cinemamablog

[cinemamablog]

Ruin Valentine’s Day: Watch a Movie

Five Valentine’s Days ago, the film adaptation of Jason Robert Brown’s break-up musical The Last Five Years hit VOD platforms. My then-fiance and I watched it, since we both enjoy musical theatre. (In fact, we formally met onstage, in our high school production of You Can’t Take it With You, though I like to remind him that we were chorus members in Bye Bye Birdie together, back when he wouldn’t give me the time of day.) It was an uneventful viewing experience in our living room; Adam liked it, I thought it was just okay and missed Sherie Rene Scott in the lead role of Cathy. 

Unbeknownst to me, across the city from our downtown duplex, two of our theatre-loving friends (also a couple, though less settled into their now-defunct relationship) also watched The Last Five Years to celebrate Valentine’s Day. (It’s like theatre kids are drawn to potentially drama-inducing situations or something.) I think it’s safe to say it was not an enjoyable evening for either of them.

I love how movies can affect different people based solely on their current relationship status: they can trigger lovers’ quarrels in a fragile relationship and can stick a metaphorical finger in your open emotional wounds, bringing all that bloody baggage up to the surface. What better way to celebrate love on the one day of the year devoted to nothing but? Some feel-bad romances are beyond obvious: Blue Valentine, Marriage Story, and of course, The Last Five Years. (The movie starts with the break-up, people. You aren’t going to have fun.) Instead of dwelling on these well-known bummers, I present to you, five less-obvious movies, ranging from lesser-known indies to arthouse classics, guaranteed to ruin your Valentine’s Day:

1. Celeste & Jesse Forever (2012), Lee Toland Krieger

Celeste and Jesse Forever is a bittersweet movie about trying to move on from your best friend and romantic partner. You would expect a romantic comedy starring Rashida Jones and Andy Samberg wouldn’t break your heart, but guess what? I literally cry every time I watch this movie. Samberg’s delivery of a particularly cruel line always sticks a very sharp, pointed object in my heart and twists it. If Adam and I ever get divorced (god forbid), I’m pretty sure our lives will follow the exact trajectory of this movie, minus a dramatic element or two.

2. Nymphomaniac: Vol II (2013), Lars von Trier 

If you thought Volume I was graphic, just wait until you get snuggled up together to watch Volume II. Unless you’re super freaky (more power to you), this movie might turn you off from touching for awhile. The tales that Charlotte Gainsbourg’s character tells of her sexual escapades manage to get darker with each encounter, ranging from unhealthy affairs and threesomes to straight-up sadomasochism. For a movie about sex, von Trier manages to repel the audience from the very act itself. I’ve yet to see the infamous abortion scene that only made it into the Director’s Cut, but it’s on my bucket list. Maybe next Valentine’s Day?

3. Take This Waltz (2011), Sarah Polley

Take This Waltz is an exploration of whether the grass is really greener on the other side. The possibilities of a passionate affair intrigue and conflict the protagonist, played by Michelle Williams, despite a comfortable and loving marriage with her big-hearted husband, played by Seth Rogen in a rare, vulnerable dramatic performance. But unfortunately,  “comfortable” can also translate to “boring” if you’re of a certain temperament or long to explore the more spontaneous side of your personality, and it becomes clear that Williams’ character is not comfy, but bored. Will she satisfy her lust for life by leaving her husband? Can a long-term relationship withstand a flight of fancy? Or are some longings better to ignore, as spontaneity can become your new comfortable in the blink of Leonard Cohen montage?

4. Lovesong (2016), So Yong Kim 

Lovesong is the story of two women, former best friends and one-time lovers, played by Riley Keough and Jena Malone, struggling to reconnect at Malone’s wedding to a man. If you adore Jena Malone like I do, you’ll be pleased to know she plays a lead part in this movie, rather than the supporting roles to which she’s usually relegated. (The woman’s got star power, so why does Hollywood so often keep her out of the spotlight?) That’s probably the only thing that will please you about Lovesong though, because the film doesn’t provide its characters with easy answers, dooming them to a life of “what if?” after missing their chance at love years ago.

5. The Night Porter (1974), Liliana Cavani 

Probably tied with Nymphomaniac: Vol II for the title of Darkest Movie on this list, Cavani’s The Night Porter tells us the story of a Holocaust survivor who encounters her former Nazi lover and tormentor years after the war’s end. They fall back into their roles of victim and keeper in a sick and masochistic romance. A film about trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, and the undying legacy of war, The Night Porter’s story of re-connection and dependency gives a fascist twist to the typical storyline of star-crossed lovers.

#lists

[cinemamablog]

CineMama’s First Annual Oliver Awards

The day came and went: the 2020 Academy Awards. What a bore. (Though I am happy for Bong Joon-ho, and South Korean cinema as a whole, on the Best Picture win for Parasite.) I’m doing my own darn version of the Oscars, named after my firstborn: the Olivers. (No, I’m not stealing Elsie Fisher’s idea; she stole mine.) 

For the past couple years, I’ve shared my list of favorite movies and performances regardless of having an official platform or not. Now I have a blog and every year, you can bet I’m going to let my readers know my opinions on the best in film from the year before. I’ll refrain from naming a “Best Picture,” because there are simple too many “Best Picture”s to name in any given year. With that, let’s begin!

Best Actor: Jimmie Fails - The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Jimmie Fails, the lead actor and co-writer of The Last Black Man in San Francisco, gifted us one of 2019’s best performances as his autobiographical namesake, Jimmie. His confidence, quiet joy in taking care of his family’s legacy, and grace living in a city trying to erase him, radiate off the screen.

Best Actress: Lupita Nyong’o - Us

I don’t, nor will I ever, understand why the Academy fawned over Ms. Nyong’o for one (1) year and then snubbed her ever since. Not only did her characters (I didn’t even recognize her as Red in the trailer) drive the plot of Jordan Peele’s Us, her line delivery as Red sends chills down my spine. I’m tempted to share Us with even my horror-hesitant friends and family, just so that they don’t miss out on Nyong’o! It’s illegal to not appreciate Nyong’o’s dual performance, so someone arrest all the haters in the Academy.

Best Netflix Original Movie: Dolemite is My Name

Can’t agree on a movie to watch with your in-laws? You want to watch Okja, they want to watch the latest Adam Sandler movie that isn’t Uncut Gems? Dolemite is My Name won’t feel like a compromise once you hit “play.”  The most heartwarming movie full of four letter words I’ve ever seen, a joyful and crass tribute to a comedian and a dreamer, the whole family will be smiling in no time. Netflix has begun to serve us auteur cinema and Cannes award-winners on the regular, but Dolemite is My Name is the perfect mix of crowd pleaser and a film history lover’s delight. 

Best Supporting Cast: Booksmart

I just wanted to spend the whole movie with the eccentric rich kids and the killer pizza delivery driver.

Best Romantic Comedy: Someone Great

I watched this movie because Adam told me Taylor Swift wrote one of my favorite songs off Lover, “Death by a Thousand Cuts,” after watching Someone Great on Netflix. So of course I had to see what could inspire such a bop. Unlike a lot of movies that I forget soon after watching them, Someone Great has stuck with me. I think Someone Great has staying power because the characters are both lovable and relatable, brought to life by a great cast of 30-somethings. They live in a New York of fantasy (they all have nice apartments and cute clothes and cool jobs), but also a world of love and heartbreak, where romance reaches its dramatic potential. A great movie to veg out with on a chill, lazy day, but also one to watch with the girls while getting ready for a night out or alone while nursing a broken heart. Someone Great captures the melodrama of young adulthood while also giving its audience a much-needed escape from their problems.

Best Career-Building Year: Florence Pugh

She’s the actress nobody can stop talking about, with star turns in critical darlings Little Women and Midsommar, plus an under-seen performance in the Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson-produced Fighting with My Family. Now she has a big Marvel movie coming out and my hopes build for her career with each glowing review. (Our generation’s Meryl Streep? I don’t think that’s a stretch.)

Best Feature Directorial Debut: TIE - Lulu Wang - The Farewell and Joe Talbot - The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Both films reveal worlds unknown to the majority-white Academy: Wang shares China with us through the eyes of a second-generation immigrant woman and Talbot shows us the San Francisco he knows and loves, the one at risk of gentrification and cultural erasure. You feel kinship with the family portrayed in The Farewell, even if you don’t speak their language, and you feel a sense of injustice on behalf of the characters in The Last Black Man in San Francisco, even if you’ve never set foot in the Bay Area. Both directors tell their stories with an unflinchingly honest perspective and it’s this honesty that makes the stories relatable and that elicit a sense of understanding from their audience, regardless of background, because our differences are what give us an opportunity to nurture empathy.

Best Writer/Director Power Couple: TIE - Noah Baumbach and Greta Gerwig / Barry Jenkins and Lulu Wang

Wang made it very clear during the Hollywood Reporter Directors’ Roundtable that she couldn’t have a more different relationship with her partner, Oscar-winner Jenkins, than Gerwig does with Oscar-nominee Baumbach: Wang keeps her work separate from her relationship with Jenkins, whereas Gerwig and Baumbach are frequent creative partners and perhaps each other’s biggest fans. I respect and appreciate both of these lifestyles, as I fall into the Jenkins/Wang camp, since I take a very different approach to acting and film compared to my actor and film-lover-of-a-husband, but also admire creative partnerships like the one made perfect by Baumbach/Gerwig.

Best Directorial Follow Up to a Horror Hit: FOUR WAY TIE – The Lighthouse and Midsommar and The Nightingale and Us

I’ve written about The Lighthouse and Midsommar with a bit more detail here and here, respectively, but these four movies amaze me with their artistic vision and expert pacing. If you want something that guarantees to trigger introspection (ranked in darkness level from Us to The Nightingale; Us’s content plays fairly light in comparison to the traumatizing Nightingale), you can’t go wrong with one of these.

Best Shark Attack: The Beach Bum’s “dolphin” watch scene

Another film I’ve written about previously here, I can’t stress how much this scene brought me joy in 2019. The image of an overly confident dolphin watch guide diving into a school of sharks, while a white trash tourist family observes in stunned horror, made my year just that much better. Someone please put this scene on YouTube so I don’t have to skip around on my Blu-ray player to enjoy one of cinema’s best gags of the year.

The One Thing the Academy ALMOST Got Right aka Best Cinematography - Jarin Blaschke for The Lighthouse

The Academy snubbed Jarin Blaschke on Oscar night for his gorgeous, old-school, expressionistic camera magic, so I quit. They literally don’t make movies like this anymore, except Blaschke and Robert Eggers DID and because of their commitment to filmmaking, my classic-film-loving heart SANG. Find a movie that makes your heart sing and let it kill you.

#lists #critique

[cinemamablog]

Three Movies to Watch Before/After “Gretel & Hansel”

I enjoyed Osgood Perkins’ latest (and first wide-release) directorial effort, Gretel & Hansel, but as I do with most slow-burn movies, I let my mind wander and I began comparing the twisted fairy tale onscreen to other movies with similar themes and aesthetics. These three films take us back in time to the ‘50s through the ‘70s, but all of them carry a sense of nighmarish dread that never grows old.

1. The Night of the Hunter (1955), directed by Charles Laughton

Charles Laughton’s first, only, and stunning directorial work follows a similar “Children in Peril” theme as Gretel & Hansel: a brother and sister flee their home due to the lack of a motherly figure (whether that’s because of poverty or murder depends on the movie) and travel a surrealistic path through nature, escaping a dangerous predator’s clutches, and finally arriving at a sense of salvation.

Both films strike a moralistic tone, each beginning with a lesson: one a cautionary tale about the dangers of gifts and the other a warning about wolves in sheep’s clothing. (Actress Lillian Gish’s opening monologue from The Night… could easily fit in as a prologue to Gretel & Hansel were its current prologue not pitch perfect and one of the film’s strongest sequences.)

Another parallel between The Night of the Hunter and Gretel & Hansel, perhaps purposeful or maybe I’m just reaching because I want to see a parallel, lies in the knuckles of the antagonists. Robert Mitchum, playing the murderous and conniving Reverend Harry Powell, has the words “Love” and “Hate” tattooed across his knuckles, which Laughton uses on camera to illustrate Powell’s inner workings, while Powell uses his knuckle tattoos to illustrate the struggle between good and evil in a persuasive sermon. In Gretel & Hansel, the witch’s knuckles blacken towards her fingertips, signaling to the children that this woman runs afoul of the natural world.

These movies capture the nightmarish qualities of folklore, one playing with a traditional Brothers Grimm story and the other borrowing from the Southern Gothic tradition and a novel by Davis Grubb.

For more insight into The Night of the Hunter, I strongly recommend the comprehensive book Heaven & Hell to Play With: The Filming of the “Night of the Hunter”

2. Viy (1967), directed by Konstantin Ershov and Georgiy Kropacyov

For a witchy double feature, Gretel & Hansel pairs nicely with the Russian classic Viy. (Now streaming on Shudder.) The plot, based on a short story by the writer Nikolai Gogol, follows a seminarian named Khoma (Leonid Kuravlyov) who murders an old hag after she literally bewitches him. In her final moments, she transforms (or more accurately, reverts) into a beautiful young woman, revealing to the audience and Khoma her supernatural powers. Khoma runs away from the scene of his crime, only for the witch’s powerful father to demand his return at once: with her dying breath, the young woman demanded for Khoma to pray for her soul. The tables have turned and she has her murderer at her mercy. Over the course of three nights, the witch psychologically tortures Khoma from beyond the grave.

Both films feature a beautiful witch disguised as a hag, though only Viy succeeds in maintaining a sense of horror when the witch reverts to her physically appealing form. While beautiful, the witch in Viy maintains an unsettling gaze and unearthly pallor, whereas the youthful version of the witch in Gretel & Hansel has TERF bangs and looks like she shopped at Hot Topic for her prom dress.

Perkins claims to have drawn inspiration for the costumes in Gretel & Hansel from Soviet uniforms, so the films also share a Eastern European sensibility in common.

Most of Viy’s second and third acts take place in a foreboding chapel set, with walls covered in worn paintings of biblical scenes and icons, and the center of the room dedicated to the coffin where the dead witch lies. This set came to mind when appreciating the awe-inspiring, underground white room in Gretel & Hansel, which also architecturally centers around an altar (or rather, a dining table) of sorts.

3. Lemora: A Child’s Tale of the Supernatural (1973), directed by Richard Blackburn

Like Gretel & Hansel and The Night of the Hunter, Lemora... also employs a folk tale structure in the telling of a young child’s perilous journey into a world created by the evil doings of adults.

Gretel & Hansel especially reminded of Lemora... in how the adult men treated Gretel (played by the It remake’s Sophia Lillis), on the cusp of adulthood herself, but still just a child thrust into a dangerous world. The adults in her life frequently reference to her body and her sex, and make it clear that, to them, her worth lies in those things. In Lemora..., the seedy adults encountered by the main character, Lila (played by Cheryl Smith), along her journey also make lecherous and predatory suggestions. (Though Lila’s harassors disturb me far more, as Lila clearly has yet to enter puberty, nor has she reached a point in her life where she understands their innuendos.)

Like Gretel & Hansel’s child-eating witch, Lila discovers a vampire named Lemora with a similar appetite for young humans. While originally unsure of Lemora’s intentions, Lila finds herself in a position the audience recognizes quickly: while feigning a sense of protectiveness and motherliness, Lemora cannot hide her predatory nature, revealing herself to be as sinister as the lecherous men who make inappropriate comments to the angelic Lila.

Buy tickets to see Gretel & Hansel in theatres here.

#lists

[cinemamablog]

5 Bloodthirsty Women Directed by Women

I can only make an educated guess about why women feel so drawn to vampiric or cannibalistic characters, but I have a hunch: cis women experience an intense and personal blood-letting on a monthly basis. It’s not pretty, and personally, I feel like a badass for making it through another week of heavy bleeding while going about my life and work. So I’m guessing women are drawn to the opportunity to externalize and make public such an intimate (but often treated as repulsive) aspect of our lives and anatomies.

In honor of Women in Horror Month and the US Blu-ray release of the Soska Sister’s Cronenberg reimagining, Rabid, Let’s start with my review of Rabid, and then we’ll travel back in time to the 1970s and onward.

1. Rabid (2020), Jen & Sylvia Soska

Rabid follows the sick fate of a socially anxious fashion assistant, Rose, as she undergoes experimental surgery to restore her mangled face to a state of normalcy. Rose begins to suffer from hallucinations of acting out on cannibalistic (you might even say rabid) desires. Or are they hallucinations? The question doesn’t linger long, since there wouldn’t be much of a movie for the audience to watch if the attacks only occurred in Rose’s imagination.

The Twisted Twins’ manifesto against the science of transhumanism, built on the foundation of David Cronenberg’s body horror classic of the same name, Rabid plays better the further its auteurs stray from their source material. References to the original film stick out in a negative manner, so that even if you don’t understand the reference, you have the gut feeling that it doesn’t belong in THIS movie.

For instance, Rose’s doctor and surgeon is named William Burroughs and it took me out of the movie, as I wondered: “wait, what does the writer William S. Burroughs have to do with this movie’s themes?” I know he hung out with the Beat poets, obsessed over occultism and chaos magick, and wrote the novel Naked Lunch. And then it clicked for me: David Cronenberg directed the film adaptation of Naked Lunch. Here I was, Googling “William S. Burroughs + transhumanism” and it wasn’t even that deep; just another thrown-in Cronenberg reference.

On the positive side of Rabid, the lead actresses, Laura Vandervoort and Hanneke Talbot, turn in impressive performances. All the male characters in Rabid act stilted and almost inhuman, which I love because that’s how most guys seem to me: an alien approximation of humanity due to growing so out of touch with themselves. (The men in the Soskas’ American Mary behave in a similar fashion, so I’m hoping it’s an artistic choice for them.) The third act delivers on the body horror promised by the very presence of the name “Cronenberg” on the Blu-ray cover, but I only wish my favorite sisters had littered the path to the third act with a few more gruesome treats to enjoy along the way.

2. The Velvet Vampire (1971), Stephanie Rothman

One of legendary producer/director Roger Corman’s few female proteges, Stephanie Rothman directed a desert sun-soaked, bisexual camp masterpiece. The plot of The Velvet Vampire follows a dimwitted California couple as they accept a mysterious and sexy woman’s invitation to her desert home. She lives in the desert, and despite a lack of respectful fear of the sun, maintains the deathly pallor of her skin. Since the audience knows the name of the film is literally The Velvet Vampire, the film lacks a sense of mystery, but makes up for it in over-the-top seduction scenes and a unique aesthetic for a horror film during this time period, when the costumed Hammer films were at their peak: a very American, very ‘70s romp in the desert. Sucking the poison from a snake bite has never been hotter, both figuratively and probably literally; that desert looks scorching.

3. Jennifer’s Body (2009), Karyn Kusama

Let’s take a break from vampires and rabid surgical victims, because Diablo Cody wrote a demonic masterpiece with her critically-panned, but universally adored, horror film, Jennifer’s Body, directed by genre favorite Karyn Kusama (The Invitation, Destroyer). 

The victim of a misogynist ritual at the hands of pretty pop punk boys (the most dangerous boys of all), a boy-crazy demon possesses Megan Fox’s character Jennifer’s body, driving her to eat her male classmates one-by-one to maintain her human shell. A lesbian subtext flows through the movie, as Jennifer’s best friend Needy’s (Amanda Seyfried) intense loyalty fails to hide an obvious romantic attachment, which the demon inside of Jennifer exploits. Megan Fox kills it as Jennifer and deserves plenty of recognition for originating this iconic role. Also, the entire soundtrack is a certified bop and instantly brings me back to high school, but in a good way. Please, movie studios, bring back pop punk soundtracks, like in the good old days of Jennifer’s Body and Snakes on a Plane.

4. A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014), Ana Lily Amirpour

Iranian-American director Ana Lily Amirpour’s debut feature takes place in a fictional dystopian town in Iran: Bad City. Shot in atmospheric black and white (is there any other kind of black and white?), the film follows a nameless, lonely, and skateboarding vampire as she dabbles in vigilante justice and basic human connection. Perhaps this simple movie wouldn’t play as well as it does without its unique look and unsettling performances, but to be fair, visuals and acting are a huge part of any great movie. Not every movie has to follow an epic, three act plot and A Girls Walks Home Alone at Night thrives on its own terms.

5. Raw (2016), Julia Ducournau

My personal favorite movie about cannibalism, Raw takes place in a veterinary school as the lead character, Justine (Garance Marillier), discovers an unignorable and genetic propensity for devouring human flesh, long evaded by her strictly vegetarian diet. The film draws a clear line connecting Justine’s cannibalistic revelation with her sexual awakening, even mixing the two elements (cannibalism and sex) in a gruesome love scene between Justine and her bisexual roommate. Justine’s sister Alexia (Ella Rumpf) confides a similar taste for human flesh and takes Justine under her wing, which drives the plot to a disturbing conclusion. For what it’s worth, Raw also features the most stressful bikini wax ever shot on film.

#lists #critique

[cinemamablog]

Make Your Own Film School

I invested in a MasterClass membership this year and was watching some of Spike Lee’s lectures when I realized: if you know how to use your online resources to your advantage, and maintain an inquisitive mindset, actual film school becomes more and more irrelevant. You can save yourself thousands of dollars in film appreciation and history classes by a simple YouTube search and you can learn the basics of a movie set just by reading a $12 book. What a time to be alive!

One of my goals with CineMama is to help readers take full advantage of the resources that make film so accessible in the year 2020. There is no wrong way to watch a movie (except maybe staring at your phone the whole time and not actually watching), but there are always opportunities to enhance your viewing experience and enrich your life through the art of film. I want to share online resources, books, videos, podcasts, and subscriptions that have helped me deepen my own appreciation for movies and better understand the work that goes into creating any movie, let alone a great one.

Read

For perspective on the behind-the-scenes ingredients of filmmaking, read the short and sweet, but beyond informative book, Making Movies by Sidney Lumet. (You might recognize his name from a couple little movies called Network and Dog Day Afternoon.) Though written decades ago, most of the working parts of a film set haven’t changed and the artistic process largely remains the same, so his expertise and insight prove invaluable to any young filmmaker or film devotee.

Anyone who knows me knows that I strongly believe in rewriting the generally accepted film cannon to better spotlight the accomplishments and contributions of women in filmmaking. Backwards and In Heels by Alicia Malone provides a reader-friendly primer to the under-recognized history of women in Hollywood. If you take care to learn the names of D.W. Griffith and Charlie Chaplin, familiarize yourself with the work of Lois Webber and Mary Pickford.

Explore http://davidbordwell.net. Film historian and professor David Bordwell, and his wife and partner Kristin Thompson, write in-depth and transformative analyses of films and film history. You can peruse their shared blog and enjoy essays by Bordwell, as well as video essays that help visualize his words. (I especially enjoy the video essay on CinemaScope, which you can watch here.) Bordwell and Thompson do a great service to film fans and autodidacts everywhere by keeping so much of their work accessible and free online. (You can also invest in their published works and support their scholarly pursuits with your wallet, if you’re able and so choose.)

Read film criticism. Some of my personal favorite critics include Pauline Kael and Molly Haskell, but I also respect Roger Ebert and Haskell’s other half, Andrew Sarris. You can read many of their articles and reviews online for free after a quick Google search, or you can purchase or borrow entire books of their work. Reading criticism can teach you how to best apply your subjective judgment to a film and thus put your unique viewing experience into words. No two people see a movie the same and you have nothing to lose by learning others’ perspectives. 

To keep yourself open to diverse voices, I encourage you to follow the @femalefilmcritics account on Twitter. I’ve personally discovered many insightful and contemporary film critics through this site and enjoy participating in the progressive environment fostered there. Social media is a great place to discover voices and opinions you might otherwise be deaf to.

And speaking of criticism, you can download a copy of The Permanent Crisis of Film Criticism by Mattias Frey, here. The book covers an interesting and vital aspect of film history: film’s journey to acceptance as an art form and the perpetual argument over the purpose of criticism.

Read screenplays. Every year, film studios provide free access online to the screenplays for their major awards contenders. I usually check www.thefilmstage.com to keep up with the recent output of free screenplays. (You can read 2019’s most hyped screenplays here.) Read them and watch the movies so you can witness how a cast and crew translates the written word into film’s unique grammar of image, sound, and performance.

Watch

Film historian Kevin Brownlow’s Hollywood: a Celebration of the American Silent Film first aired in 1980 and was made available on VHS and LaserDisc, then never again on physical media. The series utilizes primary sources in the form of interviews with some of Hollywood’s most beloved artists: Buster Keaton, Lillian Gish, John Wayne, William Wyler, and Louise Brooks, just to name a sampling. Film fans have no official means to access to the series, but you can watch 12 of the 13 50-minute episodes on YouTube, starting here, but you will need to visit here to view the 12th episode, as it was removed from YouTube. 

Almost everyone knows of Martin Scorsese’s passion for cinema, both for foreign and classic Hollywood features. In A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese Through American Cinema, he covers the history of American filmmaking from his viewpoint as a fan and a filmmaker: the movies that inspired him, the ones that made the biggest impact on his appreciation for cinema, the ones that he pays homage to in his own work. You can watch the documentary in parts on YouTube here.

Listen

Listen to commentaries. Whether you stream movies, rent them from RedBox, or straight up buy them, most discs or digital copies give you access to audio commentaries from cast, crew, critics, or historians. You can learn about film history and appreciation from the critics and historians, filmmaking tools through the crew’s anecdotes, and actors’ methods straight from the mouths of professional actors. Commentaries give you a front row seat to a film’s production history, so take advantage of that “special features” tab on your DVD menu.

Listen to podcasts. Beloved movie critic Leonard Maltin hosts the podcast Maltin on Movies with his dear daughter and fellow movie fan, Jessie Maltin. Every week, they interview a legend or legend-in-the-making of the movie industry. The Maltins conduct the interviews with a wealth of respect, knowledge, and enthusiasm, since both Leonard and Jessie have spent at least the majority of their lives observing the movie business, one for a living and one by association. Some previous guests include Mitzi Gaynor, Greta Gerwig, and Christopher Guest, to give you a sense of the variety of personalities and perspectives your earbuds will encounter.

Hosted by writer April Wolfe, the podcast Switchblade Sisters invites a different guest every week to choose and discuss a genre movie at length on the show. All of the guests work in the film or TV industry and give a lot of insight into their own work while dissecting and appreciating the work of others.

Another genre-loving podcast, on Faculty of Horror, Andrea Subissati (executive editor at Rue Morgue magazine) and Alexandra West (freelance writer) analyze horror movies from an academic perspective. The hosts make a point to include show links that serve as a bibliography, so you can continue to learn about an episode’s specific subject after you’ve finished listening. 

Subscribe

These recommendations cost money, ranging from $9 a month to hundreds of dollars a year. If you have the cash to spend, and want to, these resources can help you access movies and lectures, with an emphasis on quantity of content and convenience.

Can’t afford investing in physical media, but want access to a better selection of classics without subscribing to multiple streaming platforms? Party like it’s the early 00s and consider a DVD Netflix subscription. You can use the service to a keep a steady stream of movies coming your way. Not sure what to add to your queue? Check out popular lists like “1001 Movies to See Before You Die,” or if you want to keep it local, peruse the reviews and lists published on CineMama for inspiration.

For $10.99 a month or $99.99 a year, you can access hundreds of movies on the Criterion Channel. In addition to a treasure trove of classic and critically-acclaimed films, you also have access to enlightening video series like Observations on Film Art and Split Screen. As if all of that wasn’t enough, you also can enjoy and learn from countless supplementary materials related to the movies currently streaming. If the movies sold by the Criterion Collection are “film school in a box,” then the Criterion Channel is film school in an app.

For $180 a year, you can sign up for MasterClass and enjoy hours of lectures with filmmakers with decades of experience, including Spike Lee, David Lynch, Ron Howard, and Jodi Foster, as well as screenwriters and dramatists and other leaders in their respective fields. The upfront fee seems steep compared to the monthly payments to which audiences have grown accustomed, but the program’s still cheaper than paying some bozo at a community college with only a couple more years of education than you. (If that.)

If you want to stay up-to-date on recent releases and have an AMC near you, I would consider investing (at least) $20 a month in the AMC Stubs A-List program. For a monthly fee, you can attend three movies every week (regardless of the ticket price or if you’ve seen the movie already) and also earn rewards points to save on concessions. Though less of a necessity now that so many filmmakers release their films straight to streaming or VOD, the A-List can help you save money if you’re a frequent moviegoer. 

I wouldn’t recommend this program for parents of small children, because unless you have magical powers, I doubt you’ll have the time or energy to go to the movies more than once or twice a month. However, you may want to remember the AMC Stubs A-List program for when the whole family can enjoy a night out at the movies. Even if you just go once a week as a group, you could save on tickets and concessions by paying for your monthly subscriptions.

And finally…

Visit your local library for an abundance of free and quality resources! See what sparks your interest by browsing the shelves. Not just in the film section, but I also strongly suggest skimming the biographies. (That might just be the history nerd in me, though.) Check out the e-books and audiobooks available through your library’s online program. I know for a fact that the Sioux City Public Library hosts an impressive DVD collection. (It’s where I first borrowed a copy of Paul Leni’s The Man Who Laughs.)  You can also do some research online and provide your local research librarian with a list of books to request for you through interlibrary loan.

For resource recommendations on any particular film-related subject, reach out to your local CineMama on social media and I can help point you in the right direction. Also, let me know if any of these links break over time and I can update them as necessary.

#personal #resources #reference

[cinemamablog]

Region B Wishlist

Whenever I used to visit Amoeba Music on Sunset Blvd (which was at least once a month, 2016 through 2017), I’d make a beeline for the staircase, up up and away to the movie department. Directly to my right at the top of the staircase, in a display rack stretching the entire length of the floor, sat a single column of movies known to me as the “non-Region A” section. I could rely on the movies lurking in this small section to turn my eyes green with envy: a gorgeous Region B Blu-ray of Possession, the Vanessa Redgrave vehicle Isadora, and several other movies that seemed like the stuff my dreams were made of. Unfortunately, at the time, I had yet to invest in a region-free Blu-ray player, so that section of movies taunted me on my monthly visits to Amoeba, as I’m sure they do to many movie fans that lack the proper technology to play them.

For those uninitiated into the world of movie collecting, different regions of the world have differently coded discs that only play in that region’s disc players. Back in DVD’s heyday, that consisted of Region 1, 2, and 3. Now, in the age of Blu-ray, those regions are alphabetical rather than numerical: A, B, and C. Region A discs play in the Americas and some countries in Southeast Asia, including Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan. Region B discs play in Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Australia, and New Zealand. Region C discs play in any Asian countries not covered by Region A. Film copyright holders like region coding because they want to control when movies are available in specific countries. (I assume because they can make more money if they sell the American, European, and Asian distribution rights separately.) 

Movie collectors, however, hate region coding. Which is why I finally splurged on my region-free Blu-ray player. I bought my first Region B discs online at Foreign Exchange Blu-ray Imports, a neat store in Culver City, California with reasonable prices and an online catalog. (You can check them out on Facebook here.) I picked up Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s adaptation of the opera Tales of Hoffmann from StudioCanal and the Vincent Price camp horror classic The Abominable Dr. Phibes from Arrow Video. 

While I’m thrilled that I can now watch movies unavailable to the majority of casual viewers in the United States, I still hope and pray for Region A releases of the following five gems, both for simplicity’s sake and to better keep these films accessible to future appreciative audiences.

Martin, 1978, directed by George A. Romero

Martin is a disturbing little film shot in the Pittsburgh suburbs about a maybe-vampire teenage boy, who looks an awful lot like a Sprouse twin. (So maybe Cole and Dylan are the real vampires?) With black and white fantasy sequences, the gruesome reality of Martin’s vampiric conquests contrasts with his internal, romanticized version of events.

Arrow Video released a Region B DVD a few years ago, though it’s now out of print. Diabolik DVD had a Japanese Region A disc available for a time, though it sold out quickly. I hope that Martin’s copyright hell freezes over, because I would freak out for a Region A Blu-ray that I don’t have to scramble to pre-order online before it sells out. In the meantime, you can watch the movie on YouTube until legal means become available:

Napoleon, 1927, directed by Abel Gance

I probably could write several articles about the various silent films no longer available on disc in North America. (I’m still waiting for the latest restoration of Mauritz Stiller’s Saga of Gosta Berling to make its physical media debut, now that the Kino Lorber DVD is out of print.) I am planning to invest in the BFI’s Region B Blu-ray of Abel Gance’s Napoleon sooner rather than later, both because of its historical significance and the care that went into restoring it. Kevin Brownlow, film historian and author of such tomes as The Parade’s Gone By…, spent 20 years painstakingly piecing Napoleon back together and continues to discover and restore missing scenes to this day. Gance shot the final reels of Napoleon using innovative Polyvision technology, which means that the film requires three projectors to play three separate reels side-by-side for the ultimate in widescreen presentation.

Isadora, 1968, directed by Karel Reisz

I only watched the biopic Isadora thanks to a Korean copy available at my once-upon-a-time local video store in South Pasadena, Videotheque. (Visit them online here.) The sound was a bit shrill, but the image looked decent and I still enjoyed the stunning performance from a young Vanessa Redgrave as the groundbreaking dancer Isadora Duncan. The movie also features a cameo from early Hollywood star Bessie Love as Isadora’s mother.

Isadora would make a great double feature with the more recent film, The Dancer, giving a contrasting depiction of what it personally means to be an artist and a dancer: for Isadora, it’s a fancy-free attitude and imagination, for Loie Fuller, it was back-breaking work and determination. (Though Lily Rose Depp as Isadora is a disgrace, Soko slays as Loie Fuller.) I’m unaware of any plans to make Isadora widely available in North America, but you can find clips on YouTube to get a taste of what we’re missing out on.

The Devils, 1971, Ken Russell

I won’t go into much detail on this movie, because you can already read about my previous experience with The Devils here. The BFI sells a special edition DVD on their website and several streaming platforms offer it to stream intermittently, like the Criterion Channel and Shudder, but America has yet to see an official DVD or Blu-ray release of Ken Russell’s controversial tale of religious hysteria and hypocrisy.

Leather Boys, 1964, Sidney J. Furie

I saw Leather Boys at Cinefamily (before I found out it was a haven for abusers), followed by a Q&A with the director, who blessed our ears with wisdom like, “The sun is the enemy of art,” when encouraging aspiring filmmakers to shoot in cloudy locations. Leather Boys grapples with marriage and sexual identity issues in a gentle way while also making room for the audience to laugh at the naivety and passion of adolescence. I returned home that night eager to share the film with others. Unfortunately, I was not able to find it available anywhere on physical media. I’m not above watching a movie free online when I have no other options, but I’m both a movie lover and collector and can’t stand that I can’t add Leather Boys to my collection, to rewatch at my leisure and share with my friends and family. Luckily, someone uploaded it to YouTube and you can watch the whole film here:

#lists

[cinemamablog]

Children’s Books about Hollywood and Film History

I’ve collected children’s books for Oliver since before I even knew Oliver existed. I saved my own copies of Tomie dePaola’s The Art Lesson and Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I bought used copies of out-of-print childhood favorites, like A Baker’s Portrait by Michelle Edwards. Books were a major part of my childhood. My parents once owned a children’s book store, first in Sioux Falls and later in Sioux City. (I was no intelligentsia though; I also played video games all afternoon and stayed up until 3 AM watching infomercials.) I wanted to give my children that same foundation and love for books, because I’m convinced that strong reading skills can help you in every aspect of your life. (Communication, empathy, problem solving… Those skills apply to pretty much any profession ever.)

Once I gave birth to Oliver last July, I discovered many options for inclusive books about artists and scientists from all different time periods and backgrounds. I struggled to find similar resources for children on film or Hollywood history, though. Movies are such a key component of our household, I worry my kids would be flummoxed by their parents’ passion for film if we don’t teach them some of the basics. I want to write my own children’s book about women in film someday, but in the meantime, I figure if I want Oliver (and soon Ezra) to develop a base knowledge of Hollywood history, I needed to start searching out books about film for children.

I’ve compiled my favorite children’s books about film here, ranging from board books for babies to chapter books for independent readers or reading together. These books cover a variety of topics: animation, performers, Universal Monsters, early Hollywood history, and more. I’ve also embedded links so you can order them online, though I do encourage you to search your public library’s online catalog first (for the Sioux City Public Library, click here) or consider ordering copies from your local bookstore! In Sioux City, Book People is our only independent bookstore and they can order almost anything for you. You can visit them online here or on their Facebook page here.

For itty bitty babies who would rather chew on their books than read them, the pickings are slim but at least you have a couple options. I recommend the “Little Artist” board book set, written by Emily Kleinman and illustrated by Lydia Ortiz. The collection includes four books, each book featuring four artists. Kleinman organizes the artists into these categories: painters, sculptors, musicians, and performers. In the “performers” book, your little one will enjoy bright, vivid, and simple illustrations of Charlie Chaplin and Josephine Baker, accompanied by a simple sentence describing why they matter in art history. (Chaplin for his success in silent film, Baker for her dancing and spy activities.) This series clearly makes an effort to maintain gender balance, featuring two men and two women in every book, and also racially inclusive, featuring at least two people of color in every book. “Little Artists” also earns some bonus points because these books are the perfect size and texture for teething babies.

Another board book option for your tiny baby is the “Little People, Big Dreams” series. The series publishes most of their books in paperback, as well as condensed and simplified board books, so your child can grow with the series. The books focus on a variety of fascinating achievers throughout history, in professions from fashion to science, but your film history choices include personalities like actress Audrey Hepburn, dancer Josephine Baker (there she is again!), and martial artist Bruce Lee. I personally own the Frida Kahlo and Ella Fitzgerald board books from this series and find them engaging and informative without getting too lengthy for a baby.

Moving on to picture books! Both of these books are ideal for reading aloud to your little one, though one is a bit more complex than the other. 

Let’s start with the simpler of the two picture books: Mary Blair’s Unique Flair, written by Amy Novesky and illustrated by Brittney Lee. This appropriately colorful book tells the story of Mary Blair’s artistic childhood, and later, her career at Disney. The book takes time to explain how Blair drew inspiration from Latin America and other geographic landscapes, which influenced her concept art for classic movies like Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. Mary Blair’s Unique Flair respectfully emulates Blair’s style and celebrates her career and achievements. Blair serves as a positive role model for any young artist.

For a bit heavier of a picture book that tackles identity and gender politics head on, I recommend Hedy Lamarr’s Double Life: Hollywood Legend and Brilliant Inventor, written by Laurie Wallmark and illustrated by Katy Wu. The book explains to the young reader how Lamarr’s glamorous screen persona and otherworldly good looks actually worked against her inventive ambitions. Lamarr was an amateur scientist and inventor with great ideas, but she had a hard time getting people to take her seriously because of her gender and world-renowned beauty. The government went as far as ignoring her most groundbreaking invention (frequency hopping, the precursor to Wi-Fi) for years and therefore keeping her major contribution to science a secret until the 1950s. This book makes for a brilliant companion to the recent documentary Bombshell: the Hedy Lamarr Story, currently streaming on Netflix. A whole lesson plan can be built around the book and film: you can teach your child(ren) about the scientific method, classic film, and the dangers of judging a book by its cover (or its gender).

For independent readers or for parents wanting to introduce little ones to long-form storytelling, I adore the “Who HQ” series of non-fiction books. The series includes what seems like every topic in history ever, but I especially enjoy their film history books, including Who Was Charlie Chaplin?, Who Was Alfred Hitchcock?, What is the Story of Frankenstein?, and Where is Hollywood? (While the Frankenstein book covers the entire history of Mary Shelley’s story and subsequent cultural impact, it dedicates many pages to the history of the classic Universal Monsters, so I chose to include it in this list.) I appreciate how this series spotlights supporting players in the narrative by providing sidebars for significant persons or events. For instance, the Alfred Hitchcock book dedicates a page to the career of Patricia Highsmith, the writer of the novel that inspired Hitch’s screen adaptation, Strangers on a Train. (I also love how the Hitchcock book stresses the collaborative nature of Hitch’s relationship with his wife, Alma.) Each book in this series provides supplementary materials, like illustrated timelines and bibliographies for further independent research. (A great resource for a research project or just for finding more books to read for fun!)

For parents who enjoy teaching and engaging with your kids at home using multimedia elements, or even for homeschooling families, as your children grow older (I’m thinking toddlers and onward), you can pair most of these books with full films or clips, as I suggested for the Hedy Lamarr picture book. For shorter attention spans, you can watch Josephine Baker dancing the Charleston, Charlie Chaplin short films, Bruce Lee fight scenes, and Audrey Hepburn dance numbers from musicals like My Fair Lady and Funny Face for free on YouTube. You can Google Mary Blair’s concept art together and then watch the resulting films either on Disney+ or through a digital rental. For older children, you can pay $11.99 for a monthly Criterion Channel subscription and dive into entire filmographies after you read about prolific filmmakers like Alfred Hitchcock, Charlie Chaplin, and Carl Laemmle Jr. That’s one nice thing about the Production Code of early Hollywood: most movies are family-appropriate, though you may have to address dated or problematic elements. (Such as the pre-code trope that if a female character makes immoral decisions, she either must repent or die, but usually both.)

I might write a follow-up post as I get introduced to more children’s books about film history. I’m especially interested in finding books for children that describe the inner workings of a movie set. Message me your recommendations! I didn’t learn about how movies are really made until I went to college and fell in love with the art form! It’s never too early or too late to learn something new. I also want to put together a zine to share with my readers, one that serves as a prototype for one of my dream projects, the “Women in Film” book I mentioned earlier in this post. Keep your eyes open and keep reading; your local CineMama has big dreams and you just might watch them come true in this space!

#books #critique

[cinemamablog]

The Paradox of “King Kong”

I watched a couple classic movies over the course of this snowed-in weekend: the original 1933 King Kong and Man of a Thousand Faces, wherein James Cagney plays Lon Chaney Sr. in an otherwise painfully bad biopic. (Cooped up with a baby in a small house for three days is a horror movie all its own, but Mama’s gotta eat, and by “eat,” I mean watch movies or I’ll literally die maybe, so they might as well be food.) Despite terrific performances of a ridiculous script from Dorothy Malone and Cagney, I couldn’t stand Man of a Thousand Faces due to the dated plot and lack of focus on Chaney’s career. The filmmakers, instead of lingering on Chaney’s insane talent for pantomime and physical transformation, zero in on his marriages and home life. While both films have aged poorly in terms of racial and sexual politics, I think King Kong is a much more interesting watch that still has something to say to a polarized audience for whom these issues still have relevance.

“He’s always been king of this world... We’ll teach him fear.”

King Kong follows an all-male, all-white daredevil film crew who convince a poor young woman, Ann Darrow (Fay Wray), to tag along on a notoriously dangerous expedition in exchange for the opportunity to appear onscreen. They sail out to Skull Island, where the film crew interrupts (and therefore ruins) the native people’s unique marriage ceremony: offering up a young woman as “Kong’s bride.” Because of the film crew’s interference with their ritual, the natives kidnap Ann to serve as a substitute bride for Kong, a giant ape who needs no introduction. Kong gladly accepts the offering and carries Ann over the threshold and into the jungle, with the film crew on their heels.

The film crew treats Kong like a monster for taking “their girl,” but the audience witnesses Kong’s arc follow that of the crew: He protects the woman he’s claimed as his own from monsters, like a tyrannosaurus rex and a giant snake. And besides, the crew has exploited Ann from the beginning, targeting her for her looks and desperation, and then shaming her for daring to exist as a woman aboard a ship. They treat Kong like a monster, Ann like she’s an object, and paint themselves as heroes, when in reality, their actions exhibit similar animalistic tendencies to that of the giant ape.

Their abhorrent treatment of Kong serves as a metaphor for racism and also exemplifies the violence and cruelty capable from men whose masculinity or position of power is threatened. Much like the real life filmmakers’ treatment of the indigenous Skull Islanders, whose black bodies are treated like spectacles as Kong stomps their heads into the mud, so the fictional film crew treats Kong. They bring him back to America, a slave in chains, put on display like a Black Venus in a sideshow.

Kong lashes out, of course, stealing away the desirable white woman and destroying modern amenities, like an elevated train. Society uses the woman as bait and takes down Kong, who falls to his death as punishment for threatening white supremacy. The director and leader of the film crew, Carl Denham (Robert Armstrong), makes a flowery, PR-friendly statement when he tells reporters: “It’s not airplanes that got him, it was beauty killed the beast,” which sounds awfully similar to the logic lynch mobs of the Jim Crow era used to justify their violence, claiming that a black boy looked at a white woman “funny.”

King Kong examines the Western world’s mistreatment of black bodies, while the film crew, both onscreen and off, treats Kong (a respected entity by the film’s indigenous islanders) like a monster and the islanders like mindless ants, living their lives in survival mode and trying not to get stepped on.

It seems like a paradox that a movie that dehumanizes its cast members of color (the islanders, the Chinese cook) could aptly capture the tragedy of racism, enslavement, and, well, dehumanization, all while using a glaringly racist metaphor in which a giant ape represents a black man. Problematic? Yes. Calling out the very behavior it showcases? I think so. Hollywood’s complicated relationship with race lives on within this simplistic, almost 90 year-old story of an ape, a woman, and the men who ruin everything.

#critique

[cinemamablog]

Lana Del Rey Goes to the Movies

I use roughly 1/16th of my iPhone’s storage space to hold my collection of Lana Del Rey’s music, including her (misspelled) self-titled album Lana Del Ray AKA Lizzy Grant and over a hundred of her leaked, unreleased tracks. (If you have an MP3 of “Yosemite” or “Life is Beautiful”... Hit me up, please.) My husband teases me because I have a LanaBoards account so I can read - and occasionally participate in - the pre-release gossip months, sometimes years, before the next Lana album drops.

Just like I make no secret of my Lana Del Rey obsession, Ms. Lizzy Grant pulls no punches when it comes to her idolatry of the silver screen and Hollywood lore. With songs aptly titled “Hollywood,” “Hollywood’s Dead,” and “Super Movie,” she wears her movie loving heart on her sleeve. Lana makes references to movies, iconic (usually dead) actors, and David Lynch throughout her discography. She has also contributed to countless recent movies, providing sultry vocals while matching the vibe of the films, like on the soundtracks for The Great Gatsby, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and Big Eyes. In fact, Mary Ramos, Quentin Tarantino’s music supervisor, revealed last summer that Lana submitted music for Tarantino’s latest film, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood. She also reportedly recorded a song for the James Bond franchise at one point. A casual fan of motion pictures, Lana is not. To which I say: girl, same.

Lana frequently references to Marilyn Monroe in her music, always in a very blatant (some might say distasteful) manner. “If I call you on the telephone, I might overdose, ‘cause I’m strong but I’m lonely, like Marilyn Monroe,” she mews in an otherwise sweet love song named after the actress. She also references suicide and Monroe in her single “Body Electric”: “Elvis is my daddy, Marilyn’s my mother,” she sings in the first verse. By the second verse, she sings “Diamonds are my bestest friend [Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, anyone?]. Heaven is my baby, suicide’s her father, opulence is the end.” On a less morbid note, she also pays homage to Monroe in the intro of her National Anthem music video. In the black and white clip, Lana sings “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” a la Marilyn Monroe, except instead of JFK on the receiving end, she serenades rapper A$AP Rocky. 

The reason for Lana’s attraction to Marilyn’s mythos seems obvious to me. They both created their persona by studying the stars that came before them: Marilyn by emulating Jean Harlow, Lana by paying her respects to Marilyn, Sharon Tate, and other young movie stars known for the tragedies that marked their lives. The cycle continues into the 21st century.

Lana has a few other movies and film people that reappear throughout her song catalogue: David Lynch, Scarface, and Easy Rider. I find this appropriate, as all three present the viewer with stylized visions of how the American Dream can go wrong. Lynch explores the nightmarish underbelly of the suburban lifestyle, Scarface follows Al Pacino’s immigrant character up a violent ladder of success, and Easy Rider glorifies living on one’s own terms, a freedom for which the main characters pay dearly.

Lana covered the titular song of David Lynch’s film Blue Velvet on her first studio EP, Paradise. At first, I thought that maybe she just likes the song, but then, on her second studio album, Ultraviolence, she gave an undeniable nod to Lynch that marked her for a fan. In the song “Sad Girl,” she sings: “He’s got the fire and he walks with it,” a blatant reference to the phrase “fire walk with me” from Lynch’s project Twin Peaks. Both Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks focus on the sexual, drug-fueled violence lurking just under the surface of an otherwise idyllic community, much like Lana’s storytelling through song.

“Scarface, sacrifice, sold my soul to make it nice. It was worth it, paid the price, life is death when blow is life,” Lana sings on an unreleased track called, you guessed it, “Scarface.” The lyrics of the song follow the same themes as the movie, describing a life characterized by mob violence and stoned patriotism. Lana also references the De Palma remake in another unreleased song, “Never Let Me Go”: “Like they say in Scarface, kid, you can push your drugs and I can make it big.” I’m pretty sure they don’t say that in Scarface, but still, the sentiment remains the same: the road to the American Dream (and doom) can be paved with drugs, money, and luck.

“Is the sun in your eyes, easy rider?” Lana asks in the unreleased “Angels Forever, Forever Angels.” She sings in the bridge, “Paradise is a hell-colored flame sky. Is it nice to feel free and wild?” throwing out a subtle, decades-old reference to the theme song of Dennis Hopper’s 1969 counterculture hit Easy Rider, “Born to be Wild.” On her third studio album, Honeymoon, Lana recycles the reference on the track “Freak”: “Sun reflecting in your eyes, like an easy rider.” Like Blue Velvet and Scarface, Easy Rider shows the American Dream onscreen as a drug-induced fantasy that can’t end well, but the ride is worth it.

Occasionally, Lana sings about the real dark side of Hollywood, where the bad decisions and late nights aren’t a fun game or even a choice anymore, but rather the price of artistic success, demanded of her by men with sinister intentions. In Lana Del Ray AKA Lizzy Grant’s “Put Me in a Movie,” Lana teases a powerful man in the movie industry: “Come on, I know you like little girls... Put me in a movie.” Some of Lana’s other lyrics came under fire in the media shortly after the accusations against Harvey Weinstein publicly surfaced. Lana sings the lyrics in question during the bridge for the already-controversial song “Cola”: “Harvey’s in the sky with diamonds and he’s making me crazy.” She’s since claimed in interviews that she won’t sing “Cola” anymore due to the backlash, but I think the song has made its point: Lana’s always known that men like Harvey have the money and power (“diamonds”) to drive desperate people crazy.

In her penultimate album, Lust for Life, Lana doesn’t let up on the Hollywood imagery. In the album’s teaser trailer, Lana lives inside of the Hollywood sign, stirring a witchy potion and pondering the fate of the world from above the LA lights. She climbs that same Hollywood sign with the Weeknd in the music video for the titular song, “Lust for Life.” While the album begins on this upbeat note, by the third song, “13 Beaches,” we return to a familiar sense of isolation and sadness. An audio clip from the cult classic movie Carnival of Souls plays over string instrumentation: “I don’t belong in the world. That’s what it is. Something separates me from other people. Everywhere I turn, there’s something blocking my escape.” (This monologue is only available in the deleted scenes of the recent Criterion Blu-ray release and in unrestored YouTube videos. Lana knows her independent horror movies.) This cinematic depression haunts the rest of the album, with lyrics like “Cherry”’s “My celluloid scenes are torn at the seams, and I fall to pieces” and the disturbing Charles Manson references in my all-time favorite LDR song, “Heroin”: “Manson’s in the air and all my friends have come ‘cause they still feel him here… Something ‘bout the sun has made these kids get scary. Oh, writing in blood on the walls and shit…” Even when Lana tries to shift her audience’s focus to her lust for life, she can’t help but revert to her old melancholic ways. But as she sings in the final bridge of “Heroin”: “I hope that I come back one day to tell you that I really changed.”

“You move to California, but it’s just a state of mind,” Lana sings on her latest album, Norman Fucking Rockwell, and the rest of the album echoes that sentiment. Her disenchantment with the City of Angels has been a running thread through her discography and yet she returns to it over and over, in songs like “Bartender” and “California.” On Honeymoon, she sang “I will never sing again. With just one wave, it goes away.” On Lust for Life, she sang “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sick of it.” Now on NFR, she sings “I guess that I’m burnt out after all.” But after three albums of threatening to leave it all behind, I don’t think Lana Del Rey will ever really be done with Hollywood. In the words of the last song on NFR: Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like Lana to have… but she has it. 

#music #critique

[cinemamablog]

Three Winter Horror Movies to Give You Chills

The holidays are over. No more excuses to marathon through Black Christmas, Anna and the Apocalypse, and multiple horror comedies centered on a killer Santa. Welcome to the dreary, dismal months of January through April. (At least, that’s how long winter tends to last in the Midwest, god help us all.) These three films capture the freezing weather and bleak atmosphere of winter. Cuddle up by the fire for this triple feature of suspense, demonic possession, and a Lovecraftian creature.

1.       Frozen (2010, dir. Adam Green)

Nothing makes me flinch more than violence in the snow. Something about the numbing effect of the cold, combined with gruesomely vibrant injuries, grosses me out like little else. Frozen (not to be confused with the Disney monolith) follows a simple premise: three friends stuck on a ski lift, overnight, in the cold. As I always like to say, simple pictures are best. Writer/director Adam Green (creator of the Hatchet franchise and horror mockumentary Digging up the Marrow) stretches this idea into a pulse pounding nightmare of frostbite, broken bones, and (surprise!) wolves. Frozen will make you think twice before you plan your next ski trip.

2.       The Blackcoat’s Daughter/February (2015, dir. Oz Perkins)

A slow burn horror film directed by the son of Psycho star Anthony Perkins, Oz Perkins’ The Blackcoat’s Daughter showcases its three female leads in a tale of possession and loneliness. The film mostly takes place during a winter break at an all-girls boarding school, Bramford Academy. Kiernan Shipka (Mad Men, The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina) plays a disturbed young woman who believes her parents died in a car accident on their way to pick her up, leaving her to spend the week alone at school with fellow student Rose (a stunning Lucy Boynton from Sing Street). Rose frets over a possible pregnancy and the strange behavior of her erratic dorm-mate. Nine years in the future, a woman who goes by “Joan” (Emma Roberts in one of her best performances to date) hitches a ride with a family, driving to pay their respects at their late daughter’s grave in Bramford. The stories of Kat, Rose, and Joan converge to tell a sinister tale with satanic elements in the dead of February.

3.       I Am Not a Serial Killer (2016, dir. Billy O’Brien)

Shot in Minnesota during February of 2015, I Am Not a Serial Killer captures the ennui of the long nights and short days of a Midwestern winter better than any other film I’ve yet to see. Diagnosed teenage sociopath John works in his mother’s funeral home, assisting her in exhuming bodies, which makes for graphic but intriguing set pieces. John takes a special interest in a series of murders in his small town, in which the killer removes the victims’ organs. Christopher Lloyd plays John’s neighbor, Bill Crowley, who John soon discovers to be the killer, but with a shocking, Lovecraftian motive. The quaint setting of I Am Not a Serial Killer provides a sense of reality to an otherwise fantastical story of murder and a monster.

#lists

[cinemamablog]

Alfred Hitchcock’s False Endings

The ending of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1941 film Suspicion terrifies me. Johnnie, played by an appropriately suspicious Cary Grant, assuages Lina’s, an Oscar-winning Joan Fontaine, fears but not those of the audience. Over the course of the movie, we’ve witnessed this man dance around the truth and outright lie in order to avoid the consequences of his actions. He provides a reasonable defense for every theft and falsehood, but unlike Lina, we are not in love with Johnnie and see his final defense with a sense of clarity she lacks. When Johnnie wraps his arm around Lina’s shoulder before “The End” appears onscreen, it is not a happy ending but rather the push of a “restart” button for their game of loving cat and deceitful mouse. Will Lina ever “catch” Johnnie or will he always keep her suspicions at bay, that is, until it’s too late?

The ending to Suspicion feels like an accurate non-ending for a toxic relationship. Lina encounters red flag after red flag over the course of her relationship with Johnnie, and yet, even when she almost falls out of a car and over a cliff, she accepts Johnnie’s explanation for her near death experience. The audience roots for her to call him out on his murderous shenanigans and leave him for good. And then: The End. Much like a real toxic relationship, Lina allows herself to be gaslighted into believing Johnnie (yet again) and vows to work through his problems together.

Similarly, in 1959’s North by Northwest, the happy ending feels false, as if a darker alternative ending exists somewhere, rotting away from vinegar syndrome in a film collector’s attic; an ending where Cary Grant let’s go of Eva Marie Saint’s hand and drops her down, down, down to her death from Mount Rushmore. I can just imagine a foolish test screening audience unanimously jotting down on their comment cards “Too depressing! Save the girl!” Reshoots ensue and the original, more truthful-to-tone ending rests in peace on the cutting room floor. Or so I imagine.

Maybe the ending to North by Northwest is a fantasy concocted by Cary Grant’s character. The trauma of losing Eva Marie Saint causes Grant to disassociate and live out his life as a man in a daydream of denial, in which he lives happily ever after with his sweetheart. That’s how I interpret the ending, because how could a man possibly hoist up a grown woman from a cliff on his own? I don’t believe he could and prefer my interpretation of the ending (a hopeful figment of Grant’s imagination), rather than taking the final scene at face value.

Both Suspicion and North by Northwest end in a manner that seems happier than possible, given the sinister events leading up to them. While the audience should feel elated (Grant isn’t going to murder Fontaine! He saves the girl from falling to her death!), instead we feel unsettled. So close to the abyss and yet we didn’t fall into it. So used to filmmakers pushing us out of the car and over the cliff for drama’s sake, Hitchcock’s sudden decision to spare us leaves the audience shaken and confused. We saw the film flash before our eyes, all scenes leading up to this moment, and yet here we are, driving off into the sunset. Something smells rotten, but we’ll never feel sure of our protagonists’ fate. In that sense, Hitchcock has gifted us the ultimate cliffhangers in these two films: the audience wants to believe that all is well, but we know better. And we know better because Hitch has taught us to know better over the course of his filmography. We walk out of theatre and into the sunlight and don’t trust our surroundings quite the same way we did before we first entered Hitchcock’s cinema.

#critique

[cinemamablog]

Laura Dern: Movie Mother Figure

I don’t even like the 2014 movie Wild that much, but it makes me cry. To understand why, we need to travel back to my childhood on South Saint Mary’s Street, where I spent almost every homeschooled afternoon popping VHS tapes into the VCR and then walking away until it was time for my favorite scenes. It required less effort than fast forwarding to simply walk away and let the characters work out the pacing and plot on their own before I returned for the “good parts.” I practically developed a muscle memory for when I needed to come back to the living room if I wanted to see the Macavity song and dance number in Andrew Lloyd Weber’s CATS. (A certified bop, let’s be real.)

October Sky held a special place in my heart in this tradition of “play and walk away.” I loved the music, so I liked to waltz in for the montages and waltz right back out. I didn’t understand any of the movie besides sometimes the rockets flew and sometimes they didn’t and for some reason Homer Hickam’s dad was mad as hell. Looking back, I think I enjoyed witnessing the struggles in Homer’s family life, a humble existence built around their town’s coal mines. His parents love their son but his fascination with rockets seems literally out of this world to them, the stuff of dreams and fairy dust. As a young girl eager for approval and validation from my parents, I related to Homer. And in the encouraging teacher played by Laura Dern, I saw a mother figure.

I adore my mom and we’re so alike it can be annoying. Ever since I was small, I wanted her praise more than anything. I would bring her scribbles and doodles and ask her to “grade” them since I was homeschooled and had no other teacher to which I could bring my work. (She usually refused to give me a grade, besides an “E” for Effort, much to my frustration.) I can’t help but think this strong desire for validation influenced my perspective when I watched October Sky: Homer Hickam’s parents aren’t enthusiastic about his hobbies, while Laura Dern’s character, Miss Riley, encouraged him every step of the way.

While I now understand the desire to instill self-motivation in my children, I also still daydream about bringing work to my parents and them exclaiming: “This is GREAT. You could be a writer/photographer/actress/director/whatever you want!” I think we all need a Miss Riley in our lives and we usually discover them outside of our homes, whether at school or work or through our hobbies. Self-motivation is a great skill, but sometimes external validation can mean the difference between daydreaming and pursuing a passion. The words of others have the ability to empower, I’ve learned both from receiving them and from desperately seeking them.

Years after I stopped performing my ritual of playing VHS tapes all day long, I felt a heavy emotion hit me. I went with my husband to see Wild at the Promenade. Reese Witherspoon’s character (Cheryl) argues with her doomed mother, Laura Dern (Bobbi), about how she lives her life. Bobbi insists all her sacrifices were worth it because she loves her children. Witnessing a mother-daughter dynamic familiar to any young woman, where we want the best for our mothers and feel angry that they don’t get the good things in life that they deserve, brought my idealized version of Dern back to earth. No longer portraying the sweet-as-pie Miss Riley but rather a single mother trying her damnedest, I saw the encouraging mother figure of my childhood daydreams act in a manner more consistent with my reality. Not only did Bobbi and Cheryl remind me of my own relationship with my mother, it felt like the film warned me: appreciate her before it’s too late. Bobbi passes away from cancer and leaves Cheryl to deal with both her overwhelming grief and her drug addiction.

In the theatre that night, I cried at the thought of living in Cheryl’s shoes, struggling along a trail paved by grief. Even though I couldn’t relate to the drug usage, I could not begin to imagine my life without my mom.

It felt like a psychic casting director had stared into my brain when I read the news that Dern had been cast as Marmee in the new Little Women. But of course my “movie mom” would play the mother in my real mom’s favorite book! My mom adores the Little Women franchise. She has spent years collecting dolls and assorted memorabilia related to the book. Marmee best represents the kind of mother I think my mom has tried to be for me and my sisters: wise, loving, and focused on what really matters. I think the fact that I recognize this means that she has succeeded. Laura Dern has come to represent my mom onscreen in many ways: What I want from her, what I learn from her, and where I’d be without her… lost in the wild.

#personal

[cinemamablog]

Let’s Make a Movie!

You’re probably familiar with the traditional Hollywood success story: an unlikely bunch of creative folk band together and create something full of heart and raw talent. Through their endeavor, they find both creative satisfaction and an audience of appreciative moviegoers. Everyone loves a triumphant underdog story about the empowerment that film gives storytellers who dare to embrace the medium. Movies that follow this storyline encapsulate what captivates us about movies in the first place: through film, anyone can create something that resonates with people. The Tommy Wiseau character in The Disaster Artist provides people with a baffling and joyful communal experience wherever his infamous vanity project The Room screens. The Rudy Ray Moore character in Dolemite is My Name gives the people what they want when he brings laughs, action, and sex together onscreen in his rag tag team’s first feature, Dolemite. Both films capture the anticipation, anxiety, and joy as a team works together to do the impossible: make a movie.

The Disaster Artist tells its story through an unlikely antihero: Tommy Wiseau, the eccentric filmmaker behind the so-bad-it’s-still-bad cult favorite The Room, played by a pitch perfect James Franco. (He also directed the movie.) Tommy’s best friend, Greg (played by James’ brother Dave), experiences the plot through the audience’s perspective: confused by Tommy’s self-centered shenanigans, but also in awe of his undeniable passion. Tommy hires anyone who lets him bully them into making his film on his dangerously amateur terms: shot on digital and film simultaneously over the course of weeks of production, with no air conditioning and very little concrete evidence that the finished project will ever see the light of day. And yet, despite his lack of personal accountability and often crude behavior, you can’t help but worry for Tommy when the cruel light of reality hits him on the opening night of his film: the evening’s audience (made up of his crew and their loved ones) laughs and laughs. (At him, not with him.) In an unsurprising but welcome twist, when the credits role, that same audience gives Tommy a standing ovation in honor of his hilarious movie. He gleefully accepts the applause for his failure of a Tennessee Williams homage, but success of a nonsensical comedy.

The main protagonist of Dolemite is My Name, Rudy Ray Moore, played by a lovable and beyond-Oscar-worthy Eddie Murphy, makes Tommy Wiseau look like a total narcissist. While Tommy tears down his cast and yells at his crew for the sake of his own selfish filmmaking aspirations, Rudy brings everyone together with a common goal: to make a feature length Dolemite feature for the fans of his comic act. He encourages his mentee and friend Lady Reed (a glorious Da'Vine Joy Randolph) to harness her star power in the supporting role of Queen Bee, the character in charge of Dolemite’s gang of stylish, kung fu-fighting women. The comradeship between Rudy and Lady especially stands out in contrast to the misogynistic manner in which Tommy treats his leading lady in The Disaster Artist.

I also noted while watching Dolemite is My Name that Tommy Wiseau profits from white privilege. Sure, he abuses his cast and crew, but he pursues the American dream and we can’t help but admire him for his quirky sensibility and, here’s that word again, passion. If Rudy treated the people in his life in the careless way Tommy did, would we even bother making a film about him? Society holds white men to a different standard than men of color. Which makes Dolemite is My Name all the more admirable, serving as a shining example of black excellence and innovation in the face of limitations placed on Rudy by the American film industry due to his “niche” appeal.

Regardless of the characters’ privilege or lack thereof, the audience is on their side and wishes them success in their filmmaking endeavors. Both Tommy and Rudy overcome adversity, whether its Tommy’s own unstable mental state or the limitations Rudy faces as a black man with a unique vision and very little money. The Disaster Artist and Dolemite is My Name explore the empowerment possible through the creative process, whether that’s Tommy connecting with a loving fan base or Lady Reed seeing someone who looks like her onscreen (in a positive light) for the first time. Both films inspire me to gather a group of talented friends and exclaim “Let’s make a movie!”

#critique

[cinemamablog]

Is This the Oscars or Saturday Night Live?

Gary Oldman as Winston Churchill, Natalie Portman as Jackie Kennedy, Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury, Taron Egerton as Elton John, Renee Zellweger as Judy Garland… The list goes on and on. Every year, the movie awards circuit zeroes in on actors who played real people onscreen, both living and dead. Such actors presumably spent hours studying interviews, dialects, performances, and primary and secondary written sources on their “character.” But when does acting stop and imitation begin? What makes one performance worthy of a For Your Consideration campaign and the other relegated to a five minute sketch on Saturday Night Live?

One can argue that all acting is a form of imitation: imitating the human condition, mimicking feelings and expressions to effectively communicate an imaginary situation to the audience. Any actor will tell you, while some skillfully switch between “on” and “off” and others struggle to break out of character, they often really do feel their performances on an emotional level. Most actors consider “going through the motions” a failure of a performance. Acting requires a great deal of emotional and physical commitment, regardless of whether a character really lived or not.

Performing as real people has long been a regular and respected aspect of acting, from Shakespeare onward and probably even before then. (I’m no history major- oh wait, I am. I’m not sure how that happened.) Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, for example, now nearly mythical figures of the British monarchy, once served as familiar characters onstage, in modern times replaced in the public consciousness by less-than-royal celebrities. So it’s not a new phenomenon, this desire to see the people we read about living out there lives (preferably the dramatic bits) onstage or onscreen.

An actor portraying a real person has their prep work cut out for them: biographies, documentaries, YouTube videos, and countless other resources can give one insight into a person’s motivations, desires, and fears. Then again, can we ever truly know a person, regardless of how much has been written about them or how much they’ve even written about themselves? There should be a disclaimer for critics who think playing a real person is easy: some imagination and assembly required!

While the preparation sounds fun, living up to an audience’s expectations provides an actor with a particularly explosive minefield, one called public opinion, to navigate. Play the part too spot on and it’s a caricature. Play the part as you would any other character, with artistic license, and it’s not accurate. In this regard, an actor could easily fall off the tightrope while walking in a real person’s shoes, down into the lions’ den of hungry critics and audience members alike. (That’s three metaphors rolled into one sentence; bon appetit.)

So should we continue to lavish extra attention on the actors who dare to tackle these biographical roles? Or should we consciously shift our focus to actors who instead pursue original characters and bring only their artistic sensibility and understanding of the material to the role? Is Bill Hader’s impression of Keith Morrison from Dateline equally worthy of praise compared to Charlize Theron’s portrayal of Megyn Kelly in Bombshell? Where is the line between a joke and “serious” acting if both outcomes result from careful observation and researching your subject?

The fact is, in order to win awards, people have to watch an actors’ work. Which movie are Academy voters more likely to give a chance: a film about a familiar beloved musician or a well-known dramatic event, or a film based on only the imagination of the film crew? What seems like a safer bet to the busy mom with $15 and a babysitter for three hours tops? When put into this perspective, it’s understandable why audiences gravitate towards the familiar story and heap praise onto the performances within a comfortably predictable structure, perhaps at the cost of lesser-seen pictures with equally talented cast members. A great actor breathes life into any character, whether based on fact or fiction, and each type of performance potentially deserves awards consideration. But since I’m not an Academy voter, all I can use is my ticket money, my attention, and my platform at CineMama to spread awareness for actors’ work that may otherwise get overlooked.

#critique

[cinemamablog]

Past, Present, and Future: Greta Gerwig’s "Little Women” Refuses to Keep Still

What can possibly be done to improve upon Little Women, you ask? Besides adding and subtracting scenes willy nilly from the hundreds of pages of Louisa May Alcott’s book (two books if you’re being annoying about it), countless film and television and opera and radio and anime and musical adaptations have cut Little Women’s basic plot into our cultural stone: four sisters representing four archetypes, one mother, several suitors, and a story of love, loss, dreams, and growth. But to misquote one of my favorite children’s books, Chester’s Way: “And then Greta moved into the neighborhood.”

After its premiere, rumors disseminated regarding the story structure of Greta Gerwig’s second solo directorial feature: Jo March’s story, like in the relatively recent Broadway musical, begins in New York and travels back in time to her girlhood in Concord, Massachusetts. Unlike the Broadway musical, the time travel does not cease, but rather plays a key part of the storytelling, contrasting the warm hues of summer and the dark clouds of death, the joy of hope and the devastation of loss, and sharing with us the March girls’ life in a manner as similar to life’s structure as cinematically possible: interconnected and forever touched by the past and leading to the future.

When I first heard tell of this time-jumping structure, I feared for the worst: I hated the dual timelines of last year’s Joaquin Phoenix vehicle Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot, because every time I settled into one storyline and got comfortable, the film flung the audience to another time and another story. Unlike Don’t Worry…, 2019’s Little Women uses its dual timelines to compliment the events within each and travels between them frequently enough that the plot denies the audience any opportunities to rest on their laurels. A thinking woman’s Little Women, if you will, with artistic choices you may not initially understand, but upon reflection, offer a wealth of discoveries to the curious viewer.

The other whisper on the street regarding this adaptation regarded Florence Pugh’s performance as the youngest March sister, Amy. Heck, any whisper on the street regarding any film featuring Pugh regards her performance. Her work speaks for itself, but let me join the complimentary chorus: her naturalism and charm make every character, whether a grieving girlfriend in Midsommar or a confident Amy in Little Women, not only lovable, but addictive to watch. (Her scenes alone give Little Women a significant boost in re-watch value.) Thank goodness Gerwig decided to honor Pugh’s range as an actress by keeping her onscreen for both “young Amy”’s and “old Amy”’s scenes, unlike the 1994 film’s decision to split the role between a brilliant pre-teen Kirsten Dunst and a lackluster Samantha Mathis. (Ms. Mathis’ character felt undeveloped and cold in contrast to Dunst’s feisty performance.)

Are you ready for another delightful take on Little Women, courtesy of Greta Gerwig’s original screenplay? May I introduce one of the unexpected themes of 2019’s Little Women: the unique relationship between women and money, now and then. Jo fights for ownership of her work and fair compensation, Amy sees marriage as a necessary and unavoidable “economic proposition,” Meg struggles between the reality of her modest life and her luxurious desires, and, as the TV show Friends stressed back in 1997, Beth dies. Despite structural innovation, that fact never changes, I’m sorry (but not surprised) to write. While the Alcott, I mean, March family’s lack of funds always factors into their story and individual fates, Gerwig takes care to stress in pointed scenes how women in the 1800s dealt with some of the same issues facing women today. (As Emma Watson pointed out in a recent interview, Taylor Swift’s contemporary fight to own the masters of her music reflects that of Jo March.)

Performances from Laura Dern, Saoirse Ronan, and Meryl Streep, and of course the aforementioned Florence Pugh, give Little Women a strong foundation, but Gerwig’s innovative script and clever direction give the audience something to ponder long after they leave the theatre. This adaptation of the 100+ year-old story of four sisters encompasses their past and their future as a whole, with moments gaining significance with hindsight and bright days seeming all the more so when contrasted to the bleak ones. The March sisters’ timeless story cannot be contained within the present moment and as such, will no longer be limited to a linear pattern, but rather belongs to the ages, now and forever, amen.

#critique

[cinemamablog]

In Another World: a Buddy Comedy Hiding in “Chernobyl”

I’m breaking a rule of mine: I’m writing about TV today. “But is a five episode-long mini-series really TV?” I ask myself.  Yes, it is, but it’s my rule and I’ll break it if I want to. Over the course of the weekend, my husband and I watched the HBO mini-series Chernobyl, a harrowing look at the cause and aftermath of the infamous Russian nuclear disaster in the spring of 1986. (Not to be confused with the 2012 found footage mess, starring Jesse McCartney and rabbit killer-and-eater Dimitri Diatchenko, The Chernobyl Diaries.) Lurking underneath this tale of doom and gloom resides a male comradeship that, in a less deadly situation, might look something like a buddy comedy.

Jared Harris plays an earnest man of science, Valery Legasov, the one man in Russia who seems to understand how a nuclear reactor works. Stellan Skarsgard plays Valery’s bureaucratic foil, Boris Shcherbina. The Central Committee of the Communist Party assigns Valery to accompany Boris to Chernobyl to assess the situation from a scientific standpoint, while Boris represents the Soviet Union’s best interests. (Which are to keep up national and international appearances and cover up the nuclear incident.) Within moments of boarding the plane to Chernobyl, a disgruntled Boris asks Valery point blank how a nuclear reactor works. Valery explains the basic concept in layman’s terms, to which Boris replies “Now I know how a nuclear reactor works, so I don’t need you.” This humorous but brusque display of annoyance plays like flirting in a romantic comedy, with Skarsgard playing the stubborn party whose icy demeanor eventually melts as Valery and Boris grow to see things eye to eye.

After an episode or two of bickering between these intelligent men of politics and science, Vasely lays down the law: due to the radiation poisoning the air they breathe, they both can expect to die within five years. They might as well work together. Moving forward with this morbid perspective of a shared fate, the pair buckle down and actually bring out the best in one another: Valery thinks in scientific but occasionally apolitical terms, while Boris acts as a diplomatic reality check, keeping Valery’s head out of the mushroom clouds and translating the scientific mumbo jumbo for his fellow bureaucrats. By the end of five episodes, their mutual respect, and the brains and moral compass of Emily Watson’s character, Ulana Khomyuk, bonds the motley group together to accomplish something none of them could have alone: publicly contradicting and correcting the Soviet Union’s version of events.

The teamwork displayed by Boris, Vasely, and Ulana defies political polarization. They all want the same thing: the truth. While their attitudes and strengths differ, the three musketeers of Chernobyl exemplify the greatness possible when we utilize our differences for the common good and focus on the things that bring us together rather than what alienates us from each other. Lies frighten and isolate us, but the truth unites us. I wrote in the first paragraph that Vasely and Boris might have been comedic buddies in a less dangerous situation, but I take that back. They developed a kinship not in spite of their circumstances, but rather because of them. They shared a goal, a fate, and a bond that brought the truth to light when darkness threatened to swallow the USSR and beyond.

#critique

[cinemamablog]

Seven Sundance Selections in 2020

With Oscar nominations around the corner, I start to look forward to some of the most hyped indie films of 2020, debuting in America at the Sundance Film Festival in January. The lineup consists of the standard mix of unique comedies and dramas, but also some midnight features to keep you awake at night. Highlights include Julie Taymor’s first film since 2007’s Across the Universe, Carey Mulligan in the revenge thriller Promising Young Woman, and horror novelist Shirley Jackson’s biopic, directed by experimental filmmaker Josephine Decker. Read on for details on my seven most anticipated films out of Sundance.

1.       The Glorias (Julie Taymor)

She’s back! Possibly one of the most important movies of my high school years, Julie Taymor hasn’t directed a feature film (besides filmed stage productions) since her visionary Beatles musical, Across the Universe, which turned twelve years-old this year. (Thirteen by the time The Glorias finally debuts.) Taymor’s new film, based on Gloria Steinem’s best-selling memoir My Life on the Road, stars Alicia Vikander and Julianne Moore as young and old Gloria, respectively. Everyone’s favorite singer-turned-actress, Janelle Monae, co-stars as Ms. Magazine co-founder Dorothy Pitman Hughes. (All the time spent reading Oliver his copy of Baby Feminists is starting to pay off; I admittedly didn’t know of Ms. Pitman Hughes before!) As a history lover, I notice Taymor is one of two directors on this list who specialize in historical fiction and biopics with a unique artistic vision. The other is Pablo Larrain, but maybe after Josephine Decker’s production of Shirley debuts, she can join them in the Artful & Cinematic History Club. (I’m dreaming big when I say: maybe someday I can!)

2.       Possessor (Brandon Cronenberg)

Brandon Cronenberg: Clearly profiting from nepotism? Yes. Talented storyteller in the same genre as his father? Also yes. Antiviral, Cronenberg’s first film, was gory, bloody, and surprisingly bright, featuring a breakout performance for indie film’s resident millennial weirdo Caleb Landry Jones. (An appropriate directorial debut from the son of the director of futuristic body horror like The Fly and Videodrome.) Young Cronenberg’s second film stars Jennifer Jason Leigh and one of the most versatile actresses ever, chameleon Andrea Riseborough. Possessor is also one of at least two movies at Sundance 2020 featuring Christopher Abbott (the second is drama Black Bear), whose work reliably impresses in arthouse genre fare like Piercing and It Comes at Night.

3.       Shirley (Josephine Decker)

With a wealth of adaptations hitting streaming platforms in recent years, like The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle, the late writer Shirley Jackson is having a Moment and Shirley promises not to be a typical period biopic. Director of Madeline’s Madeline from the 2018 Sundance Film Festival, I consider Josephine Decker a Sundance veteran. Her surreal approach and focus on unhealthy relationships fits well into Shirley Jackson’s world of mystery, secrets, and the paranormal. Starring Elisabeth Moss as Ms. Jackson and Michael Stuhlberg as her husband, Shirley’s strong cast bolsters a relevant topic, an up-and-coming director, and the untold story of a creative mind’s real life.

4.       Kajillionaire (Miranda July)

July previously directed and starred in indie hits Me and You and Everyone We Know and The Future, two melancholy films about isolation and connection. A writer, performance artist, dancer, etc., July does it all and I don’t always “get” her work, but it’s safe to say that no one else is like her. Also, in relation to the previous entry, she co-starred in Madeline’s Madeline as a worried sick, unstable mother. An indie queen of the film scene and the art world and pretty much any medium she attempts, I look forward to a returning trip to July’s cinematic world in the New Year, especially since this particular voyage stars Evan Rachel Wood, Debra Winger, Richard Jenkins, and Gina Rodriguez.

5.       Promising Young Woman (Emerald Fennell)

It’s a New Year’s miracle: one of my favorite actresses starring in the kind of movie that South Korea excels at and often stokes controversy in America: the revenge film. I haven’t seen Carey Mulligan star in something with such glossy marketing since The Great Gatsby in 2013. She’s mostly stuck to dramas, like Suffragette and last year’s Wildlife, but I welcome her to the world of genre film with open arms. One of the few Sundance selections with a trailer already on YouTube, check out the latest thriller and feature film debut from Killing Eve showrunner Emerald Fennell.

6.       The Nowhere Inn (Bill Benz)

St. Vincent/Annie Clark previously dabbled in genre filmmaking when she directed a segment, “The Birthday Party,” for the feminist horror anthology XX, so promisingly, this isn’t her first rodeo. I’m also a huge fan of Carrie Brownstein’s television comedy collaboration with Fred Armisen, Portlandia. So when I found out Brownstein and Clark star together in a Midnight selection at Sundance this year, I felt hyped before I even read the intriguing IMDb synopsis: “St. Vincent sets out to make a documentary about her music, but when she hires a close friend to direct, notions of reality, identity, and authenticity grow increasingly distorted and bizarre.” Sign me up for a distorted and bizarre cinematic experience, please!

7.       Ema (Pablo Larrain)

One of the movies I bought when my old Blockbuster closed down, Pablo Larrain’s Oscar-nominated No stuck out to me for its vintage aesthetic and historical story of a groundbreaking election campaign in Chile. I saw Larrain’s English language debut, Jackie, in the iconic Cinerama Dome in Hollywood while sipping some kind of coffee drink from the Arclight’s café and felt revitalized by such a perfect movie. I can point to Jackie when I’m doubting my love for contemporary film and say “But how could you not love film anymore when movies like Jackie exist?” Less emotionally affected by his inventive biopic Neruda, but straight up disturbed by the fallen priests in The Club, I look forward to any offerings from Larrain, including this upcoming story of a woman reinventing herself, Ema. (It doesn’t hurt that he frequently collaborates with one of the most gorgeous men alive, Gael Garcia Bernal.)

#lists