As mentioned previously, because of a hectic schedule and less films than expected on the final day, I’m just going to combine both days into one and end with a summary.
Silent Friend (Ildikó Enyedi): B
If ever there was a vibes movie, this one’s it. Most of the time I enjoyed the imagery; it gets real interesting somewhere around the second act with the student in the 70s taking care of the houseplant that may be able to communicate with some sort of language. The rest of the stories have different resonances (the Turn-Of-The-Century one most prominently) and there’s the connecting thread of the tree and history, but Enyedi keeps it thematically loose for the most part. So deliberate I started to get restless during it, and while I see it reaching for grand emotion, I don’t think it gets there.
The Secret Agent (Kleber Mendonça Filho): B+
Probably should’ve expected something from the director of Bacarau to get wild. Filho shows great creativity in the sequences involving the leg but the meaning of it as it relates to the story feels way more elusive unless it’s something that actually happened around the same time (he keeps panning to a portrait in some scenes, which I assume is the current ruler of Brazil). Wagner Moura does an excellent job, and there’s some resonance with our current times; I do think it could’ve done a slightly better job at situating it in context given the overall complexity of the story.
Nirvana the Band the Show the Movie (Matt Johnson): A-
Had meant to watch at least some of the webshow before going into this and now having seen it, I think going in blind was the best possible choice. Seeing it with an enthusiastic crowd most definitely helped – the energy was truly electric – though Johnson and McCarroll don’t lean too much on running gags and if they do, they’re easy to pick up on. Lots of laughs to be had from the truly outrageous “How the fuck did they do that?” stunts to stupid background gags to the perfect use of a passerby. Made me want to check out the show in earnest, and it’s probably the best thing the Canadian government has spent money on in the last few years.
Primate (Johannes Roberts): B/B+
You know exactly the reason why you’re going into this movie, and so do the filmmakers luckily. Roberts slices basically everything extraneous down to the bone, which on one hand means it gets to the goods pretty fast. On the other, that means there’s barely any actual character development or much of a plot but honestly, who needs either of those things? It’s a good slasher flick with all the right tensions and some very good monkey VFX to be a fun time, not to mention some truly gnarly gore. When the biggest complaint is that it’s lit too dark, I guess you aren’t doing too bad.
The Plague (Charlie Polinger): A
About an hour and a half of detailing why 12-13 year old boys are some of the most evil sociopaths on this planet and doing it with sharp direction. Body horror elements are overstated to the point where it might’ve been better to lose them entirely, but then again the scariest part is really the arbitrary nature of childish cruelty. Everett Blunck is fantastic as a realistically awkward pre-teen while Kayo Martin is a demon sent from hell; you know exactly who this kid is, you have met him. Polinger films beautifully eerie underwater footage, often cutting off the heads of the subjects to leave just dangling torsos, and he ends it with a startling abstract image. For all that might be familiar about it, I don’t know another film that gets how unintentionally useless adults can be in bullying situations and how that peer pressure extends until you can’t even recognize yourself anymore. Difficult to shake; could give you flashbacks.
Dead Man’s Wire (Gus Van Sant): C+
Spent the entire runtime thinking that Bill Skarsgard looked distractingly like Michael Shannon and I have no idea if that was part of his acting choices or just a result of it being the 70s despite him not looking like the guy at all). In any case, reasonably compelling even if he’s the most annoying man alive; it doesn’t help that Van Sant layers in references to Dog Day Afternoon, a far better film in basically every aspect. Never really bought into the attempt at sympathy through an Evil Bank, which is perhaps among the biggest failings. Any movie that features My’hala this prominently – and thus reminds one that Industry will be coming back – can’t be wholly negative; she’s a great reporter.
Is This Thing On? (Bradley Cooper): B
Braced for cringe faildad, ended up with a kind of nice romantic comedy. Much better direction than writing, though apparently it’s based on a real story so some of the events can’t be blamed. Arnett isn’t too bad as a standup – and it also gives him a Bojack reunion with Amy Sedaris. Not really much going on but not entirely unpleasant. I should really check out A Star Is Born one of these days.
Sentimental Value: A-
Immensely moving, knotty family drama. Attention will deservingly be on the trio of Renate Reinsve, Stellan Skarsgard, and Elle Fanning but I want to bring attention to Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas as Agnes, not the most central character but in a way the more difficult role having to reconcile the more difficult feelings. Main reservation is what purpose the flashbacks – though affecting – serve in relation to the story of the film. They seem to be narrated by the same actor as in The Worst Person In The World but they’re so infrequent they come across as a little jarring. I’m sure I’ll be able to parse that connection when I haven’t spent 11 days straight watching movies.
And so we’ve finally come to the end. Including Lesbian Space Princess (which I didn’t actually see at the festival), I watched a total of 40 films. Had I been able to get into Hamnet I might not have gotten that much. Would I advise doing that? Not really, unless you have an exorbitant amount of free time and/or can take off the time to do so. I at least have the benefit of not being jet-lagged or expected to crank out words, which has been helpful in avoiding regret on takes. Overall, the slate this year was mostly highs; nothing really disappointed me, nothing made me want to sprint for the exit, and there weren’t any huge disasters. At most I would only criticize NEON for holding back on several high profile screenings, which just isn’t very good for anybody and in general leads to a shitshow. All I know is making a year-end list is going to be absolute murder, and because I’m going to be submitting ballots this year, I’m not doing an actual writeup. However, you can go check out the full list of everything I saw here. I will do my best not to change it too much but know that I make no promises. Till next time, ie whenever I have a take I can’t pitch anywhere or something extremely dumb.
Decided against doing a full day, since I missed Kika due to a couple running over, and I wanted to transcribe an interview so I could condense and file next week. Don’t anticipate any of those issues today. Apologies on this one coming out late, just had too much going on.
Songs of Forgotten Trees (Anuparna Roy): B/B+ Deserving winner of the Orizzonti directing prize, even though thinking back on it I don’t know that it really contains that much in it. Thought for a while it was trending in a love story direction, and while the vibes are there it’s more an enigmatic friendship. Roy doesn’t dive into how these two women met or how long they’ve known each other, and the whole recurring bit with the trees and forgetting is poetic, but seems to lack something. Another pretty good debut that deserves at least a few more eyes.
Keep Quiet and Forgive.Credit: PBS Films
Keep Quiet and Forgive(Sarah McClure): C+/B-
Powerful stories, functionally directed. The focus seems mainly to be on Lizzie’s book and Voices Of Hope but there’s a surface level examination of both. If you’ve read the ProPublica and other stories on sexual abuse within Amish communities, you basically know the gist here and while there is value in hearing their words straight from them, McClure doesn’t really offer much else other than reiterating the systemic nature of the abuse as well as tying it into similar Mennonite cases. A full history on both sects would probably be unnecessary but you won’t really get much info out of them. Decent as a piece of journalism, some questions about when it was filmed notwithstanding and it does contain some very disturbing moments (like the drawing). Good intentions only take you so far.
The Testament of Ann Lee. Credit: Fox Searchlight
The Testament of Ann Lee (Mona Fastvold): A-
Ecstatic and feverish but oh so earnest. Ann’s faith is never much in doubt – which is somewhat refreshing – and Seyfried’s truly magnificent performance shows why people would choose to live in celibacy to follow this sort of odd Mancunian woman. Reports of it being a musical might be slightly oversold, though there are a few song sequences that appear to be separate from others; one of Fastvold’s best choices is to have all the songs be diegetic, so the sailors on the boat yell at them to shut up while they’re trying to worship. Those worship sequences are absolutely mesmerizing in their coordination, the rise and fall of the music with its occasional pieces of anachronism (an electric guitar coming in right as an eclipse fills). Of course it’s not as reachingly thematic as The Brutalist but in some way, there’s a tighter emotional core in the story of a woman who wants to do her best for God; it might be a little too hagiographic of her as well, though I don’t recall the Shakers ever having some of the worst bits of American Cults, but the whole modesty part of it can raise a few eyebrows. Moment I knew it was something special was “I Am Running, I Am Mad”.
Man Finds Tape. Credit: XYZ Films
Man Finds Tape(Paul Gandersmanand Peter S. Hall): B+
Rating’s a little lower than expected but being completely honest, I cannot justify putting it in the same tier as Noroi: The Curse or even my beloved Red Rooms. Which isn’t to say it’s shallow so much as shifts focus slightly in a way that lets some things fall by the wayside, and while it’s gripping, I wouldn’t exactly call it scary (save for a couple of moments towards the end). Really dug the faux doc aesthetic, especially as someone who enjoys watching Nexpo vids on creepypasta; Gandersman and Hall deeply understand those communities and the way things spiral out of control not only in “real life”, but also eventually in the story itself. Not a movie that ends up explaining much, which might all be for the better. In any case, though it might not have been about snuff as I’d expected, it swerves in interesting ways to scratch that horror itch for me.
Tomorrow: Combining Saturday and Sunday into one because I can feel myself slowing down, and this is already behind.
Only got two today, as I didn’t want to see Jay Kelly and none of the ones at the top looked particularly interesting. Feel like I might be seeing less this year than last but I’m sure it’ll pick up over this next weekend, and is probably just as well. That being said, had at least one unexpected triumph.
My Father’s Shadow(Akinola Davies Jr): A
Only knew it was Un Certain Regard and some passing Cannes reviews, was completely unprepared for the near experimental track it takes in the opening with its collage of film and thunderous soundtrack. Davies Jr’s debut (writing with his brother Wale) is less Bicycle Thieves (though one could easily draw that comparison what with the father searching for money) and more Aftersun, but with a stronger political bent. I was a little concerned it could be too ominous on the soundtrack; African history is not my strongest but given that it’s set on the eve of an election you can do the math. And when it does come it’s properly devastating, but more important is that you forget something bad is going to happen for a large period as you hang with this family through Lagos. Godwin Egbo and Chibuike Marvellous Egbo are truly marvelous finds even if they weren’t actual brothers, striking the perfect balance between inquisitive carefree kids and watchful youths sensing that something is troubling their father. As that father, Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù (unfamiliar to me, but it appears he’s big in the UK) projects warmth and good nature, immensely charismatic but – like Paul Mescal – able to thread a discomfort without it overwhelming. The 16mm haze is absolutely beautiful and the score from CJ Mirra and Tuval Anthony is simply wonderful. Hard to believe this is a debut, so assured and graceful. It’s one of those films that reminds me why I come to festivals.
Redux Redux. Credit: XYZ Films
Redux Redux(Andrew and Kevin McManus): C
Too many good films in a row, only inevitable I find something lackluster. I was already a little wary of it just from the concept of “woman travelling parallel universes to enact vengeance on the man who killed her daughter” because of the fash potential, and despite the guide noting Terminator I was unprepared for it to be mostly about her doing it with one of his victims she manages to rescue by accident. Bits of it could form a reasonably compelling movie – the one about multiversal smugglers is neat worldbuilding – but I got off on the wrong foot the minute Mia started talking; she’s written way too “clever”, sounding like some melange of old tough broads while also being quite blasé for someone who almost got serial murdered. There’s a similar lack of care throughout some of the other details, not enough to be bothersome so much as make you ask questions. Perhaps most symptomatic is a blaring score that’s almost constant throughout the movie. I won’t say the most interesting thing that happened was someone throwing up in the theater although if that didn’t happen, I can’t say I really would’ve remembered much about it in the end.
Tomorrow: Checking back in with Josh O’Connor and a long ass Chinese film.
Today was pretty much the rest of my most anticipated. I’ll be seeing The Mastermind and Sentimental Value later in the festival, so after that it’s things I’m either taking a chance on or haven’t had much interest to begin with, which can sometimes feature surprises in itself. Of course, there’s always a chance that some of the other popular showings could have late screenings but given the way distributors have been acting this year, I’m not holding my breath. Pretty much all of the ones below I anticipated giving high scores, a couple can be more acquired tastes.
Sound Of Falling: A-
In which you simply must surrender yourself to some absolutely beautiful shots. I’ll be honest, a few of the timelines weren’t exactly clear to me and it’s perhaps a bit too elliptical; the unifying theme appears to be death and its seductive pull between 4 generations of women. Recurring bits like each of them remarking on something being “warm”, the buzzing of flies, and gazes into the camera provide some form of linkage but it really is one you just kind of vibe with or you don’t. Mascha Schilinski was the co-winner of the Jury Prize at Cannes this year (third place basically) for her second feature, the first German woman since Maren Ade to be in Competition. Very easy to see why, and it’s just as easy to imagine it taking a deeper hold in my mind or simply evaporating away like so many memories and traumas.
No Other Choice. Credit: NEON
No Other Choice: A-
I expected the score on that one to be higher and it very well could rise. That was almost certainly because as someone who’s been unemployed for almost a year now, I was expecting this to hit like a truck. While it didn’t quite do that, it is highly relatable and in some way reassuring to see that job hunting remains the same basically everywhere in the world (there’s no one to talk to, no way in). Park layers on the comedy much more than usual, almost teasing us with the prospect of our main character going on a killing spree in order to make himself the most viable candidate. And when it does come, it’s both satisfying and sad as you’d expect, sympathies going up and down. It’s less of a movie about class rage than inevitability, where everyone’s insistence that they have no control in the matter is really just a means of avoiding discomfort or humiliation. As bleak as it may seem, it’s still incredibly entertaining and stylish as the Park Chan-Wook we know and love (all the match cuts, dissolves, transitions etc), with a little less of the emotional gutpunching but more of the bloody laughter.
If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. Credit: A24
If I Had Legs I’d Kick You: A
Easily the most stressful experience I’ve had at this festival and I mean it entirely positively. Mary Bronstein’s second film (hadn’t heard of her until this was announced at Berlin, because Yeast came out when I was a child) feels incredibly personal as so many portraits of motherhood do, but bracingly there’s seemingly zero upsides. Rose Byrne deservingly won the Silver Bear for Best Lead Performance, portraying a woman overwhelmed and under the influence, only just holding herself back from going completely apeshit. And she would be entirely justified: on top of her job as a therapist, she’s got a child with a feeding tube who isn’t hitting her weight goals to the constant judgement of her doctor (Bronstein), a husband overseas who could not be less helpful, her own therapist (a very welcome Conan O’Brien) who’s becoming more and more antagonistic, and a giant hole in the ceiling of her apartment. Bronstein’s husband Ronald is a frequent collaborator of the Safdies – with Josh on board as a producer – and that’s absolutely felt in the sound design and occasional mystical glimpses into jewel-like tunnels. Those parts don’t feel as connected thematically but if anything, they offer a small reprieve from the absolutely demonic screeching of the child, who’s unnamed and unseen except for the broadest of outlines. A$AP Rocky drops by as well for another excellent supporting turn after Highest 2 Lowest, as the manager of the hotel Linda’s forced to relocate to and proving to be something of her only actual friend, even if she can’t seem to recognize it. For me, If I Had Legs was first and foremost about the visceral experience, and it can absolutely be overwhelming. Byrne holds it all together magnificently – as she’s done in basically everything she’s ever been in. This is a frequently funny movie on top of being creepy, and her skill alone should be seen in the way she screams “giant FUCKING HOLE!!!” over the phone before calmly approaching a pharmacy counter. Lots of movies have shown “bad” women and mothers, there’s vanishingly few that have been willing to ask if someone should even be one in the first place.
Frankenstein. Credit: Netflix
Frankenstein: B+
Exactly what you’d expect from “Guillermo Del Toro’s Frankenstein” and luckily for me, that’s all positive. I couldn’t tell you if it’s a completely one-to-one from the book since – like everyone else – my knowledge comes from cultural osmosis and general summaries. What I can say is that it’s handsomely crafted, fully Crimson Peak mode with the graphic gore to match (though without being too excessive). Oscar Isaac is very sexy on top of delivering a good performance, and Jacob Elordi holds his own rather well, even when he’s just being tall as hell. All the usual themes of man playing God, nature vs. nurture, etc. are there and I don’t know that it really adds all that much to centuries of analysis. There is, however, a lot of queerness both in the bodies depicted and in the Monster Of It All, which may also be in the book. Del Toro’s big gooey heart comes in at the ending and it fits in perfectly. I had a pretty good time, and it’s solid craft all around. This being a Netflix joint I can’t tell if the cinematography is a little washed because of them or something else, but it doesn’t at least look especially flat to me. I’m kinda glad we got a guy making freaky goopy gothic flicks, you can tell he loves it all.
Tomorrow: Bit of a lighter day but we’ll see if we can’t squeeze a few more in.
Get this. Get this!!! Directors who are known for being good… make good films.
Arco. Credit: NEON
Haven’t yet had a 5 film day, which is probably for the best in terms of focus and energy. I had debated going to Sirât – of which I’ve heard many a good thing – but ultimately decided to wait until its official release. It’s one of the 6+ movies NEON acquired this year at Cannes in their quest to snag the Palme again (successfully, as you’ll see in a bit), a move I still consider rather gauche. They also released one of the ones below, which I totally forgot about until the bumper rolled. Not that it particularly means much of anything, but it is helpful in planning to know if something has any chance of actually coming out in the near future versus imminently, so I’ll probably know in a couple weeks whether I should’ve kicked myself for missing it an Hamnet. Anyways, a pretty good day yesterday!
Arco: A-
Clearly inspired by Ghibli – specifically, Miyazaki – in ways that got my hackles up within the opening minutes; not helpful was the dub NEON insisted on sending us, since this is a French production, and while it’s not bad it still has some of the stiffness I associate with Netflix dubs (this is also a Netflix France co-production). As you can guess by the score, it won me over gradually, first off by the quality of the animation itself – there’s some Hosada and Yuuasa in there, as well as a melange of numerous other works that still feels coherent as a whole – which captures the typical framerate anime tends to use, along with the propensity to have static backgrounds or shots with no motion. The plot’s a little extended by the end but its simplicity helps it enormously. I won’t lie and say I got a little teary eyed at the end; whether it earns it fairly or not is another question, especially with one late minute twist very similar to a movie from 10 years ago. Even if it doesn’t have much deep to say, I still appreciated it on a visual level; there’s some truly beautiful scenes, and it works to make you really care about the characters. Still feel a little robbed not getting Swann Arulaud but the cast does a good enough job, and I hope this sort of Franco-Japanese blending becomes more common.
Urchin. Credit: BBC Films
Urchin: B
I don’t want to start every review off making comparisons to other films or remarking on familiarity but sometimes that’s the only thing that’ll do. Which is to say, Harris Dickinson’s debut feels very similar to Mike Leigh (eg Naked) and the Safdies’ with its portrait of a fuckup out of prison trying to keep himself off the streets. Frank Dillane – most famous for being in Harry Potter after I stopped watching those – generates sympathy for his homeless addict character, coming off as somewhat pleasant and funny when he’s not trapped in a downward spiral. He doesn’t quite have the depth of character and neither does the film really; Dickinson (who also appears in a minor role as a fellow straggler) does show promise behind the camera, with a number of abstract and surreal sequences, and a pretty good visual eye. Promising, wouldn’t say he should quit his day job quite yet.
It Was Just An Accident. Credit: NEON
It Was Just An Accident: A
The film Panahi has been working towards for more than a decade, not that he really had much of a choice. I didn’t get a chance to catch the features he made on house arrest (saw part of This Is Not A Film, have a library copy of No Bears waiting for me) and my only other reference is Offside so I couldn’t say whether the mostly static camera is due to this one also being shot mostly in secret. What I can say is that it’s a deserving Palme winner, a knotty moral dilemma about the Regime as Iranian film tends towards without making any of its characters explicit mouthpieces for one side as they try to determine if they’ve found their prison torturer, who’s voice they’ve only heard. All of them have been through hell – some more traumatized than others – but none of them seem to know what kind of justice they want. Lest you think its a grim drudge, Panahi laces in frequent comedic moments revolving around how hard it is to enact revenge, as well as how transactional relationships have become; one of the funniest moments there involves a security guard pulling out a credit card terminal for a bribe. It leads to a stomach-churning climax, followed by what might be the best ending of the year. France has submitted it for Best International Feature, due to being a coproduction and because it’s most certainly banned in Iran. Even if he doesn’t win, it’s a triumph for a director who’s fought to make the films he wants under the most oppressing circumstances.
Bugonia. Credit: Focus Features
Bugonia: A-
Lanthimos continues to expand the possibilities of scaring the hoes, albeit in a way that still feels like it takes place in our world. Knew it was an adaptation of the Korean film Save The Green Planet! (original director Jang Joon-hwan was supposed to direct this one but had to drop out, staying on as exec producer) but hadn’t seen that, and judging from at least one of my friends as well as the introduction, it’s probably best that I went in knowing only it’s about a guy who kidnaps a CEO, believing her to be an alien destroying the world. I can imagine the 2003 version being much lighter even with the standard tonal shifts; as scripted by Will Tracy, it’s an angrier film than you might expect. Of course, being a Lanthimos joint it’s frequently hilarious in rather fucked up ways, particularly Emma Stone’s initially calm reactions to her predicaments. Jesse Plemmons continues to prove a perfect addition to the stable, deadpan and almost rational sounding before the cracks start appearing. Bugonia nods to the confused ideological soup a lot of Americans have fallen into both with Internet radicalization and the general feeling of a chaotic world; one could explain why Plemmons’ Teddy Gatz is Like This, but they inevitably feel like mere justifications or excuses. Newcomer Aidan Delbis plays off the two well as Teddy’s cousin, and as CEO Michelle Fuller, Stone gives one of her best performances. I don’t know if it was the sound mixing or just the Film Center theater but one of my biggest reservations is the score, too often blaring and bombastic, doing too much. The ending also gives me a bit of pause; while admirable in its audacity it sort of throws a wrench into ultimate thematic meaning. Despite that, it’s extremely gripping and entertaining, the kind of button-pushing that feels resonant while also pondering where exactly things failed.
Tomorrow: A straight block of heavy hitters featuring highlights from the Big Three Fests, and I see about getting into Frankenstein
For a while, it was looking a bit touch and go there. I’ve been trying to do one of these since I first started this site back in 2021, but always held off thanks to something either not coming near me or still feeling like something was just missing. Hollywood seemed to be going downhill and anything not bought up by the majors was getting shunted right to streaming. Sometimes even the big ones from the majors ended up being forgotten on some platform somewhere, lost in a nebulous space. Was this it? A future where big screens surrendered to the Big Movies while everything else withered on the vine?
If the past 2 years felt like post-COVID blues, 2023 was the year when it seemed like things started getting back to normal. The MCU began to flop. A 3-hour epic about the creator of the atomic bomb made Titanic money and a Titanic reputation. Festivals were overflowing with choices and gems. Somewhere along the way, Hayao Miyazaki even managed to best Disney.
Making a list this year turned out to be murder, even with a spot reserved for my eventual #1. It felt like the first time since possibly 2019 when I didn’t have to scrape to find something to fill out the bottom ends, where cutting something was painful. Even the ones I didn’t love as much as expected still held a wealth; it’s very possible some of them could creep up on a rewatch. At the moment, these are what I’ve committed to, and it reflects how I felt at the time. First a couple rules: I go by Academy rules, which in this case means “it received a theatrical release in New York or LA long enough to qualify for awards”. That means I get to push some contenders to next year, but it does mean some unreleased or late breaking ones might get left off. In any case, if it’s been making enough lists and it’s on Mike D’Angelo’s Commerical Release Master, it counts. There will also be some honorable mentions and superlatives after. In any case, it’s been wonderful to remember the wealth last year gave, and only raises anticipation for the coming year.
15. Priscilla – dir. Sofia Coppola
A counterpiece of sorts to the big self-titled one released last year, though by no means dependent. Through Cailley Spaney’s carefully observed performance, Coppola captures how it feels to have Elvis Fucking Presley courting you and the boredom that sets in once you realize what that entails. Jacob Elordi – having something of a breakthrough year – may not look like The King, but he embodies him to get to the feeling of him. It’s a gauzy, hazy memory, both the good and the bad.
14. Bottoms – dir. Emma Seligman
It’s tempting to focus on the Ayo Edibiri post-Emmy win and People’s Princess crowning. But I would regret not mentioning her insane roller coaster of an opening monologue that spins out a wild, anxious fantasy about your life going to shit and is truly unpredictable. That quality describes a lot of the humor of Bottoms – Rachel Sennott and Seligman’s script indulges in the teen movie cliches you expect but takes them to out-of-pocket, delirious places in its story of two gay losers who form a fight club to get chicks. More than most ironic Millenial/GenZ comedies, you either get it, or you don’t, and if you can’t laugh at the way Sennott asks “Has anyone here been raped before???”(a reading that almost made me spit out of my drink) then God help you.
13. Godzilla Minus One – dir. Takashi Yamazaki
Much has been said about the human focus: a kind of wholesome found family story, a bit of romance, the question of “How much PTSD can we shove into one guy?” And that’s still all very true. But don’t forget it’s also a pretty great Godzilla movie; when he gets to stompin’, those debris fields seem more dangerous than the Heat Breath. Sakura Ando will appear later in this list. She’s had a good year!
12. The Boy and The Heron (aka How Do You Live?) – dir. Hayao Miyazaki
Not at all what you’d expect, maybe exactly what we deserve. Possibly Miyazaki’s most complex on a pure narrative and symbolic level (don’t quote me on that) yet still managing to carry forth a wave of emotion. Just watch someone run, or a bird fly, and you’ll remember you’re in the hands of a master. He may not really be retired but if he is, what a way to go.
11. Falcon Lake – dir. Charlotte Le Bon
Sometimes, a movie just comes out of nowhere and burrows into your head. Like Scott Tobias, I also probably wouldn’t have seen this had Mike D’Angelo not spoken so highly of it, and it becomes clear within the first mysteriously beautiful minutes. What could easily have been the banal coming-of-age somewhat romance between a teen boy and an older girl he meets on vacation instead becomes haunting and ominous, building up to an ending that feels inevitable yet crushing. It should be so simple, yet the results are nearly indescribable.
10. Passage – dir. Ira Sachs
The year’s sexiest movie by far should frankly put an end to the exhausting sex scene discourse. As the World’s First Bisexual Demon Twink, Franz Rogowski crashes through multiple lives, pulling people in, throwing them out, absorbing all of their attention until you can visibly feel them getting sick of his shit in real time. Sachs captures all of this in a very European sense: both in setting, and from the blocking. Never before has a back been so erotic on screen.
9. All of Us Strangers – dir. Andrew Haigh
Gay sex scenes are having their moment in all their explicit glory, and Haigh makes a pretty cute one. He also turns in a devastating rumination on grief, of things unsaid and things you wished you’d done. Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal have beautiful chemistry together, enough that it makes an ending that shouldn’t quite work land full force. More than anything, here’s a film that taps deeply into a generational gay experience and suggests those lines aren’t as full as you’d think.
8. Oppenheimer – dir. Christopher Nolan
This should probably be higher. I don’t know what much else there is to say about it. Propulsive, entertaining, walloping. It’s a director working close to the heights of his very considerable powers, effortlessly merging past and present, history and reality, guilt and loathing, all into a complete package. Who else would make us excited for getting the band together only to then sit with the weight of our actions for an hour?
7. Asteroid City – dir. Wes Anderson
The longer Wes Anderson goes on, the freer he gets. The freer he gets, the more he devastates. In Asteroid City, he brings his signature artifice full circle into a movie about the making of a play, wrapped around the making of said play. It’s frequently very funny, maybe even a little chaotic. And in that chaos, we get glimpses of clarity like Maya Hawke and Rupert Friend giving heed to the wind and dancing to “Dear Alien (Who Art In Heaven)” (song of the year). No one’s better at hitting you when you least expect it; there’s lots of those moments here, but none I can explain more than having “Freight Train” recontextualized as an existential sigh of acceptance. “I don’t know which train he’s on / Won’t you tell me where he’s gone?”
6. May December – dir. Todd Haynes
The conversation surrounding Haynes’ latest has perhaps exposed just how much there is to explore. Brilliantly thorny, uncomfortably off-kilter, this story of an actress coming to shadow a woman who 30 years ago married the teenager she statutorily raped unfolds new layers with every second glance at its carefully composed images. Natalie Portman and Julianne Moore may have been the stars on the poster, but it’s Charles Melton who proves to be the soul and heart. He practically steals the picture from them and in a way, Samy Burch and Alex Mechanik’s screenplay suggests that’s the only moral way to tell this sordid tale.
5. Monster – dir. Hirokazu Kore-Eda
Maybe this is just projecting, but it feels like in some corners this has been received as somewhat of a disappointment, especially compared to Kore-Eda’s other (belated) release from this year. Personally, I think it’s as good as Shoplifters and perhaps in line with his other work. The unfolding perspectives read a bit like Farhadi but more localized; it starts as an engrossing mystery, transitions into rage at institutions, before settling in at how little adults know and how much children observe. Sakura Ando – in her second big role from this year – is wonderful, Kore-Eda wrings devastating performances out of Sōya Kurokawa and Hinata Hiiragi. It’s one of the finest depictions of the contradictions and anxiety caused by the closet, and the push-pull between doing the right thing and fitting in.
4. Killers of the Flower Moon – dir. Martin Scorsese
An American Tragedy, immense in its scope and rooted in a toxic love story. The machinations and skullduggery being so out in the open only enhances the rage and despair at this horrible moment of history, punctuated by Lily Gladstone’s screams of anguish and pain that will never leave my head. For a brief moment, Scorsese even makes you believe that justice might be done for once, before the ending reminds you that no, this is still America, and this is still a story we will never understand. Gladstone radiates starpower, commanding the screen with simply a look, a tone of voice. It’s an unshakeable piece that reckons with its very making.
3. Blue Jean – dir. Georgia Oakley
We may be through with the past, but (unfortunately) the past isn’t through with us. Oakley’s sadly relevant debut may be following a PE teacher in Thatcherite England, but Don’t Say Gay bills are little more than Section 28 rehashes. Rosy McEwan deftly portrays the moral dilemma being closeted puts people in: when a student seems to get clocked and bullied for being a lesbian too, how can she help without putting her career and herself on blast in the process? Oakley maintains something of a suspense tone throughout, effortlessly depicting the cruelty of the situation, yet never quite letting her protagonist off the hook. As bad as things may be, the joy Jean experiences in the gay bar shows why it’s worth fighting.
2. How To Blow Up A Pipeline – dir. Daniel Goldhaber
If anything deserves to get slapped with the meaningless descriptor of “urgent”, it’s this call to action. Goldhaber – along with star Ariela Barer and Jordan Sjol – turn Andreas Malm’s nonfiction book of the same name into a tense heist-like movie about a group of climate activists committing the titular act. Whatever didacticism or preaching it may offer is offset by how purely entertaining and tightly edited it is (the money shot: a cut to a flashback right as a strap breaks and everything seems to go to hell). Each member gets enough back story to understand them, and no one is shortchanged in the ensemble whether it be their jobs or their prescences. Fitting that it’s credited as “A film by Daniel Goldhaber, Ariela Barer, Jordan Sjol, and Daniel Garber”: here’s a movie the power of the collective with complete and utter faith in their beliefs and the actions needed to accomplish them.
1. The Zone of Interest – dir. Jonathan Glazer
I’ll admit, I had been anticipating this since the reviews at Cannes dropped. I had a spot reserved for it and everything. It got to the point where I wondered if I’d end up disappoiting myself through hype. Well, it’s one thing to read about the form; it’s another to actually experience it. Glazer throws out most of Martin Amis’ book and turns it into 105 minutes of a panic attack through sheer wrongness. Less the banality of evil and more how comfortable one can be in it. You can never stop thinking about the bodies over the fence; every word said carries menacing notes. Despite never setting foot in Auschwitz, it’s all you can think about. Perhaps the most chilling parts are how we see this evil seeping into the children, the soil, the entire environment of the place. These things happen because they become banal; they become banal because it contributes to someone’s idea of a “perfect” world. Make no mistake: everyone’s aware of it. Their inhumanity comes from believing it’s right. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so shaken leaving the theater. Here’s a film that sits in your brain, turning over with every realized implication.
(And now, based in part off old AV Club formatting, some superlatives and extras!)
Honorable mentions: The Royal Hotel (Kitty Green), Tótem (Lila Aviles), The Taste of Things (Trần Anh Hùng), Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet), The Iron Claw (Sean Durkin)
Performance – Charles Melton, May December: Not so much a “revelation” as a “break-out”, as I’d seen him before on Poker Face. The former Riverdale star emerges as a force with his hunched over body language, his nervous yet sweet demeanor. Melton makes him feel like he’s just play acting at being a dad, while at the same time not fitting in with the younger kids. The tension between not wanting to be a victim and being victimized for so long emerges in bursts, as in the much talked about scene on the roof, and it brings us back to the real person behind the stories.
Underrated – Rye Lane (Raine Allen-Miller): Many have decried the death of the studio rom-com, fated to be stuck with streaming fare like Red White and Royal Blue or The Kissing Booth. Here comes this charmer, a riff on Before Sunset with a wealth of style and energy to shock complacency. David Jonsson and Vivian Oparah exude wonderful chemistry together, with Miller providing a tour of South London fit to rival any classic Brit-com. It’s enough to make you believe love is real again.
Overrated – Barbie (Greta Gerwig): The big movie of the year has gotten more than it’s share of praise, criticism, rebuttals, and whatever else you want to call it. Gerwig’s movie has many charms for sure but despite that, it still ends up something of a mishmash, unable to fully shake off its corporate mandate or become a true “feminst” statement. But mostly: I just wish it was funnier.
Biggest Disappointment – Skinamarink (Kyle Edward Ball): When I first saw the poster online, I was all in. The trailer looked like the perfect mix of surreality and analog horror, and who could shake “In This House?” I don’t know whether watching a screener in my house deflated some of it when I went to the theater but alas: despite loving the look and the concept, I just found my mind wandering too much. I so desperately wanted to lock-in, and I can feel a successful version for me somewhere if it were just a little more active. Here’s hoping Ball’s next one fulfills his potential.
Most Pleasant Surprise – Night of the Hunted (Franck Khalfoun): All relative, since I don’t really tend to watch widely hated movies or things I think I’ll dislike because I’m currently doing this all for free. Which is to say: a thriller directed by the guy who did the Maniac remake may not seem all the fruitful. I found a rather tense single-location thriller, gory and brutal, and fairly plausible in keeping its heroine isolated. It may not be much more than that – and your mileage may vary as to the sniper’s ultimate political ranting. But it’s executed with a sure enough hand to stand out above a lot of Shudder exclusives.
“There’s no one coming to save you! That’s your motivation!”
Thoughts on a horror film every week for the month of October, both new and old.
No one will ever be able to replicate The Blair Witch Project. This is true in the broadest sense, in that audiences will no longer believe a movie is truly “found footage”, especially after the myriad rip-offs and knock-offs in the early 10s. But in the most literal sense, the very methods and form used to create the movie have been supplanted both by higher quality video and audio, as well as the fact that, well: the cast was essentially psychologically terrorized over the course of weeks in a sort of “Method filmmaking”, as directors Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez described. Watching The Blair Witch Project almost 25 years out – long past the hype cycle and a few attempts at turning into a proper franchise – have only strengthened the core of why it still resonates so strongly. Marketing gimmicks are temporary. Bone deep mental disintegration worms its way deep inside your mind and festers.
Of course, not everyone sees it that way. While praised by critics, it’s proven much more divisive amongst audiences in part because of how barebones it is. There aren’t really any overt scares, at least nothing that we can see. We sure hear a lot: snapping twigs, a baby crying, maybe someone being horribly killed. Among the genius of the movie (something that’s been cited time and time again) is how much is really left to your imagination. Even the thing that could be chasing college kids Heather, Josh, and Mike isn’t set in stone. Myrick and Sanchez offer everything from the Blair Witch herself to a child serial killer and even float the possibility of the locals fucking with the kids. One thing’s for certain: there’s something out there, and it means harm.
As we get further and further away from 1999, the idea of reality has only evaporated further and further. So much of the discourse surrounding The Blair Witch Project was the idea that these events actually happened; it was heightened by the actors each using their own names for characters and by staying out of the spotlight once the film debut. There were documentaries, websites devoted to shaping the central myth that what you saw was real, even though it still carries normal credits and disclaimers (not to mention that were it actually true, it would have amounted to a snuff film, and while Hollywood is amoral, it’s not that amoral). Found footage itself has basically lost the veneer of reality through establishing tropes and casting familiar faces. But in a paradoxical way, this makes it easier to slip into the world of the film. The footage is all handheld consumer grade film, the kind college students would be able to get. It looks rawer because it is, all the imperfections and “amateurness” kept in. Cameras have only gotten better and in some sense, we’ve lost this sort of scuzzy feel. The footage just looks too good. But then again… how many times have you scrolled by a video reuploaded through 3 different social media platforms, degraded by compression, showcasing a purportedly real-life event? More things are staged than ever before, so what does it even matter if it’s not real to begin with? Josh calls it a “filtered reality” and later, suggests that Heather keeps filming because it makes it easier to pretend it’s not happening. Judging by the way she screams back “It’s all I have left!”, he may have a point.
What matters is that it’s convincing, and the movie does not work at all if you don’t believe the actors. A recurring criticism (especially of Heather) is that they’re all annoying college kids goofing off but look at the opening scenes. Here, they’re casual, laidback, playful even. There’s an unforced chemistry and charisma to all of them, little touches like zooming into some marshmallows or Heather declaring she hates scotch. These establishing scenes give the later ones when they turn on each other a great impact, because we know that’s not what they’re normally like. Josh’s especially is upsetting, because we see his friendship with Heather earlier on, and his repeated shouts of “There’s no one coming to save you” pour more and more salt into the wounds of her mistakes. Heather herself – it should be said – has proved a competent director, despite what the public opinion says. After all, she got them the interviews, filmed openings, lead them to Coffin Rock. Perhaps she got them lost but if she did, well… there’s also a demonic presence insistent on torturing them, so you can’t blame it all on her. Heather Donohue is willing to make her abrasive as things get worse, but there’s a deep sense that she knows she fucked up and she’s being constantly reminded of it, but she can’t change it as they spiral closer and closer to her doom. Her final confession is iconic in part because of her despair and terror, of seeing how frayed she is and how she wishes she could’ve made a better decision. It’s possible that wouldn’t have helped anyways. Maybe you can’t hate her if you don’t believe that she could exist.
The Blair Witch Project is a psychological drama masquerading as a horror film. It’s not necessarily “scary” so much as it is deeply upsetting and uncomfortable to witness. Part of that is knowing that – yes – the cast really were operating on little sleep and food, being tormented by the directors (one line late in the film could be aimed at either the spiritual presence or the directors themselves). But that weariness translates into a sort of existential dread that comes with knowing you’re deeply lost in the woods and that every day will bring more of the same. It’s in seeing people turn on each other in some of the most vicious ways, clawing at each other while gripping tightly for support. The lines between reality and fiction dissolve as much as their own sanities until by the end we’re seeing pure, animalistic terror. You can’t recapture that. Maybe you shouldn’t try to.
Available on HBO Max, Hulu, and digital rental platforms.
The second film from Andrew Semans, available on VOD
Hall gives one of the year’s best performances.
“Trauma” – alongside “grief” – has become something of a trend lately within culture. It comes up in interviews about Marvel properties, it’s the main theme “elevated” horror movies or a new reboot of an 80s property. None of this is new of course: horror is especially fruitful for examining loss or processing something that happened to you. But there is a sense that it’s a little sanitized. The victim is strong; they build defenses and ultimately overcome it.
In Andrew Semans’ Resurrection, the trauma of Rebecca Hall’s character manifests itself in a physical reaction. Her character – Margaret, a pharmaceutical executive – is attending a conference, looking bored. She fidgets, attempts to stay awake, turns her head and catches sight of a man sitting a few rows down. Suddenly, her eyes widen and as she stumbles out of the room, she takes off at a run that turns into a sprint. We don’t yet know who this man is but immediately we can tell he’s bad news.
As the movie starts, Margaret is the quintessential image of the high-powered executive. Steely, determined, there’s an intimidating air to her but with a hint of warmth shown as she gives an intern relationship advice. She has a daughter – Abbie (an excellent Grace Kaufman) -17, and about to head off to college. Her love life consists of calling up a married co-worker for no-strings sex that always happens at her place. Hall plays her as a woman in complete control over every aspect of her life, dominant but not domineering. Naturally, this brief moment of panic sends her spiraling as the man (Tim Roth) reappears around her, always from a distance. Something bad has clearly happened to Margaret in the past, but is it going to happen again?
Resurrection follows a similar path of woman-on-the-verge films like Repulsion or Possession by staying ambiguous about Roth’s character. In a stunning 7-minute monologue in which the background slowly fades to black, Hall details a shocking history of violence, gaslighting, and abuse that sounds too insane for anyone to make up. Her performance in this moment is a tour-de-force: completely absorbing and impossible to turn away. That she’s giving this to her intern who reacts in horrified confusion is what turns the movie on a dime. Semans puts us directly into Margaret’s increasingly paranoid headspace through some savvy camera work and an unnerving score from Jim Williams as Hall’s perfect composure crumbles throughout. It’s a gripping performance, matched perfectly by Roth. He plays David as chillingly polite, almost rational; we know he’s a madman but his reserved tone almost makes us fall for his gaslighting as Margaret regresses more and more.
Perhaps the most devastating plot point – and, in my mind, the key to the film – is through Abbie. Margaret exerts more and more control over her as a means of protection, going as far as to do whiskey shots with her to keep her from leaving their apartment. Logically, she should tell her daughter who this mysterious figure from her past is and explain herself, but she can’t. Her behavior manifests as irrational and frightening, for all intents and purposes looking like a complete mental breakdown. Semans doesn’t turn either side into a villain so much as portray how this unexamined trauma can manifest cyclically; it’s heartbreaking because Abbie clearly sees her mother is suffering but in the process is making her unsafe.
For some people, this movie may not hold together. The ending takes a gigantic leap that – although set up – shifts things into an entirely new direction that clashes with the tone of realism from before. Admittedly, there are some scenes I wish were slightly different, if only to keep it on a more symbolic or psychological level. But there’s something to be said about a movie that fully commits to its premise, logic and sense be damned. Hall is the stand-out, of course: it doesn’t work if we don’t believe her, and I believed her. This is a bold feature, a tightly coiled work of anxiety and tension up to its startling climax. When the filmmaking is this good, what do a few flaws matter?
I’ve always been bizarrely fascinated with censorship codes. Maybe it’s living in America, where we don’t have that sort of legal control over media unless it’s like, abuse material (historical examples notwithstanding). Of course, it’s not like America’s own censorship board doesn’t wield a large amount of control over theatrical releasing; think about how the NC-17 – supposedly for more “adult” movies that weren’t porn – ended up becoming near exclusively associated with sexual content to the point that it basically doesn’t exist. All this is done in the name of protection, but who is it really protecting? How does one even determine the right amount of vein slashing and rape that’s acceptable for a motion picture? It’s all very technical stuff.
As you can imagine, Prano Bailey-Bond’s Censor was catnip for me, following – as it does – a censor for the BBFC during the 1980’s video nasty moral panic. In brief, “video nasties” were extremely violent (often sexual) exploitation films that burst in popularity when VHS became popular. The credits show that they included everything from more “classy” pictures like Abel Ferrara’s The Driller Killer to infamous faux-snuff film Cannibal Holocaust; it falls in part to Enid (Niamh Algar, in the titular role) to determine if the film is releasable, and what cuts could be made to allow it in. She takes her job extremely seriously; as she tells her parents, she’s not doing it for entertainment but to “protect people”, as much a product of Thatcherite conservatism as it is lingering guilt over the disappearance of her sister. That deeply repressed guilt starts to bubble back up after viewing a film that strongly resembles the circumstances of that disappearance, throwing her off kilter and beginning a descent into mental collapse.
Bailey-Bond’s film is first and foremost about “vibes”, specifically in capturing the specific era of 80’s Britain in the midst of a moral panic. The BBFC offices here are all drab washed out lighting betrayed by the recurring screams from the women in the films the censors watch. These films themselves are shot in a squarer aspect ration complete with VHS grain to recreate that exploitation aesthetic. Interspersed are hallucinatory sequences reflecting her own fractured state of mind, awash in neon lighting, consciously returning back to the scene of the crime. Although it’s critical of the idea that exploitation movies caused a rash of violent, Bailey-Bond and Anthony Fletcher’s script doesn’t argue that they’re totally harmless. After all, the censors themselves have to expose themselves to some truly awful scenes day in and day out, fake though they might be. Enid professes to not be affected by them, treating it purely as a job, but the film suggests she’s internalized more than she wants to admit.
It all comes to a head in a brilliant final act, in which her two worlds collide and her denial comes spilling out. All this time, Algar has become convinced – without much in the way of evidence – that her sister is actually the actress in the film, and without spoiling, it becomes a cutting statement on conservative hypocrisy and the need to convince oneself that they’re the good guy here. Censor could’ve been a touch longer – I personally would’ve loved to see more of the censorship process itself – if only for Bailey-Bond and Fletcher to expand on their ideas more. Still, this is an audacious debut, one that establishes Bailey-Bond as a filmmaker to watch and Algar as candidate for Best Actress.
A movie I haven’t quite been able to get out of my mind.
Ritual
The mockumentary – and, to a lesser extent, found footage – is a surprisingly underrated format when it comes to horror. Perhaps it’s due to the genre’s main association with comedies. Or perhaps the cheapness and extensibility of found footage created a default state for filmmakers. After all, why go to the trouble of drafting a world when you can just pretend someone stumbled upon this horrifying video footage (never mind the question of “who assembled this footage just so”). A true fake documentary holds greater potential, because of the nature of having to assemble something. Think Ghostwatch, where a British television special on hauntings accidentally becomes something realer. Or Lake Mungo – beloved by many, more appreciated by me – which uses a talking head format as a starting point for a ghost story.
Noroi: The Curse commits fully to its premise, presenting itself as an unreleased documentary by paranormal researcher Masafumi Kobayashi. It blends typical documentary footage and in person interviews along with archival footage of variety shows and news reports, all shot on 2005 era video cameras with the according VHS tracking from old tapes. Perhaps it’s just my love of analog horror in general, but I do think found footage and mockumentaries of this nature lose a little something when the quality is too good. Recent found footage films like Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum enhance themselves with corruption or streaming drops where the audio continues while video freezes. The goal in my mind is to look like something conceivably made outside of a studio, save for the clips used from live television. Seen today, the quality of the footage makes things look even eerier, in part because it feels “realer” in a way.
Of course, aesthetics aren’t everything. You can only do so much with low quality cameras and shaky audio before you actually need to provide a story. And this is where Koji Shirashi’s film shines. Initially, we appear to be following three different unrelated tracks: there’s a woman named Junko Ishii who’s neighbors are unnerved by her and her son. There’s Kana Yano, a girl with seemingly legitimate psychic abilities demonstrated on variety shows. Finally, there’s the actress Marika Matsumoto (the voice of Rikku in Final Fantasy X!) – playing herself – who has a terrifying encounter at a shrine.
It Slowly, Shirashi and co-writer Naoyuki Yokata begin connecting the strands. There’s a man named Matsuo Hori, a psychic also suffering from some form of mental illness, who had dealings with both Kana and Marika. Strange loops make begin to appear, as do a creepy looking mask. Kobayashi begins to research a demon named Kagutaba, and the trail of death following Junko Ishii, all leading back to a village and a ritual that has gone wrong. While a little long and perhaps prone to highlighting the creepy things in the background (something that could be explained as just Kobayashi’s style), the film casts an unnerving feeling throughout. Once the stories begin intersecting, a sense of dread starts to enter, and it builds it up slowly but steadily. It’s riveting as you put the pieces together, and Shirashi’s style cultivates a genuine feeling of authenticity. There are no winks to the camera, no cheats in the concept. It builds to a finale hinted at in the beginning that explodes in horrifying power, leaving you completely unsettled. If nothing else, you’ll never see masks – or hear a baby’s cry – the same way again.
Life of the Mind 