With The Mastermind today, I’ve basically seen all of my most high profile choices (only Sentimental Value and The Secret Agent are left). So far haven’t really had much in the way of disappointment or misses barring Hamnet and Sirât so hopefully those come around sooner rather than later. Here on out it’s all new to me.
The Good Sister (Sarah Miro Fischer): C-
Inert MeToo drama that barely gets to what it even promises. I was intrigued by the idea of having to reckon with your own sibling committing an act of sexual violence, but there’s no indication that lead character Rose even understands why she’s being called to testify and barely seems to struggle with it at all. The movie itself struggles to provide any sort of drama or intrigue, merely gesturing to themes without really doing a whole lot beyond that. Couldn’t bring myself to work up all that much ire; more on the side of failure but not anything to really be bothered about.
Hysteria (Mehmet Akif Büyükatalay): B
Now here’s something with a thorny dilemma. Grabbed me from the starting premise, in which assistant director Elif – amidst an incident involving a burned Qu’ran on the set of a historical film – loses the keys to a producer’s apartment she’s staying at, and subsequently the tapes she was responsible for. Büyükatalay uses the burning as a jumping off point to ask questions about artistic integrity and representation, early on featuring a character noting how Europeans tend to make films about racism in their countries to absolve themselves. It’s self-aware enough to see that Elif has a lot less to lose than the extras accused of theft and while the two threads don’t always feel cohesive, they come together in a confrontation scene that gives a great jolt. Not quite sold on the ending but I appreciate the swings it takes without fully biting the hand.
The Mastermind (Kelly Reichardt): A-
Talk about someone who knows how to end a film. I really have not kept up with Reichardt as I should, though given the rumblings about Showing Up I know she’s capable of being quite funny. Screen Unseen Attempt The Mastermind is indeed quite funny for much of its run time; the centerpiece art theft (calling it a “heist” feels like giving it too much credit) got a big laugh from me out of one line as did the prep and the aftermath. Reichardt’s editing is sublime, swift and lean, very pleasing on the jump cuts but lingering just as long as it should. Josh O’Connor remains magnetically watchable, enormously charismatic in the beginning but still with that deep well of sadness that only grows as his competence and arrogance dims. Like his performance in La Chimera (a movie I must revisit), he’s skilled at revealing the depths of a silence and simply staring. The political thread running throughout the background is part of what makes the ending so good, and I really dug the jazzy score from Rob Mazurek. I perhaps blanked out only a couple times (late in the day and all) and I do wish Alana Haim was afforded more to work with. As funny as it all is, it never loses sight of the depths of O’Connor’s failures as a father, a husband, and all around person.
Resurrection (Bi Gan): B+
Must a film be coherent, thematically or narratively? Is it not enough to watch 6 discrete, lusciously filmed mini-movies about the senses as well as Chinese cinema history? Yes, actually. It’s been almost a decade since I’ve seen Long Day’s Journey Into Night and this is definitely a film from the director behind that. The whole thread about “deliriants” and “other ones” and “dreaming” barely felt like a thread, to be honest, or even a frame story. Not that I particularly minded as somewhere within the second story I started treating it more like an anthology of metaphor and just kind of rocked with the mini stories happening. Occasionally dull and not all that emotionally involving, but every so often Gan provides the razzle and dazzle, and that can be enough for the vibes.
Tomorrow: Some under-the-radar picks, and I check in with what Takeshi Miike is doing.
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
Ok so quick behind the scenes here: for the past couple years PFF has used an RSVP system for Centerpieces and Opening/Closing (similar to what I believe NYFF among others does). When it opened for me, I made a block reservation of all the Centerpieces and Openings I cared about but had a couple I was wavering on and hadn’t finalized my schedule. One of those was Hamnet, which I thought I’d included initially, only to discover as I was walking up to the theater that I had not, in fact. I tried to get into the rush line but alas, it proved to be quite popular. I will get to it mostly likely when it releases or if they add another screening (similar to Sirât, which I’m missing mainly for social obligations and banking on Neon not dumping it). I have failed you all as a journalist and for that, gomenasai. Anyways, here’s the stuff I did get to:
The Little Sister: B+
Cannes Best Actress and Queer Palme winner, deserving at least enough on the former. Newcomer Nadia Melliti has an arresting face and a very compelling demeanor, which goes a long way towards making the usually standard sexuality wrestling feel, if not novel, then at least lively. I was struck especially by an early scene in which she gets in a fight with a classmate, who calls her out on her repressed lesbianism when she calls him a homophobic slur, the sort of early clocking that occurs in school and a willingness to make her unsympathetic. Hafsia Herzi’s adaptation of an autofictional novel (as Wikipedia describes it) holds back from making religious or family struggles the focal points, shifting more towards Fatima’s burgeoning relationship with nurse Ji-Na (Return To Seoul breakout Park Ji-min). All in all, a rather refreshing portrait of Tinder dates, lies, and youth thrashing about to find who they are.
What Marielle Knows: B
The kind of movie that gets by on a lot of outrage to be uproarious, and frequently works well enough on that register even if you realize that the title character gets left behind afterwards. She reveals to her parents one day that – after a fight with her friend – she can now see and hear everything that they do. This of course leads to a bourgeois couple spiraling as they’re confronted with the lies they tell themselves and each other, as well as the knowledge that they’re being constantly surveilled. I’ve seen it compared to Yorgos Lianthiamos (who you’ll be hearing from tomorrow) but to me it feels more in line with Ruben Östlund’s cringe comedy and prodding at comfortable people. There’s a lot to dig in on, but thinking back I don’t know that it really adds up to all that much.
Miroirs No. 3: B-
I suspect that like another Christian Petzold entry this will work a lot better on rewatch, but then again Phoenix landed its ending and tension a whole lot better. Didn’t catch Undine or Afire in part based on reviews and I saw Transit years ago so hard to say if this tale of a woman in a car wreck who stays with a local woman who seems to recognize her is in line with what he’s been doing since the Paula Beer era. The actors are all quite good, but something about it just doesn’t gel. Kept waiting for the inevitable reveal of what’s going on and I can see a version as a powerful exploration of grief but it all just falls flat. He’s still skilled of course, but this feels like minor-tier Petzold.
Honey Bunch: B-/B
A case of a last act shift that had me thinking I was going to rate this a lot higher. Truthfully, the tone in the beginning is so off I wasn’t even sure this was trying to be a horror movie. We get a typical start with a woman arriving with her husband at a retreat for victims of trauma and memory loss but it’s just not creepy enough to make me wish they’d just reveal what’s going on. That reveal is a nice little twist on things though so I won’t spoil things (and to be fair, it does get a little gross, a little bloody later on). Fun enough, but I think I’m still looking for the jolt of a Red Rooms or something else.
Tomorrow: This year’s Palme D’Or winner, and a check in with Yorgos and Emma.
Rian Johnson drops by for the traditional premiere, and a bonus film you should check out if you can.
Stealing once again from Mike D’Angelo (and some others), I’m going to try to be doing relatively short capsules here, which means trying in part not to go over a lot of context. Realtively light day since it was opening.
Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery: B+/A-
I realized as I was making my schedule that I’ve seen every single one of the Benoit Blanc flicks for the first time at PFF; Knives Out was the closing back in 2019, Glass Onion was a Centerpiece a couple years ago (Johnson has always shown up as well for a Q&A, and he’s a delight). These always work best with a crowd – the first one especially was amongst my most memorable theatrical experiences – and the latest is no different. Johnson still knows his way around a mystery, though this one isn’t as structurally playful as the last ones are, and probably for the best. I haven’t seen Knives Out since release and I feel I may have overrated Glass Onion a tad in retrospect. Dead Man for sure has a much stronger emotional core than the last two – funny enough but not a straight comedy (not unwelcome). Josh O’Connor makes quite the good protagonist, as an earnest priest in a parish in the thralls of a personality cult, and the rest of the cast acquits itself quite well even if their characters aren’t always the strongest (Glenn Close ends up on the better side compared to the past years). If I seem a little more reserved, it’s only because it’s so hard to match up to the novelty of the first, especially that ending. A scene with Bridgett Everrett reveals itself to be the heart of the movie, and I appreciate the genuine reckoning with religion even if Benoit doesn’t really wrestle much himself. No creative exhaustion yet as I can tell.
Lesbian Space Princess: B
This one isn’t showing until Sunday and then next Friday, but since I saw a screener of it early in advance of a filmmaker interview with Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese I thought I’d just jot some quick thoughts down. In short: it’s cute! I had a nice enough time with it – Shabana Azeez proves an adept voice actress, and the Aunty Donna guys are always fun to be around. It’s the kind of adult animation that throws a lot of jokes at you, enough that at least one of them will probably hit (there’s at least a couple that made me laugh a lot). All in all, a good debut and I’m curious to see what they’ll do next.
Tomorrow: Checking in with some German movies, and the newest Chloe Zhao.
It’s that time of the year again: Festival Season, where everyone starts putting out the “good movies” in the hopes of getting award attention and we all get to learn what’s going to get held back another year. I, for one, could not be more delighted to be back at the Philadelphia Film Festival especially considering the state of, well… everything nowadays. Thanks to both a surplus of free time because of the job market and a press badge (thank you PFS!), I will once again be shoving as many films in front of my eyeballs as humanly possible.
And check out the heavy hitters we got this year: Jafar Panahi! Yorgos Lianthimos! Park Chan-Wook! Mary Bronstein! Chloe Zhao! It gets to a point where I’m glad I managed to catch one of the titles (Lesbian Space Princess) on a screener if only to clear up my schedule for a bit. That schedule was formed a tiny bit last minute due to me waiting on the mail for my program, as well as trying to figure out which ones I need to prioritize and whether I’ll be able to jump on some RSVPs late. For this year, I’m going to do daily blog posts that I’ll try to put up by noon each subsequent day. My goal for this year is to try and make them short, in part for my own sanity since I have some other assignments brewing, but also on the off chance I get an official review commissioned later. So join me, won’t you? As we explore the 34th Annual Philadelphia Film Festival.
Schedule follows below. Some of the gaps will probably be filled in later in the week, while others may be forfeit for reasons of rest or overlap.
My viewing habits finally caught up with me, as did the looming specter of joblessness. As I’ve mentioned before, in the past I’d usually become rundown by this point, powered as I was by caffeine and black-and-white cookies before the ownership changed. I think part of it was the nature of the scheduling as well: given how long a lot of the films were this year, there’s not a whole lot of time left, which in turn limits what’s programmed. Even if I hadn’t been able to do another 5-film-day, I still ended with a couple decent to pretty good films.
Eephus. Credit: Music Box Films
Starting off with the good was Carson Lund’s Eephus (Grade: A-). I probably wouldn’t have seen it if one-time editor Vikram Murthi hadn’t praised it on Twitter; sports are not really my thing, and I only really started watching them at all once I realized I could see them in the gay bar (because, you know… Men™). Turns out you don’t really need to know much of anything about baseball. The mechanics of the game aren’t as important as the fact that it gives the men an excuse to gather and memorialize their preferred field before a school is built on it. Lund is best known as a cinematographer, most notably with No-Budge stalwart Tyler Taormina. He caries the same sort of relaxed, slightly deadpan energy one associates with such films.
Which isn’t to say it isn’t screamingly funny, ie a man hitting a pitch and then immediately faceplanting on the ground. Much of that humor comes through in the banter and background dialogue as the men razz each other, complain about the drive to Duster’s Field, and overall mourn the passing of time. As the game stretches on, you get the sense that none of them really want to stop playing, if only because that means the friendship gets dissolved. Truth be told, you also start to feel the length of the game as it goes on. Lund keeps it easy-going, cutting between people around the ballpark and the players in free-flowing plot, so when actual tension starts to rise up it harshes the mellow a bit. What remains is the pleasure of seeing these men interact with each other, their good-nature camraderie, the sheer love of the game even if they aren’t very good at it. Like the pitch that gives the film its title, time seems to be suspended for a bit before it starts up again. And hey, like a wiseman once said: everything dies baby, that’s a fact. But maybe everything that dies, some day comes back.
Dahomey. Credit: MUBI
“Things coming back” is the ostensible subject of the last movie I saw at the Festival, Mati Diop’s Berlin-winning documentary Dahomey (Grade: B-). The name refers to the African kingdom – now the Republic of Benin – that has recently repatriated 26 artifacts taken during French colonial rule. Part of the documentary is a fictionalized narration of the objects themselves, telling the story of their theft and return. The other half revolves around a debate with university students, in which they discuss the fact that 7,000 objects reside in the Paris museum, and they’ve only gotten this many back through years of diplomacy.
I saw Diop’s first film – Atlantics – back at the 29th Fest when I was in college; I think it closed my festival experience then too. Maybe I need to stop doing that, because much like that one, this just kind of washed over me. It’s not without its pleasures (the music, from Wally Badarou and Dean Blunt, for instance), and Diop does have talent. But I would’ve preferred the narration for every object, or at least a greater focus on their travel from France to Benin. As enlightening and lively as the university discussion is, it takes up quite a bit of a 67-minute movie. I could feel myself getting on the wavelength for it before it dissipated. Perhaps more exposure to this type of thing is needed.
And with that, the 33rd Philadelphia Film Festival has come to a close. By my count, I saw the most I’ve ever seen at one of these, at 38. Having an entire week off will do that to you. I can’t forget my badge situation as well though; not having to pay for Centerpiece tickets meant that I took a lot more chances on entires I would have otherwise ignored. This year still felt strange to me, in that the schedule somehow felt lighter than it had in years past. Not sure if that’s because there were more films here, longer runtimes, less from the vaults, however you wanna play it. Hard to remember how you felt or what you were doing 2 years ago, after all.
What I can confirm is what many of the programming staff said about this being the best one yet. By quality alone, I saw some truly stellar productions, most of my most anticipated films living up to the lofty festival hype. The biggest regret is that I had to miss The Seed of The Sacred Fig, and am now at the mercy of NEON to play it in Philly; I also had to miss Sister Midnight, the last entry in the Focus On India section, so I hope that gets a release somewhere. As I tabulated the list, I found a lack of surprise. Most everything I loved was something I’d heard of before or had put on my watchlist ages ago. There was no Red Rooms, no Tremors, or Rose Plays Julie, ie something that came from out of nowhere to completely knock my socks off. I don’t know if that was just a testament to the year or my own evolving critical tastes (or at least an attempt to hold back on crowning something just as I come out of the theater). All that said, making a top 10 was somewhat difficult. Many of these will be strong Best of The Year contenders, if not this year than the next. There are still quite a few I saw at the full list, which you can check out at Letterboxd. With the caveat that these could shift on later viewings, here’s The 10 Best Films of the 33rd Philadelphia Film Festival:
All We Imagine As Light Still currently my favorite thing I’ve seen all year. Payal Kapadia’s rapturous feature debut is the kind of movie you just want to sink into, absorb every sensual texture and image. She turns the landscapes of Mumbai into something like a dream and in the process enhances the loneliness present everywhere. At the risk of cliche, it’s pure poetic cinema. Opening 11/15 in NY and LA via Sideshow and Janus, expansion likely
Nickel Boys Out of the story of two boys at a Florida Reform School, RaMell Ross crafts a stone cold stunner. More than anything, he crafts what it feels like to hold back memories, the associations one creates from disparate moments and references that bind themselves to your trauma. Evocative but not explicit, it’s a major accomplishment and a fine work of adaptation. Opening 12/13in limited release via MGM and Amazon
Flow Easily the best animated movie of the year on sheer visual spectacle. But it’s a triumph of visual storytelling, utilizing the full scope of body language and tone to give animals character without making them human. Makes you wish you could show it to every Hollywood studio and force them to be better. Opening 11/22 in limited release via Sideshow and Janus, 12/6 in wide release
Anora The most borderline one, but the late act sells it for me. Whatever Sean Baker’s politics, there’s no denying he sees such a wide vein of empathy in his title character; all he’s ever wanted was for us to understand them, and he does through his typical mix of the profanely funny. Mikey Madison is going to change gay speech patterns for years to come. Just watch that trailer and try to say “a FRAUD marriage?!” any other way. Out now in limited release, expect an expansion
No Other Land “Important” is the among the lowest forms of praise you can give a movie, but if anything deserves it, it’s this. Shamefully, there’s still no legal way to see it in the US, more than likely because it refuses to act as though people can’t come to conclusions for the things they see in front of their eyes. To quote the man outside my screening: “The people that need to see this won’t.” Upsetting, harrowing, yet undoubtedly the work of filmmakers wishing for the world to see the beauty of their humanity. No US distributor as of this writing.
Dead Talent’s Society Sometimes, you just have a lot of fun with a movie. I’ll admit to being a little seal-like in my joy of seeing an extended Perfect Blue reference. It helps that the rest of the movie is committed to goofy, cartoony jokes and fairly clever in using scares as a metaphor for filmmaking. A little heart goes a long way. Current international plans unknown. Expect it to come over next year, if not on streaming
The Brutalist Adrian Brody, Guy Pierce, and Felicity Jones turn in fantastic performances but the true star is Brady Corbet. He effortlessly corales power, the fantasy of America, Jewish alienation, the Holocaust, and so much more into a surprisingly brisk, There Will Be Blood style epic on one man’s quest to stake his name. The fact that a movie that looks as good as this – from the sets to the costumes, down to the camera movements and compositions – for $10 million is an indictment to every actor and producer working in Hollywood today. Utterly overwhelming, and yet intensely compelling. Opening 12/20 in limited release
Birdeater Truth be told I’m a little nervous to revisit this, for fear the spell will be broken. I still don’t want to give too much away from this singularly demented creation, still the most insane thing I saw at this festival. Utilizing editing and framing almost as an attack, Jack Clark and Jim Weir plunge you deep into a singularly anxious mind and then constantly pull the rug out, veering from surreality to comedy back to relationship drama and horror. Maybe the substance isn’t quite there. I gotta hand it to them for making what feels like the most unstable movie I’ve ever seen (and I mean that entirely as a compliment). US release unknown. Out in Australia
The Order It might boil down to standard “cops and robbers” but what well-wrought cops and robbers these are. For whatever lack of depth (and copaganda, if you feel it) may be present on the cop side, the robbers – in this case, white supremacist terrorists – get an utterly chilling treatment that their charisma can’t hide. As much as we tell ourselves it’s done, the words of Quiz Kid Donnie Smith ring-out over the climax of The Turner Diaries: “we may be through with the past, but the PAST ain’t through with us”. Opening 12/6 in limited release
Night Call The more I’ve talked about it, the more I’ve come around to this taut thriller’s ending. Michiel Blanchart wrings every bit of tension he can from his setpieces, but notice the protagonist’s relationship with the BLM protestors. Uncommonly smart when it comes to its character’s actions, ultimately unsparing as the circle closes in around him. It might be the movie I’m most looking forward to revisiting, and I hope it captures more attention when it releases. No date set, acquired by Magnet Releasing, should be limited within the next year
A couple highlights, one dud, a disapointment, and a throwback.
The End. Credit: Neon
Years ago – when I was clocking time at UPS before college – I was listening to an episode of Filmspotting, where they talked about director’s they’d give blank checks too. One of them was Joshua Oppenheimer, director of Indonesia genocide documentaries The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence (movies I both need to see and revisit, my younger self be cursed). They mentioned that one of the things the MacArthur Grant recipient was shopping around was a post-apocalyptic musical, a very leftfield choice and understandably one that was having difficulty getting funding. I subsequently forgot about it over the years as his documentaries placed on numerous decade lists, right up until it was announced to be showing at both Telluride and TIFF.
That musical is The End (Grade: A-), starring Tilda Swinton, Michael Shannon, and George McKay as characters known only as The Mother, The Father, and The Son. They live in an giant underground bunker nestled among salt flats with their few staff and friends; it resembles more of an art museum than it does an actual home. From the start it’s clear that in some ways, everyone is telling themselves stories to live, whether they’re aware of it or not. Father worked in the oil industry yet denies that his actions had anything to do with the disaster. The Son – only knowing the bunker – is prepped for the future but how long that future is going to last is never clear. Their routines are jarred with the arrival of Moses Ingram’s Girl, conflicting with their general pronouncements in song that the outside world is full of danger.
What happens is perhaps less important than how everyone feels about it. Oppenheimer’s script with Rasmus Heisterbeg tends towards the anticlimactic but it never feels overly concerned with plot. The Son becomes much more concerned with the “why” of things, why his parents are alone in the bunker, why they decided on their only friends, why they’re writing a history book this particular way. In the grand nature of Hollywood musicals it so often resembles, the characters break into song when their emotions become too complex for any other method. Their movements are less dancing and more the need to express, to shake out the nervous energy. Performance wise, they mostly do good; MacKay and Ingram are the two best singers, while Swinton and Shannon sound unprofessional but not unlistenable. It could’ve used some more musical numbers just to break up the pacing, despite the dialog scenes being arresting. This is the definition of a big swing, admirable in its audacity, made by someone with a deep appreciation for what movie musicals can do and fully embracing all the odd emotional rhythms that come. Of all the films here, you owe it to yourself to at least check this one out; we may never get another one.
The Room Next Door. Credit: Sony Pictures Classics
In a plesant coincidence (thanks to moving schedules around), Swinton featured prominently in the other big get of the festival, Pedro Almodóvar’s Golden Lion winner The Room Next Door (Grade: B), also starring Julianne Moore. I’ve been trying to catch up on his work, having rewatched and loved All About My Mother and Talk To Her earlier this year; Pain and Glory and Parallel Mothers were two of my favorite films from the past 5 or so years, the latter possibly one of his best works (certainly one of Penelope Cruz’ finest performances).
Unfortunately, as you can tell by the rating, I have to concur with most critics in finding this to be a relative disappointment. All the ingredients for a classic Pedro are here: the enigmatic performances from two fine actresses, the beautifully colored decor, the melodramatic flourishes. But his English language debut is somehow more sedate and subdued than his past work. Swinton and Moore do fine work, as a woman dying of cancer asking her friend to accompany her on a trip so she can end her life, though strangely reserved much of the time. My audience seemed to be laughing at things that didn’t seem like they were supposed to be funny at all, even if some of that excess presents itself (like a scene with a personal trainer). Maybe it’s also that there seems to be little debate over the topic of euthanasia itself, a lack of struggle or buried emotion to burst out. His eye remains as strong as ever, as does Alberto Iglesias’ score. And yes, the rhythms of the dialog do feel slightly awkward and even repetitive at times but honestly I don’t know if it usually sounds this way to a native Spanish speaker. That Golden Lion win was the first time the major festivals have ever given him the big prize; he’s made several much better than this. Still, it’s not without its many pleasures. Maybe he can get Swinton back in Memoria mode and film her in Spanish.
Flow. Credit: Janus/Sideshow
Dialog is not a problem in Flow (Grade: A), because there is none. Latvia’s pick for International Feature is an animated tale of animals traveling on a sailboat in the midst of a massive flood, communicating only via their normal sounds and body language. “Communicating” is putting it a bit strongly, because they all act like normal animals, those innate traits giving them bursts of character in response to each other’s actions, though with some leeway to – say – steer the boat. Our primacy focus is a black cat, acting as cats do as it gets knocked about by all series of torrents and creatures. Joining it are a capybara (very chill), a lemur (obsessed with a basket of shinies), an unidentified bird (injured, acting high and mighty), and a dog (pure of heart, dumb of ass). If this were made by a major animation studio, it’d be a candidate for the most annoying movie alive. Instead, it’s awash in painterly textures, content to sit in silence and calm as it observes the boat move through water. The world feels heavily inspired by games, everything from Ico to Breath of the Wild to Myst and Stray, yet it’s distinctly cinematic, the camera roving through the world and at times adopting a handheld style. What’s more impressive is that a clear narrative emerges, as do conflicts and traits, and by the end you’re rooting for them all to be friends. Can’t say I know for certain what some of the more surreal imagery might be representing, if it does at all. All I know is that I’ll be shocked if I see a better animated feature this year.
A Traveller’s Needs. Credit: Cinema Guild
I had been planning on seeing Bound In Heaven but due to overrun from both the bumpers and introduction to The End, it started as I was getting out. My backup choice with friends was Hong Sang-Soo’sA Traveller’s Needs (Grade: C), which I probably wouldn’t have seen otherwise. I like Right Now, Wrong Then, so far the only Hong I’ve seen; it’s felt like he’s become a bit of a meme in online circles after that, with his increase in productivity and seeming decrease in actually making a regular movie. If you follow Mike D’Angelo (as I do, check out his website and Patreon), you will be familiar with a lot of his complaints about a lot of Hong’s work lately. Gotta say I agree with him.
Isabelle Huppert’s second team-up has her as a French teacher in Korea with a unique method: having people write down sentences in French that speak to their feelings and practicing those to learn the language. I doubt that’s very effective. The movie itself is mostly in English and it feels like they’re flailing to improvise or the script is so banal it hardly matters otherwise. There doesn’t seem to be much of a plot or really any character build up, just conversations about language and how playing instruments make people feel that go on too long without saying much of anything interesting. Occaisionally he does have some funny moments, like when Huppert leaves one client and they look back to see she’s already gone, commenting on how fast she walks. A later scene involving her boyfriend/roommate and his mom lends itself to some actual conflict and some interest into who she is and why she’s in Korea. It all just comes across as so arbitrary to me, down to the framing and the length of shots. I’ve known that he’s largely doing everything himself now but the image quality itself frequently looks like a home movie. I don’t want to rag on it too much because he has made at least one movie I do like and frankly, he’s made so many others in that time that I’m sure I’ll find another. As it is, it’s just kind of boring, and I’d prefer at least a little more structure and baring that, something interesting or amusing. You can make it look however you want in that case but you can’t have it both ways.
Streets of Fire. Credit: Universal
Like most other film festivals, PFF also does retrospective screenings. Usually I don’t go to them, in the past because I could find them elsewhere (and my time was limited), nowadays because chances are they’ve played it before or will play it again. I did, however, decide to go to Streets of Fire (Grade: A-) because I’d already missed it once, and my friend Evan had said I should watch it. I’m so glad I did. Walter Hill’s musical fantasia is pure cinema, exactly as the opening describes: “Another Time, Another Place”. I’ve heard the opening section of first number “Nowhere Fast” a bunch because PFS used it as the bumper for August last year, and I went a ton. The full thing still hits, and kicks off a fantastic sequence in which rock goddess Ellen Aim (Diane Lane) is kidnapped from her band The Attackers by Raven Shaddock (Willem Dafoe, extremely young & incredibly hot), leader of the biker gang The Bombers. It falls to her old flame Tom Cody (Michael Paré), lesbian-coded mechanic and ex-solider McCoy (Amy Madigan), and dweeby manager Billy Fish (Rick Moranis, very surprising) to go and rescue her.
During the beginning and the end, I thought I was watching my new favorite film. Hill fuses the culture and look of the 50s with the hard edge style and talk of the 80s, creating something fully unique in the process. No other film will give you a stripper doing a vigorous Charleston to a bar full of leather-clad bikers giving straightened up Tom Of Finland while a rockabilly saxophonist wails, and frankly the fact that America let it flop is the reason we got Regan a second time. The music – from the operatic pop stylist Jim Steinmann of Bonnie Tyler, Celine Dion, and Meat Loaf – hits hard and hits quick. Once again, I could use so many more numbers. I must admit that my friend was right about the middle. By no means is it bad but it stalls a bit, and Paré isn’t as up to the task of talking, no matter how cool his lines are. But when he’s blowing up bikes with a shotgun… Goddamn is he the coolest motherfucker alive.
Tomorrow: PFF33 comes to an end, with a couple last entries and my favorite 10.
As you can gather from the title, “closing night” is a bit of a misnomer in that there’s still two days of programming left afterwards. I’ve got a top 10 decently solidified by now but of course, there’s always room for some latebreaking entries. Last year it was The Settlers; this year the weekend mostly brings repeats and a couple retrospectives so we’ll have to see what happens.
In the past I’ve had to either stand in rush line or get tickets ahead of time for movies like Knives Out or All The Beauty And the Bloodshed (both great). Last year was the first time my badge let me into one, and it happened to be Saltburn (I don’t want to talk about it). A WWII drama about an evacuated mixed-race boy traveling back to London in search of his mother is usually not my thing, even helmed by the great Steve McQueen. Widows, Small Axe, 12 Years A Slave… Need I go on?
That said, I don’t know what all the reviews calling Blitz (Grade: A-) lesser or even anonymous are on about. Admittedly it does take a bit for the tone to even itself out; this is probably the lightest film McQueen has ever done, which is saying a lot for a movie that features a terrifying sequence of waterlines bursting in the London Underground. Some of the early child actors are too precocious, it’s at times didactic about everyone coming together, the score gets overbearing. And yet I cannot deny that it absolutely works for me. It’s as if someone took a Call The Midwife or similarly rah-rah British period piece and shot it through with the actual, terrible reality of the time. McQueen keeps pulling at the tension between the supposed solidarity of the war effort and the refusal of White Brits to stop being racist for 5 goddamn minutes, tempering the good time nostalgia with brutal reminders of the damage a bomb can do. Saoirse Ronan gets all glammed up and she works it, maybe not on the level of her best work, but absolutely a testament to her strengths as an actress. Perhaps it would’ve been served a little better if it was less sanitized for a PG-13. All I know is that McQueen should try doing a musical again, and I really need to watch the rest of Small Axe.
Santosh. Credit: BBC Films
Blitz was the last centerpiece to play but it’s far from the last high profile film to play. One of those – for me at least – was Santosh (Grade: B+/A-), an Un Certain Regard competitor and the UK’s pick for Best International. Sandhya Suri’s feature debut follows the woman of the title, who takes her late husband’s job as a constable and ends up investigating the rape and murder of a young girl. I must admit there’s a few things going against me here: for one, I’m not at all familiar with India’s policing or justice system, so the concept of “women police” who either appear to handle things for other women or women related crimes went over my head. Additionally I did have to dip out to use the restroom, something I typically avoid doing even if I don’t miss much.
Maybe I also want to talk myself into liking it a bit more than I ended up. Suri zeroes in an the twin difficulties of the caste system (of which I’m familiar, but not completely) and being a woman in India. Santosh’s team up with an older woman investigator who’s more than a little dodgy also speaks to well-known corruption throughout Indian society, frequently centered around the police. As a procedural, it’s a tad lacking, though it does get tense. What sells it for me is the way sexism and misogyny lead compound on already present problems, exacerbated by a heavily stratified society getting more and more on edge. Overall, it’s an engrossing drama, and I can’t deny I enjoyed the look at the country from an actual Indian woman.
The Knife. Credit: Iam21 Entertainment
Part of the many reasons I love coming to Film Fest (and why I’m aching to travel to one of the bigger ones one day [please commission me]) is the discovery of a major new talent, someone I can obsess over that no one else may care about. This year has been a little lacking on that front; pretty much all the ones I’ve loved are movies I’d either heard about or from directors who are known quantities. Of the two other indies I saw today, The Knife(Grade: B/B+) lands somewhere along the lines of “wanted to love”. Conceptually it’s rather though-provoking: a Black man discovers a white woman has broken into his house, leading to an altercation that looks rather dire. Director Nnamdi Asomugha puts together a nice exercise in style and tension, despite leaning a bit on flashbacks in editing. His script with Mumblecore stalwart Mark Duplass is by no means egregious in twists or dialog, and Asomugha puts in a pretty credible performance along side Aja Noemi King, Melissa Leo, and Manny Jacinto. It’s ultimately less than the sum of its parts, perhaps better as a short or proof of concept but at least a decent calling card for a burgeoning filmmaker and actor.
Sew Torn. Credit: Orinoso
Speaking of proof of concept, the director of the next film said in a Q&A after that it actually started as a short which made its way to Joel Coen, who encouraged its production. Call that serendipity or whatever since Sew Torn (Grade: B+/A-) on paper sounds like such a riff on No Country For Old Men as to bring disaster. You never want someone to be thinking of the much better thing they could be watching instead. Turns out a drug deal gone bad and stolen money is practically the only thing similar to the Coen’s masterpiece. Freddy MacDonald – co-writing with his dad Fred – has actually crafted something on the level of Greener Grass or Survival Skills, aka a series of sketches that don’t seem to take place anywhere near reality.
I was in love with it from the moment I saw the painfully European car with a giant needle-and-thread on the back of it. That car belongs to Barbara (Eve Connolly), a seamstress in a storybook-like Swiss town. She’s mourning her mother, in the process of losing her shop – home to fanciful Talking Portraits made of thread – when a dash to service a client finds her smack in the middle of the aforementioned drug deal. From here, MacDonald crafts a Run Lola Run style choice-narrative: Take Money, Call Police, Drive Away. Each chapter features inventive MacGuyvering of string and thread, some funny bits surrounding townspeople and side-characters, and the Coens’ pet theme of “crime is really, really, hard you guys”. The toyetic feel and quirky town would suggest Wes Anderson, but MacDonald lacks his precision of tone and voice. It doesn’t feel as populated as other low budget stunners like Riddle of Fire, though Connolly has a presence that reminded me of a less crazed Vic Michaelis.
All of which is to say I wanted more of what MacDonald was selling. He strikes such a unique tone with such inspired thread-based setpieces. I laughed quite a bit and had a pretty good time, and if it doesn’t reach the heights of my other beloved discoveries, he should at least take solace in scraping such rarified company. I’m so glad I managed to make time for it, and that’s enough.
Tomorrow: The director of The Act of Killing and The Look Of Silence unleashes his long gestating musical, and I get a double dose of Tilda when I finally get to the latest Almodóvar.
