), a doe-eyed bank teller, and her girlfriend Bret (The Invitation‘s Lindsay Burge) have been together for years. However, when we meet them there is clearly a strain represented by Bret’s beloved dog Harvey. In Alice’s eyes, she’s second to Harvey in both Bret’s time and affection — and that might actually be the case, at least from what director Caleb Johnson shows us. Then again, we are watching from Alice’s perspective.
We watch as Alice calculates the costs of Harvey’s expensive treatment — that at best will keep him alive for a few months — and keeps track of the nights she and Bret don’t have sex. They’re experiencing what many long-term partners experience, intimate strain and financial burden. However, in their case, there is a physical manifestation of that strain, Harvey.
Alice spends her days fantasizing of ways of getting rid of him while Bret dotingly cares for him, even risking her job at times. Alice’s hate begins to manifest itself as a bleak desire for meat — they’re both vegetarians. The visceral shots of Alice going to the meat aisle in a grocery store to feel the meet or lay a leftover cold cut on Bret to lick it immediately bring up thoughts of Julia Ducournau’s Raw, just less depraved.
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The movie is a swift 77 minutes that sometimes feel meandering, but never boring as Alice’s cravings grow more intense. It’s difficult to even categorize what genre the movie is in as elements of psychological thriller, horror, comedy, and drama jockey for the tone. However, that whimsical amalgamation is what makes The Carnivores so engrossing.
Medel finds an endearing quality with Alice that makes you empathize with her struggles. Anyone that has been in a long-term relationship can understand the block that often forms at some point when routine turns into distance. She keeps you so captivated with her dry delivery and bewilderment at even her own feelings. If anything, I think her performance tips the movie a little too far into her direction making scenes with Bret less successful.
The Carnivores is a visceral experience. It’s less plot-driven and more an exploration of emotions and feelings — Johnson based it on his own relationship. You can feel him thinking and grappling as the movie goes along — it may leave something to be desires — but his style and exciting voice are something I’m looking forward to seeing more of.
Jess is thrilled to be the surrogate for her best friend and his husband, but when a prenatal test comes back, it creates a moral dilemma that threatens their friendship.
Quick review: The Surrogate has an important story to tell and forces us to face our own decisions in a moral dilemma — but it leaves much to be desired.
With SXSW 2020 canceled, I’m doing my best to help review as many of the features that would have premiered there, particularly those of first-time filmmakers. If you know of a film that needs support, let me know!
New York filmmaker and playwright Jeremy Hersh broke out at the Sundance Film Festival in 2015 with his short film Actresses — so his feature debut was one of the films many were eager to see at South by Southwest this year.
Jess Harris (Jasmine Batchelor) is over-ecstatic to be asked by her best friend Josh (Chris Perfetti) and his husband Aaron (Sullivan Jones, coming off a run in Broadway play Slave Play) to be the surrogate for their first child. However, twelve weeks into the pregnancy a test reveals that the child has down syndrome. The shock sends the trio into a moral dilemma that leaves them at odds looking for a middle ground.
It takes a while for The Surrogate’s storyto get where it needs to be impactful without feeling contrived. The first two acts spend a lot of time maneuvering its characters to deliver a remarkably wrought and candid discussion where both sides of the dilemma are picked apart. If you’re looking for what the movie is trying to say you won’t get far. You can see Hersh thinking and struggling with his own thoughts on the subject through the film. In that way, it’s a morality play. Justice and equity aren’t necessarily found. Instead, the movie asks you to confront your own opinions. In that sense, the movie is something to celebrate.
Hersh is unafraid to bring up the arguments that may be difficult to face. He is unraveling complex themes from how queerness could breed its own privilege and how progressiveness is often paradoxical. We want to think we know the “right” thing to do in this situation. The Surrogates asks whether that even exists.
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However, something didn’t connect for me. As I struggled to figure it out while being genuinely compelled in the story, I realized it wasn’t that anything was wrong with the movie. It’s that it was too right — too clean. Every character and interaction felt like it was built to explore this single topic rather than watching characters experience it. The focus could be welcome in some cases. In The Surrogate, it left me gasping for who the characters are outside of the moral conundrum that they’re facing.
In particular, I was disappointed we didn’t explore Jess more and what inspired her passionate reaction to the situation. Her unflinching optimism is admirable and interesting but never explained. We’re left to just accept it as a fact of her character. It’s when her perspective is challenged that The Surrogate feels alive. On stage — or as a short — the story could have been electric. It is electric at some points but never finds its footing.
What Hersh and the cast accomplish is something to celebrate. I just wish the messiness of its themes found their way into the story and the characters were more often faced with the imperfections of their arguments. Still, The Surrogate tells an essential story. Hersh has vision — and talent — that much is apparent.
Big Time Adolescence follows the friendship between a stoner burnout and a high school student whose debaucherous
Quick review: Big Time Adolescence is a surprisingly sweet character study about growing up and not growing up.
Big Time Adolescence is the perfect vehicle for a comedy star like Pete Davidson to make the jump to film. It premiered at last year’s Sundance Film Festival to much buzz following his highly-publicized breakup with Ariana Grande. The film and his performance came as a surprise — Davidson could act. Now, more than a year later and a clearer space to evaluate it, that still stands. And it isn’t just the surprise that a Saturday Night Live player could handle something more than just a comedy sketch, Davidson delivers a lot of nuance within a character that we’ve come so much to associate with him.
Davidson plays Zeke, who is an effortlessly cool and debaucherous high school student when we’re introduced to him. His then-girlfriend Kate (Emily Arlook) and her little brother Mo (Griffin Gluck) — short for Monroe — are infatuated with his no-care attitude. Six years later, Kate is long gone applying for law schools while Mo, now a high schooler, and Zeke still hang out nearly every night.
It’s easy to see what a teen growing up in a decaying suburb would see in Zeke. He has a house (albeit a dirty frat house-like shack), a girlfriend (Sydney Sweeney), and spends his days playing video games, drinking, smoking, and still not having a care in the world. To Mo, he’s a hero. Director and screenwriter Jason Orley builds their relationship with jaunty conversations and interactions that show just how much care the pair have for each other. Davidson and Gluck find chemistry that feels organic, exactly how you’d expect a pair with their story to act.
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There’s a sweetness to Big Time Adolescence that’s surprising. Admittedly, when I came into the movie I was expecting raunchy sex jokes and gay panic humor. Instead, it’s a surprisingly measured character study. Mo’s fascination with Zeke, that is a borderline obsession (they’re with each other every free minute they have), weighs heavily on Mo’s father Reuben (Jon Cryer), who is wary of the influence Zeke has on Mo. However, the movie is careful not to stray into cliches with the relationship even when the plot does. Zeke doesn’t mean harm to Mo and Mo isn’t played as a nerdy kid trying to be cool for laughs.
When Mo is invited to a senior party, one Zeke was credited with inventing (his supposed claim to fame), Zeke suggests he uses the opportunity to sell pot to the more than willing students. Though hesitant at first, Mo quickly warms to the idea when he realizes it buys him clout with the popular kids and gets him invited to parties where he can talk to his crush Sophie (Oona Laurence).
But again, though it’s a storyline we’ve seen over and over before, Orley keeps the movie focused on his characters. In particular, Mo learning to be a teen and Zeke learning to be an adult. There’s so much nuance in their journies, especially with Davidson, whose performance finds an emotional complexity that has until now been wasted on meaningless projects. The stoner burnout manchild could easily become a caricature, but Davidson gives him texture — he feels lived in. Orley finds the insecurities and shows them to us in subtle ways. Gluck does equally good work by portraying Mo as a kid awkwardly finding his footing.
The final scene is where Big Time Adolescence feels important — frankly, it reminded me of the final Ramona monologue in Hustlers. The journey for the two boys is set and in their final conversation together they navigate what that means for their relationship. It’s so emotional for a movie I thought would be inundated with offensive humor just because of its star. Yet another reason to never discount someone based on their history. Big Time Adolescence isn’t perfect, largely because it is weighed down by its less-than-original plot. Still, the thematic depths it finds is great and the characters it creates even better.
The Invisible Man modernizes the classic 1933 Universal Monsters movie with a take on abusive relationships, gaslighting, and toxic masculinity
Quick review: The Invisible Man is a terrifyingly suspenseful and emotional modern update to the 1933 original film.
★★★★★
It would have been so easy for director Leigh Whannell to go for easy scares with a premise like The Invisible Man. Instead, he almost does the exact opposite and allows the movie to build to something as he flips H. G. Wells’ 1897 science fiction novel and 1933 film adaptation into the modern age.
In this version, we follow Cecilia Kass (Elizabeth Moss) as she starts her new life after finally getting away from her abusive ex-boyfriend Adrian Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), a renowned scientist and entrepreneur. In the opening scene, we watch Cecilia execute her long-awaited plan as she slips out of bed having just drugged Adrian to keep him asleep. It’s a perfect example of how much of a grasp Whannell has on constructing a horror set piece. He uses sound, silence, camera movements, and Moss’ stellar performance — that only gets better — to make the escape almost unbearable to watch. The tension he creates is Hitchcockian.
Cecilia makes it out with help from her sister Emily (Harriet Dyer) and begins living with James (Aldis Hodge), a childhood friend, and his daughter Sydney (Storm Reid). While she’s escaped Adrian’s grasp, she still feels his presence, even after she learns that Adrian committed suicide.
Putting the sci-fi elements aside, Whannell focuses on a feeling that many women have expressed after experiencing trauma — including abusive relationships, assault and harassment. The lack of control that Cecilia had in the relationship has made her paranoid and unable to truly feel safe. In a stunning monologue, she explains that she lost control of every aspect of her life. As the movie progresses, it begins to dive into other facets of abusive relationships.
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While an odd coincidence here and there make Cecilia feel uneasy, it’s when she finds out after fainting at a job interview that she had high levels of Diazepam in her system, the drug she used to sedate Adrian to escape, that she becomes convinced that Adrian is alive and found a way to make himself invisible so he could stalk her. Naturally, James, Emily, and Adrian’s brother Tom (Tom Griffin) don’t believe her.
The original Invisible Man focused on Adrian, making him the victim as he loses control to science. Here, Cecilia loses control to Adrian. Even after “death,” he finds a way to gaslight her and alienate her from her friends and family. A classic emotional manipulation. Whannell lets so much of the horror be motivated by it. He makes the audience feel like we are losing control too by letting us in on more than the characters are seeing, achieving a feeling of dread. His careful camera placements and movement toy with our sense of the space — often he shows us empty frames and captures Moss from a distance to create negative space around her.
Moss is an emotional powerhouse continuing to deliver on the promise she showed in other genre movies like Us. Just like Toni Collette in Hereditary, she doesn’t let the role get away from her. Her performance is heightened, but not over the top. There needs to be some grounding for the movie to work as it thankfully doesn’t overexplain itself. Moss gives that to us.
The Invisible Man is a terrific exercise in broad horror. Without compromising its rich themes or depriving the audience of moments of terror to hang onto, Whannell is able to make an artfully made and emotional movie that feels auteur-driven but still made for the mainstream. As we keep moving forward in this new Golden Age of horror, it’s clear he’s going to join Jordan Peele and Ari Aster as a staple of it.
Premature follows teen poet Ayanna as she navigates love, friendship, and adulthood in the last summer months before college
Quick review: Premature may feel familiar but it distinguishes itself as a singular story of first love and growing up.
Premature begins with electricity. The only kind of electricity you can find on a crowded New York City subway in the summer — well, crowded for a movie version of New York at least. Ayanna (co-screenwriter Zora Howard), a black teen poet, is spaced out watching a couple make out passionately as her friends talk around her. She notices a group of men staring at them and calls one of them over to give his number to her friend. It’s that tenacity the quickly endears us to her. She may seem mature, but eventually, we’re reminded that when we meet her she’s just seventeen and looking forward to getting away to college.
The beginning of Premature develops like Weekendor even Before Sunrise. Ayanna and her friends are watching a pickup game of basketball in their Harlem neighborhood — you can feel the vibes of summer in New York — when she spots a new face. Isaiah (Joshua Boone) and Ayanna lock eyes — then begin to fall immediately. The screenplay, that Howard co-wrote with director Rashaad Ernesto Green based on the short film of the same name, lets us fall with them. In just ten minutes, we know who Isaiah is and we start to understand that Ayanna is hiding who she wants to be as any 17-year-old on the precipice of adulthood would.
Green directs each of their scenes with so much intimacy that is usually so hard to translate onto film. The first time they have sex it starts aggressively — like two bodies yearning for each other crashing together — before Isaiah slows it down by playing one of his late father’s old jazz records. The focus on touch and their bodies is reminiscent of how Barry Jenkins tenderly portrays love in his films. Green clearly has been studying.
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In the first act, you forget that Ayanna is still really a kid living at home counting down the days to college. And her whirlwind romance with Isaiah starts to remind us of that. There are moments of soaring romance — a conversation at sunset on the Hudson, a rooftop love session — and devastating realism — old flames and the always burgeoning future — all connected by Ayanna’s sensitively written poems.
Howard is remarkable as the starry-eyed but witty and tough Ayanna. She portrays her as a girl that feels she has it all figured out yet hasn’t faced the challenges of an adult yet truly. Those challenges come on the outskirts like when her mother asks her how she expects to pay for school or a heated discussion about police brutality and harassment boils over. Largely, though, it’s an internal struggle for her rather than one affected by society, as a whole. Green said, “there was an overabundance of black films with narratives driven by themes of black victimization, black fear, and black pain.” Premature is rooted in the black experience but portrays it for its beauty.
The movie starts to swerve into cliches as it slowly creeps towards its finale and maybe goes on a single beat too long. However, this is a reminder of how powerful quiet indie cinema can be when it’s rooted in a clear point of view and place. It feels distinctly New York and black and female — which means you should seek out black voices talking about the film like these reviews from Nijla Mu’min and Carla Renata — but at the same time warmly familiar of a time when you were ready to be old but were still young.
To All The Boys: P.S. I Still Love You picks up with Lara Jean and Peter officially dating, but a new suitor is bringing trouble to the honeymoon
Quick review: I fell in love with To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, but the sequel P.S. I Still Love You makes me think I want to see other people.
To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before felt like a breath of fresh air when it premiered two years ago on Netflix. It came on the heels of a renaissance in romantic comedies that still firmly used the formula we all know and fall for but subverted it in some way. Already by having Lara Jean (Lana Condor), a half-Korean American teen girl, as its lead it felt new. It found its heart in places other than the romance whether it the bond between the three Covey sisters, eldest Margot (Janel Parrish) and youngest Kitty (Anna Cathcart), or remember their late mother. If anything, the romance was secondary to Lara’s own journey. That’s why it was disappointing that the sequel To All the Boys: P.S. I Still Love You felt like a regression into the genre’s cliches.
Lara Jean and Peter (Noah Centineo) are officially a couple — the hottest at the school to boot. But the girlfriend thing is new to Lara. She doesn’t know the “right” things to do and it doesn’t help that Peter’s ex Genevieve (Emilija Baranac) is always around. So when John Ambrose (Jordan Fisher), one of the recipients of Lara Jean’s love letters, writes back she doesn’t know what to do. Is it wrong that she felt a heart flutter when she read the letter? She’s supposed to love Peter. Still, it’s clear that they’re both heads over heels for each other so she doesn’t think much of the feeling. Of course, this isn’t the last we hear of John Ambrose.
As part of the school’s volunteer program, Lara Jean volunteers at Belleview Retirement Home where eccentric resident Stormy (Holland Taylor), who knew her sister when she volunteered there, shows her the ropes. It’s all looking up until John himself shows up to volunteer causing Lara Jean to quite literally fall for him — she actually slips and falls to the ground. So there’s the set up: on one hand there’s the new, exciting and sweet John Ambrose who seemingly always knows the right things to say and on the other there’s Peter who she went through so much to be with but seems to be failing at the boyfriend game.
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There are some moments where the movie comes alive like one where Lara Jean, Peter, John Ambrose, Gen, and Lara Jean’s cousin Chris (Madeleine Arthur) go to an old treehouse they used to hang out in as kids to dig up a time capsule they buried. However, much of the movie feels like it’s on an Ambien. P.S. I Still Love You loses so much of the glow the first film had by falling too far into cliches that we’ve seen in so many rom-coms with a love triangle at the center. In particular, making Peter almost too unlikeable versus John Ambrose who is too perfect pulls the tension out of the affair and makes the final act frustrating.
The same goes for the performances. In the first Condor was endearing as a woefully naive high schooler. Here she feels sedated like she’s indifferent rather than torn between the two boys. And for much of the movie Centineo is sidelined depriving us of the effortless charm that catapulted him into stardom. Thankfully, Fisher more than makes up for it with his pitch-perfect and heart-stealing turn as the sweet John Ambrose. Still, P.S. I Still Love You leaves much to be desired.
Was To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a fluke? Perhaps. I would have loved to have seen director Susan Johnson’s take on the sequel — Michael Fimognari made his feature directorial debut with this film.
What’s stunning about Alfonso Cuarón’s 2006 film Children of Men is that it has somehow become more relevant as time has gone on. In a world where the Syrian refugee crisis, Brexit, and Donald Trump’s war on immigrants all occurred within years of each other — and are all probably connected — Children of Men is hauntingly feasible in its portrayal of the world in 2027.
Though the film was commercially a failure, its enjoyed a critical admiration that resulted in it becoming one of the most-praised films of the 2000s. Now, Best Buy has released it as an exclusive limited-edition Blu-ray steelbook with updated artwork, which is why I’m taking a look back and parse out why it’s one of the best films of the 2000s.
Children of Men builds its world like many dystopian films have in the past. If anything, its exposition-heavy first 25 minutes are a little heavy-handed in its setup. However, that allows the rest of the film to be nothing but a forward and propulsive narrative that takes few minutes to slow down. And contrary to most films, it starts with a bang.
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In a crowded deli, people stare on in disbelief at a news broadcast announcing that the youngest person in the world known as Baby Diego has died. That moment is a watershed moment for the entire planet since it’s been 18 years since a baby was born. This global infertility has driven civilization to the brink of collapse.
Few countries have a functioning government. The UK is one of the countries to maintain some type of stability. Although, with the influx of refugees, called fugees, has caused the country to close its borders and consider any immigrant a criminal.
The parallels to today are astonishing. Of course, the tangible cause of the rampant xenophobia we’re seeing in the US and the UK today isn’t a catastrophic world event like in “Children of Men”. However, the root of the issue in both the film and real life is fear. In the film, it’s the fear of extinction.
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Without the ability to reproduce, the human race will eventually go extinct. In our current climate, xenophobia isn’t just fear of immigrants, it’s the fear of a certain population’s way of life being threatened. Director Alfonso Cuarón was tapping into the 2000s wave of anti-immigrant sentiment in the shadow of 9/11. Little did he know he was foretelling actual action on the sentiment in the form of Brexit and Donald Trump.
Of course, there is resistance to Britain’s handling of the world crisis. That comes in the form of the fishes, an immigrant rights group that is led by Julian (Julianne Moore). The group is highly organized and has renounced violence as a tactic in their fight against the police state that Britain has turned into.
Although, the government has begun staging terrorist attacks and blaming it on the fishes to turn public opinion against them. Theo (Clive Owen), Julian’s ex-husband, although once involved in the cause, has lapsed into complacency and begun working for the Ministry of Energy.
As Theo travels to meet his elderly friend Jasper (Michael Caine), we see a PSA touting Britain’s place as one of the few countries that survived the collapse of the world, a group of people attacking the train he’s on, and the military detaining groups of immigrants. It truly feels like the end times.
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Though Theo has done his best to distance himself from the fishes’ cause, he is pulled back in when Julian asks for his help in transporting Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey), an illegal immigrant, through the country to a mysterious group known as the Human Project. The group is rumored to consist of scientists dedicated to creating a cure for the world’s infertility that Kee could be the actual Key to. That’s because Kee is revealed to be pregnant. The first pregnant woman in 18 years.
Theo is taken aback by this reveal, which sends him into a whirlwind of a mission to protect Kee and deliver her to the Human Project along with midwife Miriam (Pam Ferris). This journey eventually leads him to a hellish landscape that is captured by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki similarly to how a war reporter would capture war zone.
The final 25 minutes is truly filmmaking at its absolute best. Cuarón stages perhaps the most impressive set pieces in history as Theo and Kee make their final push for the meeting point with the Human Project.
Lubezki, who will famously go on to win the Academy Award for Best Cinematography three consecutive years in a row, does his best work to date in this film. Every shot feels so intentional and full of emotional weight. He doesn’t waste a single moment of film. Movies tend to have one or two shots that become iconic. Children of Men has countless of those shots.
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Cuarón stages action in a way that is intense and chaotic, yet fluid and kinetic. There are three sequences in particular that display this well — the final 25 minutes being one of them. The most famous, though, is probably the car sequence shortly following Theo’s introduction to Kee.
The camera smoothly swivels around to track the narrative happening in the car while a different action set piece is happening outside of it. Both are occurring simultaneously, yet it’s easy to track what is happening from both perspectives. It’s magnificent filmmaking. It’s that kind of kinetic direction that propels Children of Men forward to its magnificent conclusion.
I’ve watched Children of Men a few times, however, this is the first time watching it that I got emotional towards the end. We’ve gone through the wringer the past couple years. As political rhetoric has become more severe and empathy has seemingly gone missing from society, the situation we find ourselves in becomes increasingly hopeless.
Children of Men could be taken as an indictment of war, a denouncement of xenophobia and anti-immigrant policies, a take on the Holocaust, a religious allegory. In reality, it’s probably all those things. And despite its bleakness, it ends with the sound of children playing over the credits. It’s the sound of hope. It’s all the more effective now when hope feels like something we left with the Obama administration.
There’s a period of silence during the intense and graphic final act that feels, more than any other moment, like the coda of the film. Though there are countless messages that can be derived from Children of Men, one sticks out. When we take time to bond over what we have in common, rather than what makes us different, we can find peace, if even for a moment.
The Father puts you in the shoes of a man (Anthony Hopkins) suffering from dementia as he tries to figure out what his reality truly is
While Sundance has had a mixed track record in recent years as a platform to launch an Oscar contender, I have almost no doubt in my mind that Anthony Hopkins will receive a Best Actor nomination for his performance as the eponymous father Anthony in playwright Florian Zeller’s directorial debut The Father, which played in the Premieres section at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival. It’s a rarity for an actor as esteemed as Hopkins to get another career-defining performance this late, but there’s no other way to describe it other than a tour-de-force and perhaps his greatest role to date.
Adapting from his own play Le Père, Zeller tells the story of Anthony (Hopkins), an elderly man who recently moved in with his daughter Anne (Oscar winner and overall lovely human Olivia Colman). For much of the beginning of the movie, it seems like a pretty standard drama about a man facing a deteriorating mental state as he deals with dementia — similar to Michael Haneke’s Amour, a film I adore. He’s forgetful and sometimes paranoid, particularly about his watch, which he believes his caretaker stole.
However, as the movie unfolds, it becomes clear that we’re watching it from Anthony’s perspective. It starts out slow at first, small changes in the environment, forgotten names or events. At one point his daughter tells him she’s moving to Paris to be with her new husband. The next, she’s still married to the man she’s always been with (Mark Gatiss). In the next, that man changes to a completely different person (Rufus Sewell).
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Zeller begins to play with the viewer in other ways. More than any movie about dementia I’ve seen in the past, it truly gives you the feeling of what it feels like to be in and out of lucidity. Suffering from dementia should feel like a horror movie and that’s what The Father achieves. Surprisingly, it’s the moments of clarity — if there ever truly is one — that are the most horrific. You’re never sure what reality actually is.
Hopkins’ is an emotional powerhouse whose empathetic performance is impossible to not completely give in to. While the movie, to its fault, sometimes feels a little too much like a play adapted to the screen, it feels like an honor to be front row to such a raw and emotive performance. Not once does it ring false. Brilliantly, you can see the man that Anthony once was beneath the confusion.
It’s difficult to make a movie about this subject matter move with so much rhythm. However, once The Father has you, it’s hard to fall out of its momentum. It may feel stagey at times, as movies based on plays often feel, but it almost works for the effect that Zeller is going for. The devastating final act is when you finally crash to reality and Anthony Hopkins delivers some of the greatest work I think I’ve seen on screen. It may be early, but one of your Oscar frontrunners is here.
