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Licorice Pizza (2021)
Pure Magic
This may become my new favorite Paul Thomas Anderson film. It's hard to think of a movie I've seen in a long time that can compete with it for raw charm. While stressing that it's best experienced, not written about, I think several elements of it particularly merit praise and discussion.
You've probably already heard the acclaim for Alana Haim's magnificent leading performance. Her debut role is fully worthy of the praise it has seen. Even this film's minor parts, however, shine under Anderson's direction. I was particularly entranced by the performances he receives from the younger brother and childhood friends of teenaged Greg, the film's other lead. They're great as sources of light-hearted banter, and the brother gives an excellent subdued performance during in a scene where Greg makes a consequential telephone call. Every character feels fully lived-in.
The film bears obvious comparisons to Quentin Tarantino's Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, and also to Anderson's own Boogie Nights. However, what he's cooked up for us is less sleazy than other retrospective LA films: it's a coming-of-age tale set in grimy 1970s Los Angeles, but with its characters ensconced in the protective glow of a fantasized adolescence.
Anderson continuously makes us feel that Alana's plot armor is on the verge of dissolving. In one scene, she spies Greg sitting in a police station from afar. A vehicle speeds through the frame across the street that separates them. She steps into the street, her eyes rapt on Greg, oblivious to all else. Danger seems to lurk at every turn; Anderson tracks her in center frame as she walks dark streets, and we observe her sexual harassment at the hands of most of the men she encounters. The way she navigates the world as a 25 year old woman suggests the need for more maturity (as her sister points out, she hangs out with a 15 year old and his friends all the time), but the necessary growth seems to require acceptance of a world she doesn't much like.
On the other hand, Greg (played by Cooper Hoffman in another of the film's stunning debut performances) would much rather be grown up. Rather than focused on his math homework, as Alana teasingly suggests he should be, he's intent on being an actor, a business man, a lover. Yet these goals are always tantalizingly out of reach, as he begins to realize when he fails to notice that global politics have suddenly impacted his water bed hustle.
A similar problem arises in Greg's attempts to woo Alana; he's set himself too high a goal, not because he's inherently unworthy but because a relationship with her would be more appropriate for a man of 25. He watches as older men take their shots at Alana. They can do this both because they're eligible suitors and because they can force themselves on her, while his inability to do this marks him as a child. He is therefore put in a position where he must move beyond the mere desire to be grown up and decide what kind of grown up he wants to be.
Spotlighting prominent themes as I've just done threatens to miss the point. The movie works its magic in the way these two characters converge on screen. The plot itself is hermetic; the script will charm you off your feet and Anderson's control of mise-en-scene will carry you to the end of the movie before you can think to ask what the stakes are. Licorice Pizza is a raucous delight, its 35mm film stock texture a gorgeous reminder of the power of cinema. Sentimental though it may sound, I found myself in tears as I stared up at the glow of the 70mm screening I attended. There is so much to love in this movie, and I recommend it to everyone.
A Hidden Life (2019)
A beautiful return to traditional narrative for Malick
Terrence Malick's return to narrative form was unexpected to me, but I was looking forward to this film with a lot of enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I was just about the only one. The film opened tonight at my local theater, playing on the biggest screen they have, and only about 15 others showed up to watch it with me. As this film is more conventional than his recent features, I think a mainstream audience would very much enjoy it, and so it's really too bad that it's been ignored. I encourage everyone to go see it in theaters before it's gone.
Malick is still at his peak in terms of cinematography, but you might have expected his ability to get convincing performances out of actors to have waned from lack of use. Not so; while the performances are heightened to suit Malick's romantic style, they're also perfectly naturalistic whenever he needs them to be.
Although we're back on the guide rails of a traditional structure, the way in which Malick tells a story has not changed. We have the same obsession with nature imagery, with numerous lengthy shots. In this case it's mostly used for the purpose of straightforward symbolism, though the film's themes make use of it as well in ways that are more subtle. That "A Hidden Life" follows a less experimental approach also makes it more obvious that Malick has begun to repeat himself. Viewers will recognize many shots and visual metaphors from his previous films, perhaps most directly the highly-choreographed "couple meeting" shot. Much of the music is reused as well, with Malick continuing his reliance on Górecki to provide emotional weight. Not that this is ineffective - the small crowd at my theater found itself in tears at several points - but I think Malick is a bit too reliant on quoting himself to get the point across, and I'd like to see something entirely fresh from him. One bright spot was in the camera work. Though we see many of the same meandering camera movements as before, it's sharply edited to direct our attention to the narrative's subjects.
Surprisingly, as Malick's works (after "Badlands") tend to be very independent, the film reminded me of several from other directors. It's hard to imagine this film being made without Scorsese's "Silence" and Paul Schrader's "First Reformed" from the last several years. Several scenes and the use of camera angles in general owe a lot to Dreyer's "La passion de Jeanne d'Arc" as well. The strongest thematic resemblance of all, in my mind, was to "Calvary" (2014). Even if Malick had these films in mind as he made "A Hidden Life", the references are limited, and he delivers something genuinely new and unique for us to appreciate.
On its surface, the story is the simple one we've seen in a thousand forms. It's a story about human freedom and the responsibility that comes with it, and about what it means to be complicit. Themes like these are at the core of our understanding of people like Sophie Scholl, and they echo through our cultural memory down from the Nuremberg trials. Malick offers us something a little more subtle than that, although it's hard to notice at first. First we're asked to embrace the frailty of the human being, Franz, on the screen, and to understand him as a person who (like us) cannot see his place in history, and can only act here and now as he sees best for himself and his family. How can we understand sacrifice as a possibility if we can have no clear picture of the totality of the world in which we act?
"Through faith" seems to be the answer Franz and his wife Fani give us. They are devoted Christians, and the film's close examination of the faith they practice makes this the most explicitly religious among Malick's canon of spiritual films. Fani expresses the belief that all things will work together for their good, because they love God and endeavor to do his will. As we watch the film, it's very tempting to try to guess whether or not their trust will be rewarded. But no matter what happens in the film, we leave the theater to live - like them - lives of not-knowing, waiting, and hoping. What happens if God doesn't answer?
While that possibility might seem devastating at first, Malick has something hopeful and universal to offer. We're reminded in one of Malick's trademark voiceovers that "rain falls on the just and the unjust", reflecting trust in "the way of grace" he alludes to in "The Tree of Life". What we see in Malick is faith that our actions will be granted meaning in history, but he offers no visible guarantor of that trust. He shows us how this kind of faith helps Franz and Fani make difficult decisions, and cope with their lives' most challenging moments. Some of us may be tempted to think that kind of simple trust simplistic, but the framing of the film doesn't give us that option. We look at their actions as readers of history. When we affirm that their lives have meaning, we validate the faith by which they led those lives.
The film is a truly beautiful experience, and I urge you to see it on the biggest screen you can. While this is a relatively simple feature and occasionally self-indulgent, it's a rare treat to see the work of a great filmmaker doing what he does best. If you've been put off by Malick's previous slow-paced, more experimental films, I think you'll find this one much easier to watch. It doesn't feel its length at all (3 hours 5 minutes, according to the theater staff - possibly lengthened since it was shown in festivals), and parts of it are tightly edited enough to make my heart pound. It's a thrilling story told by our greatest creator of cinematic poetry.
The Irishman (2019)
A soul damned beyond recall
In a magnificent performance, Robert De Niro plays Frank Sheeran, a man who becomes a pitiless killer for his bosses. Sheeran is expected to show them unflinching loyalty, but is never rewarded for his efforts by promotion out of the role of Teamster grunt. He receives only his superiors' recognition as a trustworthy man and the symbols of loyalty they bestow on him. Fortunately for his bosses, he's a man who values loyalty highly: he wears the mark of their trust for the rest of his life and carries their secrets to his grave.
This puts him in the unique position of experiencing first hand the effects of living by violence one's whole life. In Scorsese's other films, we frequently encounter depraved characters who enjoy every pleasure that life can offer without the filmmaker's explicit condemnation. We begin to understand how we too are wired to be attracted to their lifestyle, but we also watch these temptations damage a person by crushing their ability to live a recognizably human life. In Scorsese's films, we're allowed to decide for ourselves whether the cost is worth it, just as we are in life. Yet I doubt whether any Scorsese character has ever lost so much for so little benefit as Frank Sheeran. If De Niro wasn't utterly convincing in the role, if we didn't see the strength of his loyalty and friendships, we'd feel that Scorsese had finally become a moralizer.
We spend the first half of the film trailing De Niro as he becomes a hardened killer. As he turns his natural talents and creativity to evil, we see him corrupted by his connections until the path he ends up following seems like his only prospect. As this happens, we see the destruction it wreaks on his family. He grows distant from his wife and children, eventually becoming severed from them entirely. When they do meet, he's reduced to muttering empty platitudes about "trying to protect them", unable to find any way to connect. We're left to wonder if any reward could be worth destroying the love others have for you. Along the way we're treated to some wonderful acting from the family members, particularly Anna Paquin as Peggy Sheeran.
Stylistically, The Irishman is a good deal less showy than Scorsese's early films, and features simpler set design than The Wolf of Wall Street. The result is a grittier gangster film than Goodfellas, which further serves to minimize any visceral appeal of De Niro's character. Any desire to live like Sheeran is adrenaline fueled, not created by glamor. This creates additional empathetic distance between the character and ourselves, forcing us to ask how he found himself on this road. Like Esau, he sold his inheritance for a bowl of stew. Is that a realistic story? Scorsese would have us believe it is.
The Wolf of Wall Street is a film that showcases the range of pleasures available to the wealthy, along with the damage they do to others, one's family, and oneself, and asks us to say "no" in our hearts to this life. Does The Irishman have similar intentions? No. Leonardo DiCaprio's character Jordan Belfort is not hopelessly lost. However unlikely it seems, he could find the way back to a decent life. If that does turn out to be impossible, it's as much the result of American culture as it is his personal failings. Not so in The Irishman. It's hard to imagine an environment more apt to produce repentance than where Sheeran finds himself. He's surrounded by kind nurses and a very sympathetic priest who visits him regularly. The film makes it clear, however, that he's incapable of reform. It spends a remarkable amount of time at the end of the film considering just what it means to be damned. It's like a gangster's Wild Strawberries.
Most of us are inclined to be hopeful about even the worst cases and think hardly anyone could be too far gone. The priest is such a person; he helpfully puts words in De Niro's mouth and suggests that one can be repentant even if one does not feel it. He needs Sheeran to be, if not redeemed, at least redeemable. But Sheeran's case is more severe than any of Scorsese's previous characters. This is a person who's able to understand the desirability of being a better person, but whose soul is so dead that he's incapable of wishing for it in his heart, unable to see any path from here to there. All that is left for him is waiting for death to make an end of waiting. This miserable condition is what wrings pity out of us despite the distance. We are not him, but we could be.
As expected, all the technical elements of the film are top notch. The acting performances in particular shine, and it's great to see De Niro, Pacino, Keitel, Pesci, and the rest together again. (The boys are back!) The fact that I could never have guessed how many visual effects artists worked on the film speaks for itself. Scorsese shows his usual impeccable taste on the soundtrack. And Thelma Schoonmaker's editing deserves a lengthy review in itself. In short, I suspect this film will be widely acknowledged as one of Scorsese's best, and it demands to be seen on the biggest screen you can find it on. Yet what stands out the most to me is how well all of these elements were put to use to tell such a remarkable story, both like and unlike anything Scorsese has told before.
The Lighthouse (2019)
A brilliant and beautiful story
It's rare to see a new director develop such a strong personal style so early as Robert Eggers, but one really feels as though he has come into his own with The Lighthouse. While The Witch was certainly a wonderful film, and I don't want to say this one is better, the director's fingerprints are on even clearer display in The Lighthouse. Some themes are in common. We see, for example, how the stories we tell each other reflect our own weaknesses and our shared human frailties. We see how the supernatural (and the stories we tell about it) says as much about how human beings relate to one another as how we relate to it. Yet what shines forth from The Lighthouse is the care put into every moment and the consistency of vision; watching the film is akin to sitting around a warm fireside with Eggers, listening to his stories.
It's tempting to try to reduce the film to a small set of central themes, but doing so belies the complexity of the characters that makes any summary necessarily inadequate. Despite the fact that the story can accurately be called a yarn, the characters themselves are entirely believable as real people. It's impossible to come away from the film without understanding that the back stories of each character, shadowy though they are, play an irreducible part in defining the people we see on the screen. No one in this film can be entirely a drunkard, madman, or fiend, because any of these descriptions falls short of explaining them to us. Their authenticity as real people alone would make this film a must-see, as they are wonderfully portrayed by Pattinson and Dafoe.
Despite this, it is clear that Eggers has something to say about masculinity, and once again it's the subtlety of his approach that makes it exceptional. The Lighthouse is not out to preach to anyone. What another film would argue for, or rudely declare, Eggers gently portrays and leaves us to do the interpreting. Rather than give a rational breakdown of masculinity, or take a subversive approach by revealing its emotional side, Eggers chooses to depict. He gives us two characters who are quite aligned in personality, to reveal how two wills inevitably clash because of their similarities, not their differences. For Eggers, masculinity does not argue its case rationally, nor compel with emotional weight, but seduces, insists, and demands.
We see in the film the forces of guilt, power, libido, knowledge, and homoeroticism, and how they necessarily interlock in the masculine. While the sexual always plays out in terms of power relations, likewise power relations cannot exist without the sexual. Though one character tries to follow "the rules", applying his whole will and rationality to resist these urges, their enchanting power proves great enough to strain him to the breaking point. Throughout, the light they maintain together functions as a symbol of the irresistibly potent combination of knowledge, sexuality, and power that forms the ideological subject of the film. In one memorable flourish, Eggers ties these specific characters and their conflict to Greek mythology with a shocking visual - one that suggests the curse that lies on the path these characters follow. The scenes in the film dealing with these concepts provide a rather heady brew, but fortunately everything stays grounded in the excellent story-telling.
As most people have heard already, the performances and direction are both superb. Likewise, the cinematography and almost unnoticeable musical backing are not only beautiful and successful at making their mark on the viewer, they also intimate the same care and unique perspective as the script. It's not common to see a film with this much artistry in every shot; anyone who appreciates film will enjoy every minute.
My one serious criticism is about the pacing of a 10 minute stretch around halfway through the film. I did love the moderate pace of the long introduction, which really gives you time to sink into the atmosphere and these characters. But once the story seems to have picked up, it takes a brief tangent that slows the momentum built up by the middle of the movie. For those seeing it in theaters, I also noticed what seemed to be some strange moire-like artifacts in the grain during the first five minutes or so of the film, possibly caused by compression problems in the DCP. This wasn't too distracting, however, and I believe it went away after that.
Overall, Eggers has delivered another near perfect film that has quite a lot in it for everyone to enjoy. It's beautiful without being showy, and interesting without being didactic. Consider this review a 9.5/10.
John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum (2019)
Immaculate fight choreography, but JW3 is less fun than previous entries
The filmmakers of John Wick: Chapter 3 are well aware of how good their film looks. The credits at the end of the film play over a ballet montage, a fitting tribute to the stylish combat we've just witnessed. One of Wick's opponents asks him to confirm that "the fight was pretty good"; Wick growls back a "yeah". Self-awareness aside, there's really nothing to criticize here. John Wick 3 contains simply the best choreography I've ever seen. The stunt work is brilliant, and the actors collide in ways that go beyond merely satisfying to also feel right in every moment. It's perfectly convincing: there's a new standard for directing action scenes and we can only hope future directors take notes.
All of the action is greatly enhanced by the brilliant camerawork and beautiful cinematography. Both are among the best I've seen in an action film. It's common to hear complaints about modern action scenes being muddled or ugly. There's none of that here. These scenes were perfectly edited. The physical layout of each location was fully established and the cuts were just fast enough to increase my heart rate without becoming confusing. I knew where all of the principals were the entire time. As all this suggests, when it comes to the execution of the action portions of the film, the third entry in this series is superb and even better than the first two. The set pieces are consistently clever, too, such as when an on-the-run Wick ducks into a museum of antique weapons.
So if you're after more Wick, you'll probably enjoy this film. However, I also want to talk about how part of it didn't work for me. I'm sure some will see it differently; the difficulty is that what works is something that varies quite a bit from person to person. That said, one thing I really liked about the first two films in the series is how fun they were. The first two Wick films were situated about halfway between your standard light-hearted action fare and the sort of wild action thriller I'm talking about. This film is darker and more violent. There are plenty of films that redeem a bunch of over-the-top action violence by portraying it in a kind of goofy or winking way; films I love like Mandy or many films by Quentin Tarantino fit this category. Wick 3 has the over-the-top action, but it doesn't wink at you during these scenes.
This isn't reflected in its rating in the United States (the MPAA knows no nuance), but in British Columbia (Canada) the new film goes from a 14A to an 18A. The Wick series is not a beast of drama or complexity: any wrinkles in the story are in the service of entertainment. So I question the writing decision to move the series in the direction of fairly horrific killings and mutilations. These moments are mostly not fun. They're not cases of the movie elbowing you and saying, "hey, isn't this the kind of thing that only a movie can do?", as Tarantino does in Django Unchained.
So I'd have preferred the movie to be just as wild and well-made as it turned out to be, but a touch more light-hearted as well. You can have all the brilliant filmmaking you'd like, but the movie still has to work as entertainment, and in that regard it slips a bit compared to the previous two films. When parts of an action film stop being fun, it starts to drag, and I was ready for it to wrap up about 30 minutes before it ended. I'm sure there are people for whom the film in its entirety will work, and that's great. For me, however, it wasn't quite the fun ride of the first two.
Booksmart (2019)
A messy but fun coming-of-age story
To make one thing clear right away, Beanie Feldstein (Lady Bird) is a great actress, and definitely the best part of the movie. Kaitlyn Dever is great in it as well. Most importantly, the majority of the comedy worked for me. There are some great quippy lines, and some fun comedy set-pieces. There's a clever drug-induced visual sequence as well (vaguely reminiscent of Climax). Despite the issues I had with the movie as a whole, I consistently found myself laughing along.
Unfortunately, the script is full of problems. Tonally the movie is a bit of a mess: we swing back and forth between drama and comedy much too quickly. Most of the time the film strikes an appropriately goofy tone, but the moments when it tries to be serious happen at random and generally feel unearned. When problems arise for characters or they argue, the script doesn't establish these conflicts beforehand. There's an extremely predictable dramatic twist (you'll know it when you see it) that's bad enough to elicit an actual groan from me.
The first twenty minutes is rough, as it's mostly montage of characters doing "teenage" things, and the acting from some of the younger cast members falls pretty flat here. The film picks up with the introduction of the real premise: Molly and Amy want to prove that they aren't as boring as they appear. This provides enough of a foundation to carry the rest of the movie - though one or two scenes near the end don't work and should have been cut.
The characters are written to be over-the-top (which is fine). The problem is that they're over-the-top in ways that don't really work for the purposes of comedy or character development. For example, both main characters are absorbed with many different social justice causes, but this aspect of their personalities is taken to such an extreme it seems at times like the film is mocking them. To be clear, I don't think it intends to do this, which leaves this whole aspect of the movie in limbo. On on hand, the film can't use the many scenes that illustrate their interest in social justice for any serious or dramatic purpose because they're just too unrealistic. On the other, they aren't really funny either because the film doesn't find any risky humor in them being "too" attached to those causes. The same is true for most of the other characters as well: they're weird, wild, and fun, but they're not weird, wild, and fun versions of high school students. So while the movie gets a lot of mileage out of the funny characters, it never quite feels like a comedy about high schoolers.
The soundtrack doesn't help at all; it's one of the worst I've heard recently. That's not because the songs themselves are bad - there are two (misused) tracks by Run the Jewels that I like, and a score by Dan the Automator - the problem is that the editor used the songs as a blunt instrument to set the mood. There's no personality to the music and it adds nothing to the movie. It's as if they had a quiet playlist and a loud playlist, and they picked random songs from each to play behind different scenes as appropriate. As a result, the worst parts of this movie are a sort of high school version of a trailer for "Bad Moms".
I do want to return to what for me was the most important thing, which is that most of the comedy does land. The worst thing for a comedy is to be dumb or boring, and so for me the success in this area covers a number of sins in others. The parts of the movie that work are charming and whimsical, and the portrayal of the friendship between the two leads is nicely executed. It succeeds in making a simple point near the end about the dangers of stereotyping which, although a little hamfisted, gives the film as a whole a nice structure that allows for some character development. You could do so much worse in a teen comedy, and so I recommend seeing Booksmart to fans of the genre or if you like Beanie Feldstein.
The Favourite (2018)
Another winner from Yorgos Lanthimos
I've seen most of Yorgos Lanthimos's previous films, and not only is The Favourite one of his best, it's also one of his most accessible. As with much of his previous work, it features defective relationships as a central theme. This time, however, the conflict isn't buried in layers of symbolism or allegorical sci-fi; it's immediately apparent. I think this greatly benefits the film, as it helps to channel a complex network of issues into a simple story structure.
In The Favourite, the most prominent defect of the depicted relationships is their imbalance of power. Abigail (Emma Stone) faces the court of Queen Anne (Olivia Colman) as an untitled servant, the court's preying men as an unmarried woman, and her cousin Sarah (Rachel Weisz) as the disgraced daughter of the family drunk. The film asks us to what lengths such a woman must go to defend herself and improve her station, as Abigail is determined to do.
Abigail is a careful observer of the court's internal politics, and quickly learns how to take advantage. Early in the film she expresses surprise that anyone would suspect her of betrayal, but she soon realizes that loyalty has no place at court. The external political circumstances - a war with France and its prosecution - are significant to the court participants only as symbolic wins and losses as they jockey for power and prestige. In this conflict even honesty does not signify love and loyalty, instead doubling a weapon for bullying. Abigail's participation in this wrangling, though it sullies her and her relationships, works in the film because she is vulnerable. A moment of weakness would result in further harm.
This exploration of the effects of power is triumphantly executed with Lanthimos's signature dark humor, and bolstered by a magnificant performance from Emma Stone. Excellent work is turned in by Weisz and Colman as well. This very funny film is a must-see, and because of its accessilibility it makes a great introduction to Lanthimos. Possibly the only complaint I have is that it feels a bit long; I suspect most criticism, however, will come from those expecting a high-society drama played fairly straight. Instead we have this uproarious romp of a film that manages to ask a number of serious questions along the way.
First Reformed (2017)
An astonishing film
I have to urge everyone I can to go see this movie while it's still in theaters. I have often wondered whether people who saw classics during their original releases recognized them in the moment; now I have to believe they do. Perhaps I'm mistaken - but I fully expect First Reformed to appear on many lists of greatest films in 30 years. Unfortunately it seems it will be tragically unappreciated until then.
While viewers will no doubt recognize the references to other Schrader screenplays (Taxi Driver, The Last Temptation of Christ), and the strong thematic resemblance to the Ingmar Bergman film Winter Light, this extraordinary story of a minister in the grip of a divine darkness deserves to be appreciated before being compared.
A tight script and gorgeously bleak cinematography allow Ethan Hawke to explode onto the screen in nearly every scene. While the entire film is a rare gift of near-perfect execution, Hawke in particular displays tremendous expressiveness in his portrayal of a mind's slow unraveling.
Hawke's Toller establishes the key theme early in the film: we're told that we must hold onto both despair and hope simultaneously. Toller's efforts to live this paradox lead him down a path of madness. As Michael (played by Philip Ettinger) makes quite clear, once the idea that despair is realism has taken hold, attempting to continue to live with hope feels at best insincere, at worst hypocritical, and Toller begins to see both of these attitudes at work in his community. This realism structures much of the film (which is why the few moments it strays are so shocking), and necessitates Toller's downward spiral. At its worst, despair causes even genuine concern to appear to be insidious misdirection. What hope can one marry to this kind of despair? Only, Michael suggests, the hope of martyrdom.
We discover that existential crises and sincere Christianity make quite the couple. Toller finds he must reject the cheerful face presented by contemporary Christianity, but as an alternative he can find only the Garden and the Cross. The careful logic of it draws us in; it's difficult to see where Toller goes wrong. Is there room for any real hope in this life? Can God forgive us, or must we find redemption ourselves? Toller, it seems, will be lucky to find the answers he seeks.
Annihilation (2018)
As good as concept sci-fi gets, these days
I've seen convincing arguments that someone like Kubrick couldn't exist in 2018. Any director with a budget large enough to truly innovate will be constrained by the studios' demand to produce something digestible for mainstream audiences. Space Odyssey and The Shining are too difficult for modern audiences. We're too impatient. We demand to understand.
This makes it rather unsurprising that Paramount chickened out and sold the international rights for Annihilation to Netflix in order to recoup some of the costs, an already low-budget picture as far as major studio sci-fi flicks go. This suggested to me that Annihilation was trying to do something bold and original, and I was right.
Let's get this out of the way first. If your model of good sci-fi is Blade Runner, Alien, or Space Odyssey, you're going to be disappointed by Annihilation. That's to be expected. But if you're ready to see something new and interesting that compares favorably with (say) Ex Machina, Annihilation is a godsend.
There's so much it does right, in terms of pacing, characterization, and music. The stuff of good movie-making is all here. Thematically, it grasps hold of its subject (human beings delve into Nature's heart of darkness), and sees it through remarkably. Portman puts in a solid performance as a scientist with secrets, and her character's arc is equally determined by both her human nature and her surroundings. Jennifer Jason Leigh also does a wonderful job, fresh off her performance in Twin Peaks (The Return). The real fireworks of the movie happen when the human, natural, and supernatural all collide. I'll say no more about the plot, however. This is one film which one should go into cold if possible.
Let me also say a little about what goes wrong. The primary problems stem from the studio-driven affordances I've been complaining about. There's much needless use of voice-over and flashback to drive the narrative, which would flow much better if it developed naturally. The need to see and understand generates a reliance on CGI in places that would be better served by practical effects (or none at all). It doesn't help that the CGI is often quite bad. The writing is a bit threadbare at times, and features a couple of unintended laugh-out-loud moments and painfully faux-scientific explanations.
All that's to say that the film could be better. But there's so much bravery in the attempt that it's hard not to love. Go see Annihilation, and support some of the best high concept sci-fi to hit the big screen in a while.
Star Wars: Episode VIII - The Last Jedi (2017)
"We've lost the spark"
Leia accurately summarizes the state of Disney film-making. While, as a big-budget mainstream picture, it's incapable of being offensive or terrible, The Last Jedi tries so hard to be appealing to so many audiences that it never gets around to being good.
There are deeply troubling problems with both the plot and characters of The Last Jedi. These are apparent right away, as Poe, the remake of Harrison Ford's rebel with a cause, begins the movie flatly delivering a series of bad jokes. I emphasize "bad". It's not that the jokes are cheesy; the original trilogy contained its fair share of that. It's the unbearable throwaway groaners that are the common stock of Marvel movies and are slowly infiltrating the rest of Disney's output in the name of pleasing the crowd. And it wouldn't even matter so much that the jokes were bad, if they had at least the redeeming feature of reflecting some aspect of Poe's character. They do not. Instead, these generic lines are split almost evenly among the cast, and even the film's most dramatic moments and serious characters are regularly stripped of their power through a misplaced gag.
And this tone-deafness of the film is just the beginning. Rian Johnson never quite manages to achieve a single coherent character arc in The Last Jedi. For sure, decisions are made, but they're never motivated, and we're left feeling as though our heroes end up where they do for no better reason than the plot's demands.
The plot itself is too full of holes to be called formulaic. Ships and their captains sit around doing nothing in the midst of battles, characters disappear from one place to reappear unexplained in another, and a solid third of the plot turns out to have no real bearing on the rest of the story. If this were Guardians of the Galaxy, one might be okay with this, since in Marvel films the narrative is merely the vehicle for the delivery of humor. But this (one would have hoped) is not a Marvel film.
It's not all bad. The movie is technically well made, with really excellent sound design and great additions to the canonical Star Wars score. Daisy Ridley shines, really reaching above the script she's given. The subplot featuring Ridley and Ren stands out as the one truly good part of the film, capped by an excellent set piece. And Laura Durn turns in a remarkable performance in support of a minor character.
Go see it; you were probably going to anyway. But prepare yourself. This is Disney's cash cow now, and they'll milk it for all it's worth.