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Monte Walsh (1970)
Riding into the Sunset
The death of the Wild West has been a recurring theme in many films. From Sam Peckinpah's 'The Ballad of Cable Hogue' to Don Siegel's 'The Shootist,' numerous movies have depicted the arrival of modernity and the end of days for cowboys and gunslingers. This transition period, often marked by the emergence of railroads, motorcars and industrialization, symbolizes a profound shift in American identity and values.
These films not only chronicle the physical changes in the landscape but also delve into the emotional and psychological impacts on those who lived through this era. The rugged individualism and frontier spirit that defined the cowboy way of life are juxtaposed against the inevitability of progress and the loss of a simpler, albeit harsher, way of life.
William A. Fraker's directorial debut, 'Monte Walsh' is a moving, powerful exploration of these themes. Set against the backdrop of a vanishing frontier, the film follows the titular character as he grapples with the inexorable march of progress. Monte, along with his friend Chet Rollins, embodies the frontier spirit that is slowly being rendered obsolete. The film poignantly captures their struggle to find purpose and identity in a world that no longer values their skills, not only telling the story of one man's journey but also serving as a broader commentary on the end of an era.
Furthermore, Monte's relationship with Martine Bernard, a prostitute, adds a deeply personal dimension to the narrative. She is more than just a love interest; she represents the human cost of the changing times. Their relationship is tender and genuine, marked by mutual respect and affection. Despite the societal stigma attached to her profession, Martine is depicted with dignity and depth.
Monte's interactions with Martine highlight his vulnerability and longing for stability in a world that is slipping away. Their moments together are the film's most poignant, and would move even the coldest of people. Their relationship serves as a microcosm of the broader changes happening in the West, illustrating how personal lives are intertwined within the larger historical shifts.
Fraker's direction brings a sense of authenticity to the film, with sweeping shots of the Western landscape emphasising the vastness and isolation of the frontier. Lukas Heller and David Zelag Goodman's screenplay brims with nuance and dramatic depth, though is also very funny in places, with sharp dialogue. In addition, David M. Walsh's cinematography contrasts the open, untamed land with the encroaching signs of civilization, complementing the narrative and enriching its themes.
The film is not just a story about the end of the cowboy era; it's a meditation on change, loss and the search for meaning in a world that is moving on. It's poignant exploration of these themes makes it a standout in the Western genre, offering a reflective, emotionally resonant experience. Moreover, John Barry's elegiac score adds a hauntingly beautiful layer, enhancing its depth. The music underscores the melancholy and nostalgia permeating the story, heightening the film's impact considerably.
Further, the film stands out not only for its thematic richness but also for its ability to evoke a deep sense of time and place. The minute attention to detail- from Albert Brenner's authentic production and costume design, to Phil Abramson's set decoration- immerses one fully in the waning days of the Wild West. It is also well-edited, with a good pace from start to finish- a testament to Fraker and the four credited editors' skills in the cutting room.
Lee Marvin stars as the titular character, delivering a nuanced, subtle performance that ranks alongside his very best. Marvin underplays the part of Monte beautifully, capturing the quiet dignity and inner turmoil of a man facing the end of his way of life. His performance is marked by a restrained intensity, allowing the character's emotions to simmer just beneath the surface. This approach not only makes Monte a deeply sympathetic figure but also adds a layer of realism to the film.
Often remembered as a heavy or a tough guy, Marvin here proves once again what a talented, intelligent actor he was; as Monte, he is unforgettable. Opposite him, Jack Palance delivers an equally compelling performance as Chet, bringing an affecting warmth and humanity to the role. He and Marvin- with whom he appeared on screen numerous times- work wonderfully together.
Additionally, Jeanne Moreau makes Martine dignified and tender, providing a strong emotional anchor for Monte. Moreau shares a believable chemistry with Marvin, her performance highlighting the personal sacrifices and emotional toll of the changing times. Mitchell Ryan also does strong work as Shorty Austin, one of Monte's fellow cowpokes, while the likes of Jim Davis, Matt Clark and G. D. Spradlin are equally commendable.
In conclusion, 'Monte Walsh' is a poignant film capturing the essence of a dying era. Through its rich characters and emotional depth, it offers a heartfelt farewell to the Wild West and the rugged individualism it represented. Quiet and compassionate, it's evocative visuals and score heightens the depth of its engaging narrative, while all in the cast perform masterfully- especially star Lee Marvin. A must-watch for Western fans, or fans of cinema in general, 'Monte Walsh' rides high in the saddle into the sunset, lingering in the mind long after the credits have rolled.
Death Sentence (2007)
A Matter of Life & Death
In a 1975 interview with Wayne Warga, Charles Bronson stated that he felt miscast as vigilante Paul Kersey in Michael Winner's 'Death Wish,' saying that the role "would have been better for Dustin Hoffman or somebody who could play a weaker kind of man." Author Brian Garfield- who wrote the novel Winner's film was based on- agreed, remarking that Bronson's tough-guy image spoiled the film, as the moment he appeared on screen "you knew he was going to start blowing people away."
Whether or not one agrees with the claims that a more timorous actor would be better suited for the part of Paul Kersey (Eli Roth certainly didn't, considering he cast Bruce Willis in the role for his 2018 remake) it must be admitted that the character Bronson plays is unlike Garfield's unprepossessing, reluctant vigilante.
Similarly, the whole film contrasts sharply with its source material, upsetting Garfield greatly. He felt appalled that audiences were encouraged by the film's violence and vigilantism, despite decrying both topics in his book. He felt that Winner "made a hero out of him. I thought I'd shown that he'd become a very sick man." He was compelled to write a sequel, 'Death Sentence,' that would act as a clear indictment of violence in all its forms, which was not the basis for 'Death Wish II', or any of the other Bronson-led films in the franchise.
In 2007, this was adapted for screen by James Wan. Very, very loosely based on Garfield's novel, 'Death Sentence' centres on Nick Hume, an insurance company executive. He lives the perfect life, happily married with two sons. One day, Nick witnesses his older son being shot dead during an apparent robbery. Determined to find justice, he hunts down the men responsible, though his actions threaten to destroy what little family he has left.
It is an entertaining action thriller, that doesn't break any new ground, though is engaging and has some thematic depth. Although not exactly a paragon of anti-vigilantism, Wan's film is closer in tone- and in themes- to Garfield's novels than Winner's. Unlike Bronson's Paul Kersey, who becomes a symbol of vigilante justice, Nick Hume's journey is portrayed with a raw emotional intensity, highlighting the personal cost of his actions.
Furthermore, the film raises questions about the cycle of violence and whether true justice can ever be achieved through revenge. It touches on the idea of violence as a dehumanising force, stripping people of compassion and perpetuating suffering. Through its exploration of these themes- although concerned with different events and following a differently named character- the film is a faithful adaptation of Garfield's novel.
However, while these ideas are initially explored in an interesting way, Wan doesn't make them the forefront of the narrative. Moreover, the further it goes on, the more straightforward the film becomes. It loses its complexity- as well as its nuanced approach to the idea of vigilantism. By the last act, the interesting themes and notions are all but abandoned, and the film- for all intents and purposes- is exactly like Winner's, just lacking Charles Bronson.
Conversely, Wan and director of photography John R. Leonetti's stark cinematography contributes significantly to the grittiness of the narrative, as does their adoption of a muted colour palette. Their usage of close-ups and tracking shots effectively creates tension, while their utilisation of lighting and shadows is atmospheric. They capture both drama and action with equal aplomb- a lengthy chase scene going from a street, through alleyways and onto the roof of a car park being most notable.
The film's action and violence are realistic and expertly choreographed, although some moments- especially in the last act- feel a bit comic-booky. Despite that, it remains a pulse-pounding, often frenetic affair, well-edited by Michael N. Knue. Additionally, Charlie Clouser's score compounds the film's emotional impact, as well as its tension, and the production design is generally commendable.
The ever-versatile Kevin Bacon stars as Nick Hume, and is terrific, astutely portraying his struggles and evolution over the course of the film. Whether grieving the loss of his son, grappling with acts of violence or contemplating multiple murders, Bacon is totally credible, making Hume a compelling character. Even in its weakest moments, he shines. Carrying the film squarely on his shoulders, Bacon never sets a foot wrong.
Opposite him, Garrett Hedlund does strong work as the contemptible villain Billy Darley, playing him with a winning blend of menace and sleaze. John Goodman does typically fine work as the seedy Bones Darley, an arms dealer and Billy's father. Additionally, Aisha Tyler brings a steady resolve to the underwritten part of Detective Wallis, while Kelly Preston is great, though underutilised, in the all-too-small role of Helen, Nick's wife.
In short, although perhaps not as consistently anti-violence as Brian Garfield would have liked, James Wan's 'Death Sentence' is still a solid piece of work. Boasting fine cinematography and well-choreographed action, as well as strong performances, it is quite entertaining. Despite some underwritten supporting characters, and a comparatively straightforward and weak third act, there is plenty of life in 'Death Sentence'.
White Lightnin' (2009)
Electrifying Ecstatic Truth
Werner Herzog is a believer in what he calls 'ecstatic truth', meaning one can fictionalise aspects of reality, in order to reach a deeper, more transcendent level of truth, going beyond 100% factual accuracy. Director Dominic Murphy seems to embrace this idea, considering his debut feature 'White Lightnin.' Based on the life of notorious Mountain Dancer Jesco White, who has been the subject of numerous documentaries (notably Jacob Young's 'Dancing Outlaw' and Julien Nitzberg's 'The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia'), Murphy's film is not a traditional biopic.
It does not accurately retell White's story, though captures the essence of the man. An absorbing watch, it follows White through his tumultuous childhood years, his time in an asylum and violent life in the Appalachian Mountains. A brilliant dancer, Murphy's White is driven by revenge, while battling drug addiction and psychosis.
Gritty and intense, the film paints a stark picture of addiction and poverty, casting a light over the dark side of life. It is unremitting in its depiction of the harsh realities faced by those living on the fringes of society. The unfiltered portrayal of White's struggles with substance abuse and mental illness is both harrowing and poignant. Furthermore, Murphy's version of the Deep South is a grimy place, teeming with violence and despair.
However, despite its bleakness, the film's authenticity and emotional depth makes for a compelling narrative. Murphy, Eddy Moretti and Shane Smith's screenplay is well crafted, blending raw dialogue with moments of unexpected tenderness. The script delves deep into the psyche of White, offering a nuanced portrayal that goes beyond mere caricature. Like Herzog, they reach a level of ecstatic truth; their fiction revealing a reality that transcends mere factual accuracy.
Murphy and cinematographer Tim Maurice-Jones utilise a muted colour pallet, emphasising the grimness of the narrative. The desaturated hues mirror the bleakness of White's existence, creating a visual metaphor for his internal struggles. This visual style, combined with the film's rough, unflinching storytelling, immerses one in a world where hope is a rare commodity. Moreover, during violent and drug fuelled moments, the cinematography becomes frenetic and disorienting.
In these moments, the camera work mirrors the chaos and instability of White's mind, with rapid cuts and shaky movements heightening the sense of urgency and confusion. This technique makes the scenes of violence and addiction all the more visceral. Further, Ivo Husnjak's grubby production design brings to life Murphy's version of Appalachia, in all its filthy glory. Nick Zinner's score- and the eclectic soundtrack- complements the film's gritty aesthetic perfectly. The music ranges from hauntingly atmospheric to jarringly intense, reflecting the tumultuous journey of Jesco White.
Edward Hogg stars as White, delivering a startlingly intense performance marked by a raw energy. He captures White's inner turmoil and descent into madness devastatingly, particularly through his physicality in the dance sequences. Hogg excels not only in intense, emotional scenes but also in quieter, introspective moments, offering glimpses of White's vulnerability. His nuanced portrayal allows one to empathize with White, despite his violent, erratic behaviour.
Carrie Fisher co-stars as Cilla, White's girlfriend, bringing a grounded presence to the film. Fisher's performance adds depth to the narrative, providing a counterbalance to White's chaotic life. Her portrayal of Cilla is both tender and resilient, capturing the complexities of loving someone as troubled as Jesco White.
Moreover, Owen Campbell, as the younger White, gives a strong performance, setting the stage for the character's later turmoil. Muse Watson brings a powerful presence to the role of D. Ray White, Jesco's father, the legendary mountain dancer. His portrayal adds depth to the father-son dynamic, highlighting the influence D. Ray had on Jesco's life. Additionally, Kirk Bovill is perfect as the seedy character Long; his performance adding to the film's tension and atmosphere.
In short, Dominic Murphy's 'White Lightnin' may not accurately retell the life of Jesco White, but in capturing the essence of the man, is a captivating story of violence and addiction. Well-written and featuring striking cinematography, it is an affecting piece of work. Star Edward Hogg delivers an intense performance, while Carrie Fisher is similarly good. It is well worth a watch, and an electrifying example of ecstatic truth.
Barbarians at the Gate (1993)
The Brutal World of Business
In 1989, investigative journalists Bryan Burrough and John Helyar released 'Barbarians At The Gate: The Fall of RJR Nabisco,' considered by many to be one of the finest books about business ever written. Detailing CEO F. Ross Johnson's attempts to buy out the rest of his shareholders after the failure of the new, smokeless Premier cigarette, the book is an engrossing, humorous peek into a cut-throat corporate world of greed and backstabbing. An instant bestseller moving at the pace of a spy-thriller, it is a fascinating true story that begged for screen treatment.
Consequently, in 1993, HBO released a TV movie adaptation. 'Barbarians at the Gate,' directed by Glenn Jordan, faithfully retells the events of Burrough and Helyar's book, and is just as gripping as its source material. Larry Gelbart's screenplay makes the arcane language of business easily comprehensible, while ensuring the narrative maintains tension and momentum. It is also a funny film full of irony, satirising the ostentation of the 1980's and the rapaciousness of the money men of the time.
Moreover, the dialogue- often taken directly from the book which was, in turn, taken from interviews with the real-life players involved- is delightfully vulgar and witty. There are many hilarious lines throughout, which one will recall long after the credits have rolled; nearly everything uttered during the sequence involving the Premier cigarette comes immediately to mind. Furthermore, the self-made millionaire Johnson makes for a compelling central character- though one not without faults.
Johnson, although charismatic and likable, is essentially just as greedy as his rival, the calculated Henry Kravis, who is also trying to take control of the company. In some ways, he is worse, as he hides his ambition and avarice beneath good 'ol boy charm, claiming to be a man of the people while flying his dog around the country in a private jet. He's an interesting man of contradictions, whose attempts to turn a foul cigarette into a hit, and buy out RJR Nabisco, makes for an entertaining watch.
On the technical side of things, the cinematography is nothing to write home about, leaning towards the conventional, in terms of set-ups, framing and angles. However, this lack of flashy stylizations compounds the realism of the narrative, which could be seen as a boon. Meanwhile, Richard Gibbs's overblown score is the musical equivalent of shoulder pads and spandex- so stereotypically 1980's it sounds like it was written for a 'Scarface' rip-off. On the other hand, Linda Pearl's production design is commendable, accurately recreating Johnson's opulent world.
One of the most beloved actors of his generation, James Garner stars as Johnson, delivering a typically nuanced performance with his trademark ease. He never sets a foot wrong, making Johnson compelling despite his faults. Jonathan Pryce brings a cold detachment to the role of Kravis, which is chillingly effective, while Matt Clark shines as Johnson's friend and ally Edward A. Horrigan Jr. Additionally, Peter Riegert and Joanna Cassidy both do fine work as Peter Cohen and Linda Robinson, Johnson's business partners, while David Rasche nearly steals the show completely in the all-too-small part of Ted Forstmann.
In short, Glenn Jordan's 'Barbarians at the Gate' is a masterful adaptation capturing the essence of its source material while providing a satirical look at the excesses of the 1980's. Its relevance today, in an era still marked by corporate greed and financial manoeuvring, makes it a timeless piece worth watching. Well-written and strongly acted, it is a portrait of the brutal world of business that lingers in the mind like the smell of a Premier cigarette.
Alien: Romulus (2024)
To Boldly Go
In 2013, the first feature film by director Fede Alvarez was released: 'Evil Dead,' a reboot of the gloriously gory Sam Raimi series. While some found it lacked the humour the franchise was known for- and most missed Bruce Campbell's demon-killing badass Ash Williams- it was a bloody good film, paying homage to Raimi's original three, while standing on its own two feet. It seemed Alvarez was a new master of the macabre; a notion his next film, the claustrophobic 'Don't Breathe,' compounded.
Having helmed a great new addition to a beloved franchise, and having proved himself adept at making grisly, tense features, Alvarez is the perfect choice to direct an 'Alien' film. 'Alien: Romulus,' set between the events of Ridley Scott's first 'Alien' and James Cameron's 'Aliens,' centres on a group of space colonists who come upon a derelict space station languishing amidst the stars. Intending to scavenge, they board, only to realize the station isn't really abandoned; and that which occupies it has murder on its xenomorphian mind.
It is a gripping horror, a worthy companion piece to Scott's brilliant original. Whether or not you loved Cameron's blockbuster 'Aliens,' its success ensured that all of the succeeding movies in the franchise have been focused more on action rather than dread, on spectacle rather than horror. Although Alvarez has time for action- the latter half of the picture contains some excellent fight scenes, especially one in zero gravity- 'Alien: Romulus' shares the same tone of foreboding menace as the original.
The xenomorphs are to be feared in Alvarez's film. They are not easily annihilated by myriads of weapons or exosuits. Similarly, the main character, Rain Carradine, is not an alien-killing-machine like Cameron's version of Ripley was. Rather, she is more like Ripley in her first cinematic outing: terrified, overwhelmed and in constant danger. She is a great conduit for the audience, as the film takes viewers on a journey into fear, in the confines of space; where no-one can hear you scream.
Alvarez and co-writer Rodo Sayagues craft a tale both engaging and frightening, though a cynical critic might suggest their characterisation is a bit cliched. The supporting characters are particularly ill-served; some are little more than cardboard cut-outs- especially Bjorn, a needlessly aggressive chap whose characterisation seems to have come straight from the pages of a Dummies Guidebook for Assholery. However, Rain and Andy- her synthetic companion- are compelling: one cares for them.
The production design- headed by Naaman Marshall- is immersive and atmospheric, while the efficacious use of both special and practical effects generates many chills and thrills. Alvarez cleverly hired various set designers and decorators, as well as model makers and special effects crew, who worked on previous films in the series. Every location looks like it could have been used in the first movie, while the xenomorphs and other creatures look like they came straight from a HR Giger nightmare.
Furthermore, director of photography Galo Olivares does sterling work under Alvarez's direction. The cinematography is striking and headily evocative. Their use of light and shadow is particularly effective at generating tension and intrigue, while irregular angles are utilised to further the film's suspenseful atmosphere. Further, they juxtapose the vastness of space with the cramped interiors of the station, generating the palpably anxious fear that made the franchise's first entry so memorable.
In addition, they shoot the pulse-pounding action masterfully, leaving viewers on the edge of their seat throughout the film's two-hour runtime- which goes by swiftly, thanks to the fastidious editing from Alvarez and Jake Roberts. Furthermore, Benjamin Wallfisch's score is creepily unsettling, compounding the film's horror and heightening its apprehensive, unpredictable mood.
Cailee Spaeny stars as Rain, delivering a sturdy performance that echoes Sigourney Weaver's as Ripley, though is in no way derivative of Weaver's work. She makes Rain compelling, and is difficult not to root for. As Andy, David Jonsson is brilliant, bringing a humanity to the role that is quite affecting- especially considering he isn't technically human. His relationship with Spaeny is the heart of the film; the two demonstrate a fine chemistry.
Moreover, Archie Renaux does fine work as the leader of the boarding party, while Daniel Betts- with the help of CGI- is terrific, playing Rook, a science officer fans of the original will immediately recognise. Isabela Merced and Aileen Wu both also impress in smaller roles, though, conversely, Spike Fearn is incredibly irritating as Bjorn- although, since the character was surely written to be irritating, in a way, he fulfilled his brief more than adequately.
In summation, Fede Alvarez's 'Alien: Romulus' is a fast-paced, frenetic entry in the 'Alien' franchise that acts as a homage to Ridley Scott's original, while making its own mark cinematically. Boasting a gripping narrative filled with chills and thrills, as well as striking cinematography and a stirring score, it fires on all cylinders. Well-edited and strongly acted, it is a terrific film, that boldly goes in new directions, while honouring where it came from.
John Bronco (2020)
A Bronco Worth Chasing
Most people accept that the 'Golden Age of Advertising' was the 1960's and 70's, and that the ingenuity and brilliance of the advertising executives of that time has failed to pass to their successors. Despite this, there have been affecting, effective advertisements since. For instance, the J. R. Hartley ad for the Yellow Pages in 1983- following Hartley in his quest to find somewhere that stocks his fishing guide- was so popular it spawned two books written by the fictional character.
The ads for Guinness starring Rutger Hauer- humorously emphasising the mystery and darkness of the drink- showed great audience response, apparently resulting in a 22 percent increase in the sale of the stout. The Nescafé Gold Blend Couple were beloved, as were Papa and Nicole in their campaign for the Renault Clio. People were invested in these characters, wanting to see what would happen to them. These ads were unforgettable, becoming ingrained in the public consciousness.
There have been many more over the years, that were clever and fun; but unfortunately, advertisements that aren't drably forgettable are rarely seen or made nowadays (bar during the Superbowl, and those are usually forced and unfunny).
Jake Szymanski's 'John Bronco' is the exception: a brilliant advertisement for Ford wrapped inside a terrific mockumentary, following the best pitchman the world never saw. The forty minute short centres on the titular character, a horse breaking, cowboy-boot-wearing good 'ol boy, charting his rise and fall as a pitchman for the Ford Bronco. From his role as a frontman for Ford, to his turn as a singer and actor, Bronco was everywhere. The question is: where is he now?
'John Bronco' is a very clever piece of work, blurring the lines between mockumentary and advertisement. Szymanski and screenwriter Marc Gilbar weave a funny tale, both satirising, and paying homage to, advertisement campaigns of the past. From the swinging 60's to the neon-soaked 80's, Szymanski seamlessly weaves nostalgia into every frame, while also telling a genuinely engaging story.
Bronco is a compelling character, whose life in-and-out of the eponymous Ford makes for an engrossing piece, while the dialogue is consistently sharp. In addition, Nate Hurtsellers's cinematography captures the essence of different eras, meticulously recreating the look and feel of vintage advertising. Throughout the film, his work immerses viewers in John Bronco's world, adding authenticity to every scene. Meanwhile, production designer Olivia McManus's meticulous efforts contribute to the overall visual aesthetic.
From retro news programmes to cereal packets, McManus ensures that every detail feels period accurate, which Alison Holmes's detailed costume design compounds. Furthermore, the score- from Jared Gutstadt, Jeff Peters and Jesse Siebenberg- is wonderful, featuring many stirring tracks. The hard to forget 'The Ballad of John Bronco/Mama Named Me Bronco' is a particularly good one. Moreover, the whole vehicle, as it were, is a great advertisement for Ford, showing the company not just as a maker of classy cars, but with a sense of humour to boot.
The inimitable Walton Goggins stars as John Bronco, delivering a layered performance of depth and wit. Goggins's easy charm makes him the perfect choice for the Burt Reynoldsesque Bronco, and he plays the part to a tee. Goggins imbues the character with a deep humanity, making him grounded, despite the often-ridiculous comedy, proving once again that he is one of the finest actors working today.
Opposite him, Tim Baltz does fine work as the befuddled Ford archivist Daniel Stacks, while Tim Meadows is excellent as Bronco's manager Donovon Piggot, whose casual approach to his job makes for much hilarity. Additionally, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Bo Derek are both great, showing they are not above self-mockery, while Dennis Quaid's narration is a constant delight. The mockumentary wouldn't have worked had the cast not played it straight; and they do to perfection.
Jake Szymanski's 'John Bronco' works both as a mockumentary and an advertisement, and is a witty and entertaining example of both. Its narrative is engaging, with sharp characterisation and dialogue. Boasting period-accurate cinematography and production design, as well as striking costumes and a sublime score, it's a fun ride all the way. Walton Goggins is terrific, while his co-stars don't let him down. In short, as an ad and as a film, 'John Bronco' is marvellous. So, buckle up- it's a Bronco worth chasing.
Mandy (2018)
Surreal & Psychedelic
Nicolas Cage seems drawn to the surreal. From David Lynch's 'Wild at Heart' to Sion Sono's 'Prisoners of the Ghostland,' he has appeared in many bizarre films, making full use of his self-styled nouveau shamanic, Western Kabuki acting approach. He shines in ventures like these, never phoning it in; more often than not, to borrow Nigel Tufnel's phrase, turning it up to eleven. Cage revels in playing eccentrics, in films that explore the dark, weird and sinister side of human nature; such as Pantos Cosmatos's 'Mandy'.
Cosmatos's second feature follows Red, a lumberjack, who is in a loving relationship with the titular lady. Together, they live a quiet life, hidden away from the world among the trees. However, in the woods surrounding their home is a darkness- one that is coming their way. A drug-taking cult happen to cross Mandy's path one day, and its leader Jeremiah takes a fancy to her. She is kidnapped by the cult, sending Red spiralling down a dark path of vengeance and violence.
'Mandy' is perhaps best described as being like 'Death Wish,' if it had been directed by David Lynch in an acid driven episode of psychosis. Its narrative- written by Cosmatos, Casper Kelly and Aaron Stewart-Ahn- is wildly gripping, inviting viewers into a world of depravity and death, as Red tries to avenge his lost love. However, while it's an occasionally thrilling picture, it is not a particularly original one. Murderous hippies and revenge sprees are features of countless films, and Cosmatos's characters don't have much depth.
Red doesn't have much personality, Mandy has none whatsoever and Jeremiah is your typical ranting, raving cult leader- the Charles Mansonesque type viewers will have seen in countless movies. His followers, meanwhile, are basically cardboard cut-outs, so little character do they possess. Conversely, the minimal dialogue displays Cosmatos's offbeat humour, and some of the lines are quite memorable.
The film's main strength is its ominously oppressive visual and sound design. It is a stunning looking film. Cosmatos and director of photography Benjamin Loeb capture proceedings with an artist's eye, making excellent use of light and shadow. Dominated by blues and reds, the psychedelic lighting helps generate the film's moody atmosphere, which Loeb's use of irregular angles and unconventional framing heightens. The sinister sound design also adds to this mood, while Jóhann Jóhannsson eerie score runs throughout the picture like an evil wind; bringing death and destruction in its wake.
Furthermore, Hubert Pouille's production design is outstanding, as are the sets. Unique and creepy, the structures and locales that populate Red's world are incredibly detailed and interesting (most notably Red and Mandy's many windowed home and the cult's chapel). In addition, Alice Eyssartier's costume design is striking, adding to each character's personality- arguably more so than Cosmatos's screenplay.
Conversely, a cynical critic might suggest that Cosmatos and editors Brett W. Bachman and Paul Painter should have been more hands on in the editing booth, with particular regard to the first half of the picture. The film moves very slowly for the first forty-five minutes or so, and while this builds mood and suspense, it could also be seen as being a little dull and self-indulgent. Cosmatos could have easily trimmed twenty minutes from the runtime without negatively affecting the narrative; nor impacting the film's aesthetic.
On the other hand, the fight scenes are terrifically realized. Shot at night, set against red and blue lighting, blood spills, chainsaws clash, as heads roll- literally. The action is inventively shot, with the gloriously excessive gore of a Sam Raimi 'Evil Dead' picture. You're on the edge of your seat throughout these sequences, and they are the best part of the film.
The whole affair is anchored by Nicolas Cage's Red, a taciturn man thrust into a world of pain. Through Cage's layered performance, the film becomes not just a moody revenge piece, but a display of how great loss can change a person irrevocably. As only he can do, Cage- though outlandish at times- instils in Red a believable humanity, that not only grounds the film, but makes it utterly engaging.
Andrea Riseborough stars as the titular character and, while not on screen for as long as Cage, overcomes Cosmatos's slim characterisation, making Mandy an intriguing person. Linus Roache is marvellously manic as Jeremiah; if ever there was someone to out-do Cage in the crazy department, it is he. His squadron of slack jawed yokels and acid loving cultists are all played well, by the likes of Ned Dennehy and Olwen Fouéré, while Richard Brake, as the LSD maker, steals his sole scene with a remarkable ease, leaving a lasting impression on the viewer.
Pantos Cosmatos's 'Mandy' may have its faults- mainly regarding the narrative and the lax editing, particularly in the first half- but it is an exciting, entertaining film all the same. Visually stunning and boasting a great score from Jóhann Jóhannsson, it's an audio-visual feast. Nicolas Cage turns in another outstanding performance, while his co-stars Andrea Riseborough and Linus Roache also do strong work. In short, 'Mandy' is another surreal work in Cage's filmography that is well worth seeking out.
Trap (2024)
Another M. Night Misfire
Even his most vociferous critics concede that M. Night Shyamalan has made some interesting, entertaining films. 'The Sixth Sense' and 'Unbreakable,' his third and fourth features, are generally considered to be his finest, though later works- most notably 'Split'- are also quite enjoyable. However, his filmography is populated more by duds than hits. From 'The Happening' and 'After Earth' to 'Old', Shyamalan has made many convoluted, dull and downright moronic movies, that no-one- not even his mother- could love.
His newest venture, 'Trap', follows Cooper and his daughter Riley, who attend a concert for their favourite musician, pop star Lady Raven. They've been looking forward to it for ages, and are excited as all get out. However, the gig is not what it seems. The whole show is, in fact, an elaborate sting operation, to capture a serial killer known as The Butcher. With the police outside, and The Butcher among the fans, will anyone survive; and with this film, does Shyamalan have a hit on his hands, or yet another dud?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, considering its ludicrous premise, 'Trap' is tatty nonsense, with a predictable narrative so full of plot holes and cliches it makes Shyamalan's egregious 'Old' look like the work of Orson Welles. One would be forgiven for assuming that a four-year-old child wrote the screenplay, so mindlessly ridiculous the film is throughout its interminable 105-minutes. Nothing in it makes sense. From the beginning to the end, it's balderdash of the highest level. Logic has no place in Shyamalan's world. Take the police, for example. Nearly everything they do in their hunt for The Butcher is the opposite of what they should be doing; almost as if the entire force were on the serial killer's side.
Moreover, the characterisation involved is asinine, slim and cliched, especially that involving The Butcher. In addition, characters do not act rationally, nor do they act irrationally in a consistent manner: they are whatever Shyamalan wants them to be in the moment, whether or not it makes sense. What's worse: the film lacks suspense, without any tension or gripping moments- the death knell for a thriller.
Further, the dialogue is laughably stilted, making one wonder if Shyamalan has ever had a conversation with a real person before. It is so utterly unnatural it's genuinely puzzling how anyone who read the script could possibly agree to star in it (unless, of course, you were related to the filmmaker).
However, there are some reasonably bright spots in the teeming pit of underwhelment that 'Trap' is, namely Sayombhu Mukdeeprom's cinematography. His use of close ups and quick pans effectively generates the energy that the narrative sorely lacks, which Herdís Stefánsdóttir's score compounds. However, Saleka Shyamalan's songs for Lady Raven- which are made such a focal point one wonders if her father made the whole film simply to give her a platform to sing and dance- are generic and dull, though she performs them well.
Josh Hartnett stars as Cooper, and his performance is either quite clever, or rather poor, depending on how you look at it. On the one hand, the character he is playing is acting themselves, trying to project the visage of normality, as it were. In the stressful situation Cooper finds himself in, that visage slips and begins to crack, appearing unnatural and forced. Therefore, the fact that Hartnett is over-the-top and slightly off could be a clever approach to the role. On the other hand, maybe that's not the case, and he just misjudged his performance.
Ariel Donoghue stars as Riley, and doesn't get all that much to do, really, bar shouting and screaming for Lady Raven, which she does energetically enough. The aforementioned Saleka Shyamalan stars as Lady Raven, and her father really should have gone in a different direction other than home when casting that particular role- and when getting someone to write the songs too, for that matter.
She brings to mind Sofia Coppola in 'The Godfather Part III.' Directed by her father, Coppola was incredibly wooden, much like Shyamalan in 'Trap.' Although, considering the terrible dialogue; no one could perform admirably in her role. Additionally, Alison Pill and Hayley Mills both have small roles as Rachael, Cooper's wife, and an FBI profiler, respectfully, and anyone could have stepped into their near miniscule parts and been as effective as they.
In short, M. Night Shyamalan's 'Trap' is another in the long line of misfires the director has had over his career. In fact, looking at his filmography, he's had more misses than hits- a lot more. With a senseless narrative, stilted dialogue and slim characterisation, it's not got much to offer. Although the cinematography and score are both good, the songs performed by the Lady Raven character are dull, and the cast do uncommendable work. To put it succinctly and not beat around the bush, 'Trap' is utterly crap.
Eine Armee Gretchen (1973)
Nude Nazi Nonsense
For better or worse, films in the Nazi exploitation genre aren't really made anymore. Also known as 'nazisploitation', these movies- made primarily in the 1970's- generally focused on Nazis committing sex crimes, often as prison camp overseers during World War II. Most were simply softcore pornography wrapped inside a cigarette-paper thin veneer of plot, though a few- perhaps most notably Liliana Cavani's 'The Night Porter'- had some actual artistic merit, and explored interesting ideas.
Erwin C. Dietrich's 'She Devils of the SS'- also referred to as 'Eine Armee Gretchen', 'Frauleins in Uniform' and, somewhat bizarrely, in Turkey as 'Queen of Vampires'- is not one of the few. As an independent film à la 'The Night Porter', it fails completely, having nothing whatsoever to say- interesting or otherwise. Neither is it a funny film, despite a carefree atmosphere and many moments that seem to have been intended as comedy. Furthermore, as a piece of softcore pornography, it also fails, as it is boring and strangely tame, surely failing to titillate even the most easily arousable individual.
Based on a novel by Karl-Heinz Helms-Liesenhoff- a former German army officer who fled to Switzerland after being sentenced for desertion in 1943- the film is light both on plot and excitement. Dietrich's screenplay- which he wrote under the name Manfred Gregor- centres on Marga Kuhn, a young woman drafted into the Army as a 'Lightning Girl,' essentially a German version of the Japanese 'Comfort Women'. Her job is to further the Aryan cause by giving soldiers pleasure, though with the Red Army closing in, time is running short both for fighting and for fun.
It's a strange beast of a movie, that doesn't follow the usual pattern of nazisploitation flicks: the Nazis aren't portrayed as villains and the women willingly participate in the action, so to speak. It's an oddly light and breezy venture, like 'Carry on Camping' for fascists. Nazis gaily roll about in fields, or enjoy swastika-topped cakes, cheerily praising the Führer whilst cavorting in the nude. Had Dietrich intended it as a straight parody, and leaned more into the comedic side of things, the film could have actually worked. However, he doesn't; large parts of the narrative are turgid melodrama, which- combined with the film's happy-go-lucky air- results in an unusual tonal schizophrenia.
Additionally, the dialogue- written by frequent collaborator Christine Lembach - is stilted and, oftentimes, unintentionally funny. Moreover, as alluded to above, it is a surprisingly dull feature, despite the subject matter. Dietrich seems reticent to show anything graphic or erotic, meaning the nude and sex scenes- of which there are many- are weirdly subdued and insipid. It makes one wonder who Dietrich's intended audience was, as it is too mild for aficionados of filth and too lacking in story for feature film fans.
Having said that, it clearly has high production values. The production design, from Rolf Engler and Vladimir Lasic, looks authentic, while Georg Heiler's costume design appears consistently period-accurate. The weaponry and sets are also strikingly realistic. Moreover, Walter Baumgartner's score is quite stirring, and the cast are generally impressive- with Karin Heske and Carl Möhner doing particularly fine work. However, in a tale devoid of artistic or salacious merit; all that quality is rather wasted.
In short, if you go into Erwin C. Dietrich's 'She Devils of the SS' with carnal pleasures in mind, you'll be disappointed, and if you watch it as a 'straight' feature, you'll be left wanting. In fact, there really are very few reasons to seek it out; unless you're the sole member of the Dietrich fan club, and want to watch everything in his filmography. In that case, you've probably already seen it, and know how underwhelming it is in nearly every regard. Narratively lacking and erotically uninteresting, it's an overwhelmingly banal work. Despite some good performances and high production values, the only memorable thing about 'She Devils of the SS' is its title.
Sympathy for the Devil (2023)
A Predictable Journey Into Fear
For some, the promise of Nicolas Cage playing a psychopathic, red-haired Bostonian is simply irresistible. The actor has delivered many entertaining performances as mad characters in the past, from his turn as the chaotic yuppie Peter Loew in 'Vampire's Kiss,' to the criminally insane Castor Troy in 'Face/Off'. Cage has made his bread and butter- and garnered legions of fans- delving into the mind of crazed characters, as he does yet again in Yuval Adler's 'Sympathy for the Devil.'
The film follows David Chamberlain, a married man living in Las Vegas whose wife is in the hospital, having just gone into labour. As he arrives, a scarlet-haired menace with a gun climbs into the back of his car, demanding that he is driven to Boulder City. With a gun to his head, Chamberlain is taken on a journey into fear through the Nevada nightscape; a journey that can only end in violence.
Adler's 'Sympathy for the Devil' is a fairly predictable, though entertaining, thriller that will please Cage fans considerably. Essentially a two-hander, the narrative is slim on originality or surprise, though still keeps one engaged. It is a tense affair, the passenger's unpredictability making for some effectively thrilling moments. Screenwriter Luke Paradise seems to have tailored the dialogue for Cage, giving him some marvellously madcap monologues, which he spouts with his typical nouveau shamanic, Western Kabuki brilliance (nouveau shamanic and Western Kabuki, for those who may not know, being Cage's self-titled acting styles).
However, Joel Kinnaman- as Chamberlain- gets considerably less to do. His character is the grounded parallel to Cage's deranged villain, a stoic man lacking personality or charisma. A wet blanket, he is hard to root for in the face of Cage's magnetic mania. Though Kinnaman performs admirably, and shares a good chemistry with Cage; he does not deliver a memorable performance. Moreover, the cliches that abound throughout the film become quite tiring, leading to an ending as forgettable as it is underwhelming.
Conversely, Steven Holleran's cinematography is a neon-soaked feast for the eyes. Atmospheric and striking, his work compounds the narrative tension. He captures the seedy unease of the Las Vegas night astutely, lending proceedings a Lynchian mood of sleazy agitation. This is complemented by the production design from Burns Burns, as well as Ermelinda Manos's costume design and Anthony Fitzgerald's art direction and set decoration.
Furthermore, Ishai Adar's score contributes to the sordid, mysterious tone, as does the eclectic and evocative soundtrack, making great use of songs from the like of Scott Walker, Alicia Bridges and Jimmy Radcliffe. It is also a well-edited picture, with a good pace from the beginning. At just over an hour and a half, it is relatively short, although Adler and editor Alan Canant's work ensures it doesn't feel in any way rushed.
As alluded to above, despite its faults- predictability chiefly among them- it's a film Cage fans will love. As the erratic gun-toting passenger, he is terrific, clearly having a ball with the material. It's a classic Cage performance- full of unexpected vocalisations, shouting, creepy facial expressions and a little bit of song and dance. He is electrifying to watch and works well with Kinnaman, who- as previously mentioned- is perfectly adequate, though his role doesn't demand much of him.
In short, Yuval Adler's 'Sympathy for the Devil' is one that Nicolas Cage fans will enjoy, though may leave those who do not appreciate his work, unmoved. While Steven Holleran's cinematography is striking, and the soundtrack- as well as Ishai Adar's score- complements the atmosphere, the narrative is unfortunately cliched. Joel Kinnaman's character is also dull and the ending disappoints. In conclusion, while Nicolas Cage is great, the film around him doesn't live up to his talents.
Hana to Arisu (2004)
Heartfelt & Heartrending
Hana and Alice are best friends about to enter high school. One day, they see Masashi, a boy about their age, on board a train. Alice develops a crush on him, though it is but a passing fad. For Hana, it is something more serious, and she begins to shadow Masashi, determined to make him her boyfriend. After he has an accident, Hana convinces him he has amnesia, and has forgotten that they are a couple. Matters are complicated further when Hana makes Alice pretend to be his ex-girlfriend; and further still when Alice and Masashi fall for each other. In the face of such drama, can Hana and Alice's friendship last?
Subtle and moving, Shunji Iwai's 'Hana and Alice' is a deceptively simple comic-drama speaking depths about the human condition. It is a striking picture, the subtly strong narrative of which is all the more incredible when one considers it began life as four short films celebrating the 30th anniversary of Nestlé's Kit Kat chocolate bar in Japan. A poignant character study, examining the personalities of two complex girls, Iwai's characterisation is rich and full of depth.
Both Hana and Alice are multifaceted, layered characters, with ambitions, faults and secrets. Though not immoral or unempathetic, they are not above using others to get their own way. Through Iwai's nuanced storytelling, a vividly realistic portrayal of these two characters is created. Manipulative, but charming, they are compelling, realistic cinematic creations, with fascinating backstories; and their tale is engaging.
Throughout the film, their friendship is put to the test. Iwai uses them to make a larger point about the importance of friendship, especially during one's formative years. He also delves into the complexities of youth, displaying great insight into the adolescent mindset. Hana and Alice are on the cusp of adulthood, a strange time when one re-examines one's life, readjusting priorities. Both Hana and Alice struggle; trying to act like adults, while suffering from a dearth of positive role models.
Alice's mother is far too concerned with her own romantic entanglements, while her father is distant and awkward. Hana's mother, meanwhile, seems disconnected from her daughter, focused on her work. At one point, she addresses Masashi as Hana, seemingly not recognising that he isn't, in fact, her daughter. It is no wonder that Hana and Alice create fabulous lies when they have no-one offering them guidance.
It is an affecting picture, not to mention a funny one. Iwai's dialogue is witty and many sequences will have viewers- possessed of a certain sense of humour- grinning from ear to ear. Additionally, it is a strikingly shot film, containing artful cinematography from Noboru Shinoda. His muted work is couched in the traditions of realism, yet has a certain stylized edge to it. It is as if the film were shot as a reflection of life in a carnival hall of mirrors; visuals projecting a slightly heightened version of reality, carrying much emotional weight.
The mournful score, from Iwai himself, doesn't just complement these visuals; it heightens them, compounding their dramatic power. Further, it is well-edited film, with Iwai establishing a steady pace from the beginning. Although some criticise it as being overlong, even at two hours and fifteen minutes, in the company of Hana and Alice, time flies.
Anne Suzuki and Yu Aoi star as Hana and Alice, respectively, delivering two remarkable performances of depth, wit and nuance. Whether delivering impassioned monologues- as Suzuki does masterfully in the latter half- or performing ballet- like Aoi, beautifully, in the last act- both of them impress greatly. They'll have you laughing and crying in equal measure. Alongside them, Tomohiro Kaku does fine work as Masashi, while Sei Hiraizumi is great as Alice's father, in a solitary- but memorable- scene.
A compelling character study, Shunji Iwai's 'Hana and Alice' offers viewers a profound meditation on the complexities of youth, friendship and love. Funny and sad both, its narrative- and the characters involved- are engaging, while the cinematography and score are memorably striking. Strongly acted- especially by stars Anne Suzuki and Yu Aoi- it is a heartfelt and heartrending comic-drama that is well worth a watch.
Kubi (2023)
Blood-Soaked Brilliance
In 2019, Takeshi Kitano released 'Kubi,' a Samurai novel, retelling the events of the 1582 Honno-ji incident, in which the powerful feudal Lord- or Daimyo- Oda Nobunaga was assassinated. It was an idea Kitano first had in the early 1990's, intended as a film. Akira Kurosawa was an advocate for the project, stating that "if Kitano were to make this film, it would be a masterpiece on par with 'Seven Samurai'."
In 2021, shooting finally took place, with a release two years later. The result is a sprawling, Shakespearian epic, bloody, thrilling and darkly funny. The film reimagines Nobunaga as a psychopathic ruler, sadistic and unpredictable. He pits the Samurai under him against one other, promising each the throne after he steps down. However, the various clan leaders, such as Hashiba Hideyoshi and Ankokuji Ekei, alongside Samurai general Akechi Mitsuhide, band against him, plotting his downfall.
It is a tale that makes for a sweeping, action-filled picture, rocketing along at a brisk pace. The narrative is brimming with volatility, every character out for their own personal gain. There is plenty of back-stabbing- both literally and metaphorically- with betrayal as the dominant theme. Everyone is scheming and plotting; trust is not an easy virtue in Kitano's representation of the Sengoku period, and nothing- even love- gets in the way of self-interest.
Kitano demystifies the notion that Samurai were bound by honour, portraying them as vicious killers, with little time for morality. More broadly, he shows how power-structures dictate relationships, as Nobunaga abuses- physically, mentally and sexually- those around him, taking advantage of their subservient position. This mirrors reality, and is a powerful, subtle piece of social commentary. Although perhaps not entirely factually-accurate, Kitano's depiction of the time-period and its characters is compelling and engaging.
Furthermore, like most Kitano films, the undercurrent of humour, means that- despite rivers of blood and decapitations galore- it doesn't get too dark. In fact, it is a very funny film, striking a fine balance between comedy, thrills and drama. Moreover, Kitano's characterisation is astute. Every person is distinct, with their own quirks, while the dialogue is sharp and witty. Hashiba Hideyoshi is a particularly risible character, who features in the film's most hilarious scenes.
In addition, the action is pulse-pounding and frenetic. Battle scenes are messy and visceral, as they would have been in real life. Katanas sweep through skin, limbs fly, heads roll- it is a gory and riveting affair. Much like his previous 'Zatoichi,' Kitano directs the action magnificently, leaving viewers on the edge of their seats throughout. Moreover, the unpredictable nature of the narrative ensures one doesn't know who will die next, or how; making things all the more exciting.
Further, it is a striking looking film. Takeshi Hamada's grittily realistic cinematography is atmospheric and evocative. Much like his sterling work on Yojiro Takita's 'Departures,' his avoidance of flashy stylisations compounds the film's authenticity. He and Kitano shoot the fight scenes expertly, making them appear utterly crazy, while approaching the film as a whole with an artist's eye; some of the images and sequences involved are simply stunning.
Moreover, the production design is minutely detailed. Everything looks period-accurate, and Kazuko Kurosawa's costume design is texturally rich and intricate. Additionally, the subtle score from Taro Iwashiro- who worked on Yoichi Sai's 'Blood and Bones,' which also starred Kitano- heightens the film's emotional impact. It is also a well-edited picture, moving at a stallion's pace from the start and never lets up.
Part of the reason Kitano waited so long to film 'Kubi' was because he could never get his ideal cast, but, as he explains, when he was "able to gather talented actors in the Kitano-group, and when such excellent actors come together, I felt like it was finally time to make it... and that's how it finally came to fruition." The cast he gathered is vast and noteworthy, which reads like a 'who's who' of premier acting talent.
Ryo Kase is chillingly effective as the psychopathic Nobunaga, clearly loving the opportunity to play such a madman. Kenichi Endo does fine work as Araki Murashige, who is the first to rebel against Nobunaga, showcasing a vulnerability that is most affecting. Fans of his work will delight in seeing Kitano's longtime collaborator Susumu Terajima, brilliantly playing Sahei, a ninja, while Nakamura Shido II is most effective in the role of Naniwa Mosuke, a mad peasant who is determined to become a Samurai general, at any cost.
Moreover, Nao Omori and Tadanobu Asano do typically excellent work as Hashiba Hidenaga and Kuroda Kanbei, accomplices of Hashiba Hideyoshi, underplaying effectively (as an aside, fans of 'Ichi The Killer' will surely enjoy seeing them on screen together again). Hidetoshi Nishijima brings a steady resolve to the role of Akechi Mitsuhide, and is very believable as one struggling, not just with his love for Murashige, but with the life he's found himself in. Finally, Takeshi Kitano, as arch-schemer Hideyoshi- disparagingly nicknamed The Ape- is marvellous, delivering a bewitchingly funny, layered performance that ranks alongside his best.
A monumentally entertaining Samurai epic, Takeshi Kitano's 'Kubi' is a gripping story of betrayal and violence. Well-written, funny and thrilling, it's blood-soaked brilliance must be seen to be believed. With striking cinematography, stunning production and costume design and a stirring score, it fires on all cylinders. Boasting excellent performances from all in its star-studded cast, 'Kubi' is, as Akira Kurosawa predicted, a masterpiece.
Looking Glass (2018)
Not Worth A Glance
There are few actors who alternate between commercial and personal projects- that "one for me, one for them" concept- more than Nicolas Cage. For every interesting, quality film he makes, like Michael Sarnoski's 'Pig,' there are ten others, lacking artistic merit or entertainment value. Forgettable actions films, like Dimitri Logothetis' 'Jiu Jitsu,' or mediocre melodramas like Maria Pulera's 'Between Worlds' litter Cage's filmography, outweighing the genuinely good films he stars in. However, even in the worst of his movies- those clearly made just for the paycheque- Cage is usually interesting to watch, and, more often than not, highly entertaining.
Unfortunately, this is not the case with Tim Hunter's overwhelmingly dull 'Looking Glass.' The film follows Ray and Maggie, a married couple suffering from the loss of their daughter. They purchase a motel in an isolated town in Arizona. One day, Ray discovers a secret underground hallway, leading to a two-way mirror, allowing him to see into one of the motel rooms and spy on the guests. As Ray becomes obsessed with voyeurism, sinister events unfold, as he becomes embroiled in a seedy plot that he and Maggie may not survive.
It is a cliched picture, a David Lynch rip-off that lacks the suspense and surrealness of his work. Written by Jerry Rapp and Matthew Wilder, the narrative is predictable and unengaging. The film moves at a pace that would irritate a snail, and the underwritten characters lack depth. Moreover, the dialogue is stilted, the characters acting like robots; disconnected from the reality of their situation.
Ray and Maggie are plunged into a dark underworld of sadomasochism and violence, and do not react to it like real people would, pottering around in the motel, disassociated and confused. The supporting characters are one-note cliches, and the identity of the villain of the piece is evident from the moment they appear on screen. It is a shame it is so mundane and quotidian, as the concept of a motel owner becoming a voyeur- mirroring the real-life case of Gerald Foos, who reconstructed his motel to allow him to spy on his guests- could make a great film.
However, director of photography Patrick Cady effectively generates a Lynchian atmosphere of murky danger. The low-lighting, combined with Cristopher R. DeMuri's ominous production design, creates tension and a headily menacing mood. Additionally, the score- from Mark Adler, Kristin Gundred and Andrew Benjamin Miller- signifies doom.
Unfortunately, the visuals and score don't elevate the picture out of mundanity. Despite scenes of S&M, brawling and murders, the film isn't in any way suspenseful or engaging, and the cast do unimpressive work. Cage underplays the role of Ray, trying to give a subtle performance, but overdoes it. He is criminally boring, moping about the motel, looking like a lethargic, bespectacled rabbit caught in the headlights. Robin Tunney is given nothing to do as Maggie; her talents are completely wasted, and she fades into the background. Marc Blucas, as the local Sherrif, does the strongest work, though his character is woefully one-dimensional.
While it's interesting how Nicolas Cage alternates between diverse projects- and while some miss the mark- his performances are generally intriguing. Unfortunately, this can't be said for his work in 'Looking Glass'. Although the visuals and score are atmospheric, the narrative is formulaic, the dialogue is mannered and the characters- as well as the situation they're in- are unbelievable. Sadly, 'Looking Glass' is not worth a glance.
Family Romance, LLC (2019)
Blurring The Lines
Yuichi Ishii runs a rental family service called Family Romance, offering clients the chance to hire people to act as their spouses, friends or family. He and his stable of actors fill the gaps in lonely people's lives. One day, Ishii is contracted to act as the father of a girl named Mahiro. The two become close, though Ishii begins to doubt his own reality, and his profession: to quote Werner Herzog: "the paradoxical situation is that although everything is performance, everything is a lie, everything is fabricated and acted, there is one thing always authentic, and that's emotions."
Herzog's 'Family Romance, LLC' is a moving drama, treading the line between feature film and documentary. Shot by Herzog himself, using a handheld camera, the film postulates that performance, artifice, is rife in society, that we are but, to paraphrase Shakespeare, "poor players strutting and fretting our hours upon the stage."
For many years, Herzog has spoken of "ecstatic truth," by which he means a storyteller, through fabrication, can reach a deeper, transcendent level of truth, going beyond mere factual accuracy. Essentially, it's a truth transcending the mundane, reaching into the mysterious, elusive realms of imagination and stylization. In other words, a lie that reveals truth, that is more authentic than reality itself. This is an undercurrent in 'Family Romance, LLC,' forming the foundation of Ishii and Mahiro's relationship.
To quote Herzog, "the girl lies to her 'father', who lies to be her father. She's lying to him as well, but her emotions for him are authentic." Weaves of ecstatic truth run throughout the tapestry of the film, as does the notion that we are all performers. This is heightened by the casting of Ishii as himself, as he, in reality, really runs a company called Family Romance, which actually provide the services mentioned above.
Throughout the film, Herzog invites viewers to question the veracity of our experiences, comparing us to robotic fish in a tank; endlessly swimming in an inescapable compound. Further, he highlights the loneliness of many in contemporary Japan, a land bustling with people where many feel isolated and alone.
According to CNN, "across Japan, nearly 1.5 million people have withdrawn from society, leading reclusive lives largely confined within the walls of their home... These are Japan's hikikomori, or shut-ins, defined by the government as people who have been isolated for at least six months." Japan faces an isolation crisis, and Herzog's film shows how Ishii's company breaks the dark spell of loneliness, how, in the words of Ishii, they "create illusions to make the lives of (their) clients better."
It makes for poignant drama. Watching young Mahiro form a relationship with a man she assumes to be her real father, and knowing that their relationship cannot last, is devastating. There is an improvisational, informal feeling to the film, so one really believes in their relationship, and is invested in their characters. While there are moments of humour throughout- such as when a mime performs a brilliant routine with a mobile phone- it is primarily a touching film, exposing deep truths, tugging at the heartstrings.
The film also shows other cases Ishii works on, such as a lottery winner who wants to re-experience the high of the win, or a man who wants someone else to take credit for a mistake he made at a train station. These are generally more comedic in tone, though no less believable, adding to Herzog's authentic depiction of life in Japan.
Herzog's handheld cinematography contributes to the film's realistic feeling. It is intimate, getting in close to the characters. Viewers feel like voyeurs, peeking into the lives of Ishii and Mahiro. At times, the visuals take on a dreamlike aspect, making Japan feel unreal, like a figment of the imagination. Ernst Reijseger's elegiac score adds to this feeling of unreality, complementing Herzog's imagery, while his and Sean Scannell's editing is astute. Reportedly, Herzog captured over 300 hours of film with Ishii; to cut it down to a coherent 90 minutes is an effort deserving applause.
As are the performances from the cast, all of whom are not primarily actors, and most of whom had not acted before, and have not done since. Yuichi Ishii, as a version of himself, is terrific. He has an inherent emotional intelligence and decency, which is evident on screen, making him a compelling character. Mahiro Tanimoto, playing Mahiro, is similarly excellent. A natural actress, she brings a vulnerability to the part that is most affecting, and is never anything less than believable. Her relationship with Ishii feels remarkably real, and they work wonderfully together. In addition, Miki Fujimaki does strong work as Mahiro's mother, and the rest of the amateur cast cannot be faulted.
Werner Herzog's 'Family Romance, LLC' blurs the line between fact and fiction, as his films often do. A touching, heartbreaking drama, it movingly examines human nature, loneliness and interpersonal relationships. It also ponders the meaning of truth, and how performance impacts our daily lives. Featuring striking cinematography and a powerful score, and led by two remarkably real performances from Yuichi Ishii and Mahiro Tanimoto, it is- much like its director- original, fascinating and unique.
Longlegs (2024)
Turns It Up To Eleven
It is hard to think of a better promotion strategy than that utilised by production company Neon for Osgood Perkins' 'Longlegs.' Their guerrilla marketing tactics- focused on powerful, vague clips, images and coded messages- ensured that Perkins' entertaining, though far from magnificent, horror became a must-watch event. Speculation and interest were at an all-time high before it was released, as no-one was quite sure exactly what it was about, only that it looked terrifying.
The film follows Lee Harker, a rookie FBI Agent who possesses some kind of psychic ability. After proving herself in the field, she is assigned to a series of murder-suicides. They go back some thirty years, and are connected by coded-letters found at each scene, signed by a mysterious figure calling themselves Longlegs. As Harker investigates, it becomes apparent that she has a personal connection to the case, and that the Devil may be in the details.
It is a headily atmospheric, tense film, that is- at its best- reminiscent of 'The Silence of the Lambs,' or the work of David Fincher. For the first two acts, Perkins keeps proceedings running along smoothly, slowly immersing viewers in an atmosphere of sheer dread. Terror lurks in every corner, and the innocuous- open doorways, snow-capped fields- become conduits of horror. Alongside cinematographer Andres Arochi, Perkins ensures that, visually, the film is a masterpiece of the macabre.
Arochi makes excellent use of low angles, giving viewers a stooped perspective, like one was cowering in fear. Skies and ceilings tower over the frame, oppressively boxing one in with no escape, while the muted lighting used throughout casts a palpable gloom over proceedings, heightening the darkness of Perkins' narrative. Danny Vermette's desolate production design adds to this immersive despondency, which Trevor Johnston's minimalist set decoration compounds.
Furthermore, the sound design is evocative and startling; every scene bubbles with an electric undercurrent of unsettling agitation. Sounds don't just jump out at you, they grab you by the shoulders, giving you a short, sharp shock. Moreover, Elvis Perkins- working under the name Zilgi- crafts a score so creepy it would be hard to forget even under the deepest of hypnosis. In addition, it is a very well-edited picture- at least for the first two acts- moving at its own pace through a mire of menace and malaise.
Unfortunately, however, it is not without its issues. Considering the mystery of Longlegs and the murders is so engaging, and so effective at instilling fear in the audience, the last act- when all is revealed- comes as a bitter disappointment. For some reason, Perkins suddenly adopts a "tell, don't show" attitude, treating his viewers to a poorly executed, exposition-dump that infuriates rather than enlightens, followed by a cliched ending that feels like it was ripped from another film entirely.
Additionally, a cynical critic might suggest there are a few too many elements to his story, meaning some get lost along the way: namely, Harker's psychic abilities. Initially, they seem like they'll be important to the plot, though are never really mentioned again after two brief scenes at the start of the movie. One wonders whether or not the inclusion of these barely mentioned mystical powers came from a first draft of a screenplay that was considerably altered, or as a 'get out of jail free card', in case Perkins felt he needed a gimmick to explain his main character's competency at her job.
Whatever the case, they aren't important to the plot, nor to the development of Harker's character, which is- in fact- rather lacking overall. She is not a multifaceted personality, rather a one-note, rather dour person, whose lack of charisma is matched only by her lack of humour. Secondary characters don't have much more depth, although at least Harker's boss Carter gets to enjoy the pleasures of a drink or two, and has something approaching a light side.
Having said that, Maika Monroe delivers a strong performance as Harker, credibly portraying someone totally committed to their job, with nothing else in their life. It might not be a very showy or multidimensional role, but she handles it well nevertheless. Blair Underwood, as Carter, also does fine work, bringing a dryness to the role that is much appreciated. Furthermore, Alicia Witt is great as Harker's mother Ruth, who has some serious issues, and Kiernan Shipka totally steals her solitary scene as a survivor of Longlegs' spree with a remarkable ease.
However, towering over the film and everyone else in it, dominating every scene he's in and most of the ones he's out of, is Nicolas Cage, as the eponymous Longlegs. To borrow Nigel Tufnel's phrase and say he turns it up to eleven would be putting it mildly. Under heavy prosthetic makeup, he looks like a cross between a bloated Marc Bolan and Frosty the Snowman, with the voice of an insane asylum escapee sinisterly muttering a Crispin Glover impression. Cage has never been creepier- nor has he been much funnier- and his performance is never likely to be forgotten by those who see it.
While it is not the pinnacle of terror, as its marketing would suggest, Osgood Perkins' 'Longlegs' is an entertaining, disquieting venture all the same. Although its narrative has its shortcomings, it is still engaging, while the cinematography and sound design is of a particularly high quality. Maika Monroe does a fine job in the lead, though is ultimately overshadowed by the satanic brilliance of Nicolas Cage. At the end of the day, despite its faults, and much like its titular character, 'Longlegs' is devilishly good.
Late Night with the Devil (2023)
Worth Staying Up For
It is 1977, and Johnny Carson reigns supreme over the world of late night television. Looking to usurp his throne is Jack Delroy, host of Night Owls, a programme that has always played second fiddle to Carson in the ratings. Delroy thinks the show he has planned for Halloween night will finally land him the top spot on the Nielsen ratings list. A psychic, a conjurer-turned-sceptic and the sole survivor of a Satan-worshipping cult are to be his guests- though when the broadcast gets underway, his dream show turns into a nightmare.
Written and directed by Colin and Cameron Cairnes, 'Late Night with the Devil' is an original, enjoyable comic-horror packing chills and thrills a-plenty. Taking on the form of a piece of found-footage, the narrative has some genuinely unsettling moments, which are very well-realized; a worm-filled display of conjuring power in the latter half being particularly hard-to-forget. Furthermore, the Cairnes brother's characterisation and satirical take on 70's programming is consistently entertaining, if not exactly profound, and their dialogue is sharp.
However, the whole affair is rather predictable, with the denouement effectively given away in the film's opening minutes. In addition, although much mention is made of the rivalry between Delroy and Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett- whose show Delroy's more closely resembles and who, in reality, was often a close second to Carson ratings wise- never comes up. Neither, in fact, do the numerous others who had late night style shows at the time; which seems like an oversight.
Further, the found-footage gimmick doesn't make much sense, as during the ad-breaks that would have occurred in the broadcast, the film adopts a documentary style- begging the question: why were there two documentary cameramen filming a behind the scenes look at a show that doesn't do particularly well in the ratings?
Despite that, it is a fun film, and a fine looking one to boot. In fact, the only reason that the aforementioned issues with realism matter at all is because the 1970's visual aesthetic is so faithfully recreated. Production designer Otello Stolfo, alongside costume designer Steph Hooke, perfectly capture and reproduce the look and feel of a 70's, Dick Cavett-style talk-show, from the orange and beige dominated colour scheme to the cartoon intertitles- created with the help of AI.
Moreover, director of photography Matthew Temple makes clever use of the traditional three-camera set-up, lending proceedings additional authenticity. Furthermore, Glenn Richards' score is stirring, while Roscoe James Irwin's arrangements with The Night Owls Studio Orchestra are headily atmospheric. Additionally, the special effects and make-up are effectively disquieting and the aforementioned sequence involving worms features some truly stomach-churning practical effects.
David Dastmalchian, starring as Delroy, gives a thoroughly convincing performance as one powered by ambition, willing to risk it all to get ahead. He carries the film squarely on his shoulders, working well with his co-stars, all of whom do fine work. Ian Bliss is particularly good, as the arrogant, James Randiesque sceptic Carmichael Haig, as is Fayssal Bazzi as the psychic Christou, whose abilities might be greater than even he thinks. Although each of the characters are essentially one-note parodies of real people; the cast elevate them nevertheless.
An entertaining comic-horror, Colin and Cameron Cairnes' 'Late Night with the Devil' may not be perfect, but it is an awful lot of fun. The production design and costumes effectively harken back to the 70's, while Glenn Richards' score is stirring. Boasting brilliant practical special effects and make-up, as well as a frighteningly strong performance from star David Dastmalchian, 'Late Night with the Devil' is well worth staying up for.
Kolja (1996)
Plucks at the Heartstrings
It is 1988, and Czech bachelor Frantisek Louka is struggling to make ends meet. A talented cellist, his main source of employment is playing at the various crematoriums in Prague; though he'll do most work that comes his way. One day, a friend offers him the chance to earn a large amount of money through a sham marriage to a Russian lady, which would enable her- and her five-year-old son Kolya- to stay in Czechoslovakia. However, weeks after they are married, the woman uses her new citizenship to emigrate to West Germany, leaving Louka to look after a boy he barely knows.
A touching comic-drama, Jan Sverák's 'Kolya' tells a familiar tale; though tells it well. Rather like Takeshi Kitano's 'Kikujiro,' the film follows an unlikely father-figure who grows to love the ward in his charge, changing as a person as he does so. As Louka and Kolya become comfortable with one another, the narrative- written by Zdenek Sverák and based on an idea from Pavel Taussig- examines the importance of connection, detailing how one's life can be enriched by even the most unlikely of relationships.
A poignant character study, the film shows Louka's journey from a gruff, womanising cynic to someone with a greater appreciation for life- thanks to his experiences with Kolya. His time with the boy changes him for the better, and the film's bittersweet ending hints that he will never be the same. While not original on paper, the genuinely heartwarming story has a sardonic edge, while Sverák's screenplay abounds with thematic depth and irreverent, dry humour.
Additionally, the film can be seen as a reflection of the end of the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia, offering a nuanced critique of same, highlighting the tensions and ironies of the time. Most evidently, Louka's interactions with the Soviet bureaucratic system are emblematic of the inefficiencies and frustrations experienced by many Czechs under Soviet rule. His sham marriage to a Russian woman, and the subsequent responsibility of caring for her son, can be seen as a microcosm of the larger political dynamics at play. This relationship mirrors the complex, often strained interactions between Czechs and Russians during the occupation.
Moreover, the film poignantly portrays contextual conflicting attitudes towards Russians through its characters. For instance, Louka's initial reluctance to care for Kolya reflects a broader societal scepticism towards foreigners, particularly Russians, who were often viewed with suspicion and resentment at the time in occupied lands. Conversely, Louka's gradual transformation symbolizes a potential for reconciliation and understanding amidst political turmoil; paralleling his country's own path towards greater openness and eventual independence.
In addition, Vladimír Smutný's lush cinematography expertly captures Prague's beautiful melancholy, enhancing the narrative's depth and resonance. Smutný uses a rich colour palette and varied lighting to reflect the film's shifting moods. The muted tones and soft lighting in Louka's apartment convey a sense of isolation and mundanity, while the brighter, more vibrant scenes with Kolya highlight the boy's innocence and the joy he brings into his world. This visual contrast effectively underscores Louka's transformation throughout the film.
Smutný's cinematography also adeptly captures the essence of late 1980's Czechoslovakia, with a visual style reflecting the period's socio-political atmosphere. Many scenes subtly incorporate elements of Soviet influence and the impending change brought by the Velvet Revolution, which helps immerse one in the historical setting and reality of the narrative. Milos Kohout's art direction, as well as Katarina Hollá's costume design, only compounds this immersive realism, while Ondrej Soukup's stirring score drifts through the picture like a euphonious wind, heightening its emotional impact.
In addition to writing the screenplay, Zdenek Sverák stars as Louka, delivering a nuanced, grounded performance that is engaging and heartrending. His portrayal of Louka's transformation is subtle yet powerful, capturing the character's journey from cynic to father-figure astutely. Opposite him, Andrey Khalimon, as Kolya, lights up the screen, showing a natural acting ability, and the two work wonderfully together. Meanwhile, Libuse Safránková and Ondrej Vetchý excel in the supporting roles of Klara, one of Louka's girlfriends, and Broz, the friend whose actions get the narrative moving, respectively.
In short, though Jan Sverák's 'Kolya' tells a familiar tale, it tells it very well, and is memorable and moving both. Resonating on multiple levels, its narrative is engaging and its characters compelling. Boasting striking cinematography, as well as a fine score, it is routinely well-acted, especially by stars Zdenek Sverák and Andrey Khalimon. To put it simply, 'Kolya' is a bittersweet symphony that plucks at the heartstrings and plays all the right notes.
MaXXXine (2024)
Falls Short of Exxxcellent
With 2022's 'X' and 'Pearl,' Ti West created two extremely entertaining, wickedly clever horror comedies, honouring two specific types of films. 'X' is a homage to- and pastiche of- 1970's grindhouse tropes, most obviously 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,' while 'Pearl' is a like a warped, 1950's Technicolour melodrama, like the cinematic child of Walt Disney and Dario Argento. Both films are prime examples of satire, successfully implementing elements of the object they are satirising without becoming that object themselves.
With 'MaXXXine,' the newest addition to the 'X' franchise, West aims to send-up giallo and exploitation films of the late 70's, as well as the video nasties of the 1980's and Hollywood set slashers in general. Taking place in 1985, six years after the events of the original, the film follows Maxine Minx, who is trying to make a go of it in the pictures. After landing her big break, she is blackmailed by someone threatening to reveal her participation in the 1979 massacre. Meanwhile, the Nightstalker roams the streets, and Maxine's friends are dropping like flies. Will Maxine finally become a star, or be forced to live a life she doesn't deserve?
Enjoyable though narratively uneven, visually, 'MaXXXine' dazzles, recreating the neon-soaked decadence of mid-1980's Los Angeles. However, beneath its glossy surface lies a narrative that lacks the bite, wit and unpredictability of its predecessors. Although entertaining, at times the film threatens to become that which it is satirising- a schlocky Hollywood slasher. West incorporates many familiar elements of 80's movies- bickering cops, an over-the-top villain, a seedy P. I., shootouts- but these seem more like cliches than effective satire, as their inclusion lacks any kind of fresh spin or commentary.
In 'X' and 'Pearl,' every detail was meticulously calculated, purposefully included to heighten the emotion of any given scene. Here, it feels as if West tossed in tropes just for kicks, leaving one wondering about their purpose. Effective satire dances on the edge, teasing its subjects without falling into their traps; 'MaXXXine' wobbles- sometimes clever, other times clumsy. Perhaps West's intention was to blur the line between homage and parody. But in doing so, he risks losing the very essence that made his earlier films shine.
Additionally, supporting characters are underwritten, lacking depth or personality. There are no reasons to care for any of them, as the majority aren't on screen for long enough to leave any kind of impact. Those that are start off as cliches- a no-nonsense director, a lascivious Southerner, two cardboard cut out cops- and then proceed not to change. Considering West's brilliant characterisation in previous films, it's rather disappointing.
As is the exceedingly underwhelming final act, which boils down to a forgettable gunfight. Moreover, the identity of the villain will only come as a surprise to someone who has never seen a film before. Conversely, the character of Maxine Minx is still compelling; her determination, resilience and unwavering pursuit of stardom keeps one engaged. She's an unstoppable force, refusing to fade into the shadows, that one cannot help but root for.
Furthermore, West and cinematographer Eliot Rockett do sterling work, emphasising the seediness of the City of Angels, where devils prowl down grimy alleyways. Moreover, they cleverly weave video aesthetics into the fabric of the film itself. Grain dances across the screen, a nod to VHS tapes and late-night cable channels, while de-focused shots blur the line between reality and fantasy, hinting at Maxine's hidden past. It's a visual language that speaks to those who remember tracking lines and rewinding cassettes, compounding the film's heady atmosphere.
In addition, Jason Kisvarday's detailed production design is successful at immersing the viewer in the ostentatious 1980's, where everything was bigger and brighter than before or after. Mari-An Ceo's costume design, alongside Kelsi Ephraim's set decoration, contributes to this immersive effect, while Tyler Bates' evocative, synthesised score wouldn't feel out of place in an 80's Brian De Palma or J. Lee Thompson vehicle, and the soundtrack- making great use of tracks from the likes of ZZ Top and Kim Carnes- is stirring.
Mia Goth's commanding central performance as Maxine is where the film's greatest strength lies. As in her two previous collaborations with West, her intrepid character shows through clearly. Goth is not afraid to go all out and risk being called over-the-top. Surely, after all, with material like this, she's meant to be grandiose? Even in it's weakest moments, Goth keeps 'MaXXXine' from becoming uninteresting; remaining a pivotal figure in modern horror cinema.
Opposite her, Kevin Bacon is excellent as the aforementioned sleazy, Southern P. I., making a one-note character arguably the most entertaining in the picture. Elizabeth Debicki does assured work as the director who gives Maxine her big break, though the role doesn't give her much to play with. Giancarlo Esposito is clearly having a ball in the all-too small part of Maxine's agent, while Michelle Monaghan and Bobby Cannavale are all but wasted as the cops; getting nothing to do but doing it well.
Ti West's 'MaXXXine' is an entertaining comic-horror, but lies in the shadow of its predecessors, which were considerably more cohesive, original and accomplished. Despite striking visuals and a stirring score, its narrative underwhelms, teetering between clever and clunky. Although Mia Goth and her supporting cast- most notably Kevin Bacon- do strong work, unfortunately 'MaXXXine' falls short of exxxcellent.
Kinds of Kindness (2024)
Essentially Lanthimosian
Over the last twenty years, Yorgos Lanthimos has cultivated an approach to filmmaking all his own. Like David Lynch, he has developed a singular, instantly identifiable style, which will, no doubt, one day be- if it is not already- referred to as Lanthimosian. Generally speaking, his films, though varied, usually explore power dynamics, featuring characters who speak in monotone, dialogue that is slightly unreal and darkly-comic narratives containing both bloodshed and nudity.
'Kinds of Kindness' bears all the hallmarks of his style. An anthology film- or triptych, as it is billed- its thematic content is open to numerous interpretations; the most obvious being control, as, in each of the three stories, it is examined in some form. In the first, a man tries to stand up to his domineering boss, with disastrous results. In the second, a policeman who is losing control of his life after the disappearance of his wife, finds things stranger upon her return. In the third and last, a woman working for a cult tries to find an individual who possesses a mysterious power.
With each tale, the case can be made that Lanthimos is examining a different aspect of control with regard to power dynamics and family structures. In the opening segment, Lanthimos explores the theme of subjugation and rebellion, highlighting the delicate balance between asserting oneself and the risks involved in challenging authority. Furthermore, once free of the controlling structure he had grown subconsciously comfortable in, the protagonist seeks to regain his subjugated position- a poignant exploration of agency and longing.
In the second story the interconnecting notions of power, manipulation and the illusion of control are explored, as the policeman desperately tries to control and restructure a situation he does not recognise, nor has power over. The irrational demands he makes of his wife in order for her to demonstrate her love to him reveal the lengths one can go to maintain control and stability in the face of perceived chaos.
The third story raises questions about the limits of human agency, following a woman who has voluntarily given up control of her life to a cult and, like the protagonist in the first story, tries to regain her subjugated position, once free. Perhaps Lanthimos is examining fears associated with autonomy, of agency and desire.
However, while control appears thematically in each of the stories, there could be more at play. One could, perhaps, see the film as a religious allegory, with the three stories mirroring the ideas of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Lanthimos may be inviting viewers to explore fears associated with autonomy and desire through this lens.
On the other hand, considering the sacrifice of autonomy for comfort or survival becomes a recurring motif; might the film be primarily about just that: sacrifice? Or is it merely concerned with how manipulation, dominance and submission intersect? The film's digressive structure allows ideas such as these to unfold without arriving at tidy conclusions, leaving room for as many abstractions and interpretations as there are viewers.
Whatever the case, the stories are entertaining and darkly funny, full of the deliciously weird Lanthimosian dialogue many have come to love. However, as each are so engaging, it is a pity that they are not three individual, full-length films in their own right. Lanthimos and co-writer Efthimis Filippou could have expanded any of them into a stand-alone feature and, by doing so, heightened their power and impact considerably.
Despite this, 'Kinds of Kindness' remains engaging and thought-provoking, boasting assured, grounded visuals that heighten the narrative's strangeness. Lanthimos and director of photography Robbie Ryan film proceedings with realism in mind, avoiding flashy stylisations and unconventional camera angles. This juxtaposition between the natural cinematography and the inherent oddness of the narrative is both atmospheric and effective.
Furthermore, Jerskin Fendrix's score contributes greatly to the film's atmosphere. Full of sinister choral chants, like the singing of a group of mad monks, it adds an element of suspense and drama, complementing the visuals and the narrative. In addition, Anthony Gasparro's production design, as well as Amy Beth Silver's minimalistic set decoration and Jennifer Johnson's muted costume design, are immersive, drawing viewers further in to Lanthimos's odd world, emphasising the uncanny.
The film features some of Lanthimos's frequent collaborators, such as Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Yorgos Stefanakos and Margaret Qualley, alongside newcomers to his oeuvre, like Jesse Plemons and Hong Chau. All play multiple characters across the three stories- bar Stefanakos- and excel in each. Plemons showcases his versatility, bringing a decency and humanity to even the cruellest of men. Stone, meanwhile, proves yet again that she is a perfect fit for Lanthimos's material, inhabiting her disparate, bizarre roles with a remarkable ease and naturality.
In addition, Dafoe demonstrates once more why many consider him one of the finest actors working today, bringing authenticity to three markedly different personalities; from the good and the bad to the ugly. Furthermore, Qualley and Chau both bring life to smaller roles, showcasing their considerable abilities, while Stefanakos- totally mute- has a strong screen presence, making his enigmatic character all the more intriguing.
Darkly funny and overwhelmingly odd, 'Kinds of Kindness' is a typically Lanthimosian venture. Featuring three entertaining tales of madness, control and manipulation, it is utterly unique. Boasting striking cinematography, as well as a stirring, sinister score, one won't easily forget it. With strong performances from all in the cast- especially Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons and Willem Dafoe- and comically off-beat dialogue, it is all kinds of weird- and all kinds of wonderful.
Dream Scenario (2023)
Classic Cage
Nicolas Cage is an endlessly watchable actor. From 'Moonstruck' and 'Adaptation' to 'Pig,' he has given many startlingly powerful, nuanced performances, that are hard to forget. At the same time, Cage has given many overblown ones, in efforts like 'Vampire's Kiss' and 'Sympathy For The Devil,' which are even harder to forget. Whether understated or over-the-top, Cage is always entertaining, oftentimes making unremarkable films not just watchable, but memorable.
In Kristoffer Borgli's 'Dream Scenario,' Cage plays Paul Matthews, a professor of evolutionary biology at Osler University. A middle-aged, insipid fellow, Paul yearns for recognition. One day, he runs into an old flame, who tells him he has been appearing in her dreams, which she writes an article about. Suddenly hundreds of strangers report seeing Paul in their dreams, and he becomes a global sensation. However, Paul soon learns that fame is fickle, as his life becomes a waking nightmare.
'Dream Scenario' is a funny, interesting film examining multiple themes, though fails to explore all of them thoroughly. As Paul becomes famous, and later infamous, the film satirises the preposterousness of notoriety, how people nowadays become celebrities while doing practically nothing. Although not exactly an original point, Borgli's screenplay navigates this idea in a clever, comedic way. At the same time, the film shows the downsides of fame, skewering cancel culture; revealing how celebrity can transform from adoration to infamy in an instant.
However, as the film progresses, other ideas are introduced, which aren't covered in depth, and the final act underwhelms. Though Borgli's attempts to lampoon the phenomenon of "influencers" provides some laughs, it also distracts from the established narrative. Additionally, the film's supporting charters are rather underwritten, lacking development. Conversely, Paul is an intriguing character, whose massive ego is hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and doubt. A timid, yet opinionated man, Paul is, to quote Kris Kristofferson, 'a walking contradiction,' and a compelling one at that.
Borgli and cinematographer Benjamin Loeb capture Paul's rise and fall with keen eyes. Shot on 16mm film stock, the visuals are beguiling, mirroring Paul's journey through the tumultuous cycles of fame, as well as contributing to the film's dreamlike atmosphere. They make excellent use of light and colour, as well as subtle distortions and low angles, immersing viewers in the surreal world of the narrative.
Additionally, Borgli's intuitive editing keeps thing cohesive, while also adding to the film's atmosphere. His use of quick cuts in otherwise calm scenes- creating a sense of unease- is reminiscent of the work of Yorgos Lanthimos. Similarly, the dream sequences- particularly in the latter half- are more than mere plot devices; they're visual poetry, weaving symbolism, surreal imagery and emotional subtext seamlessly into the narrative, thanks to Borgli's astute edits.
Furthermore, Owen Pallett's score enhances the film's atmosphere and emotional impact. Talking Heads' 'City of Dreams' is used to particularly strong effect, leaving few viewers with dry eyes as the credits roll. Kaysie Bergens and Natalie Bronfman's costume design effectively contributes to the characters' personalities, while production designer Zosia Mackenzie's canny work amplifies the surreal nature of Paul's experiences.
Cage, however, is all one can think about when the film is over. He delivers a marvellous performance, funny, sad and profoundly realistic. A heightened, deeply insecure man who just wants the world to read his book about ants- which he has yet to write- Cage's Paul is one of his finest cinematic creations, up there with his turn as Charlie and Donald Kaufman in 'Adaptation' and Ben Sanderson in 'Leaving Las Vegas.' Multifaceted, funny, memorable; it's classic Cage.
While his supporting cast all do fine work- Julianne Nicholson, Michael Cera, Tim Meadows and Dylan Gelula especially- they aren't given substantial material to work with. Nicholson is particularly good in the underwritten role of Paul's wife, demonstrating remarkable emotional depth. Cera is hilarious in the all too small part of Trent, the head of a viral marketing firm, while Meadows and Gelula both do stellar work as the Dean of Osler University and Trent's assistant Molly, respectively.
Kristoffer Borgli's 'Dream Scenario' is an entertaining film, though has its issues. While the conceit is novel, Borgli's examination of themes like cancel culture and fame- though funny- aren't particularly original. However, the cinematography is striking, the score stirring and the whole affair edited astutely. Nicolas Cage is absolutely fantastic, while his co-stars all do fine work in underwritten roles- Julianne Nicholson especially. Although 'Dream Scenario' might not be perfect, it's definitely not a nightmare, and more proof that Cage is an endlessly watchable actor.
Hitler's S.S.: Portrait in Evil (1985)
Portrait in Mediocrity
It is the early 1930's, and the Nazis are gaining power in Germany. The young, unemployed Karl Hoffman is enthusiastic about the party, readily joining the SA. His brother Helmut, a university student, is more wary, but after meeting Reinhard Heydrich, is seduced into joining the SS. As time marches on, Helmut's star rises, while Karl loses faith in the machine of fascism, particularly after the Night of the Long Knives. Amidst the horrors of war and Hitler's murderous reign, can the brothers' relationship- and they themselves- survive?
Directed by Jim Goddard from a Lukas Heller screenplay, 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is a well-intentioned, but fairly rote made for TV movie suffering from a dull narrative and stilted dialogue. Heller's linear tale charts the rise and fall- not just of the Hoffman brothers- but of the Third Reich, feeling at times like a drab recital from a history book. The affair lacks emotional depth, as well as natural dialogue and impactful characterisation. One has no reason to care for either of the brothers, nor any of the secondary characters, and Heller's attempts to balance historical accuracy with engaging storytelling proves challenging, resulting in an overly didactic piece.
As a chronicle of history, the film works quite well, despite creative licence taken here and there, leading to inaccuracies. Heller's representation of Nazi-era Germany as a hotbed of varying political ideas, as well as the juxtaposition of the SS verses the SA and the Wehrmacht, is mostly on point, making for some interesting moments. However, as a piece of fictional storytelling, attempting to examine themes such as nationalism and brotherhood, as well as how a nation fell under the spell of fascism, the film falls short. In addition, a love triangle sub-plot adds nothing to the piece but more minutes to the runtime.
Furthermore, Ernest Vincze's cinematography does little to aid proceedings. He opts for a very conventional approach, without stylizations or tension-building techniques, such as irregular angles or creative framing, which would have compounded the film's emotional weight. Although he captures the fascist rallies and smoky interiors of the bierkellers effectively, his work is not memorable, nor powerful.
Moreover, Richard Hartley's overly romantic score seems to have been written for a different film entirely. His cloyingly mournful melodies would be more appropriate in an adaptation of a Jilly Cooper dime-store novel; set against the horrors of the Third Reich they seem utterly out of place. Conversely, Eileen Diss and Mike Porter's production design appears faithful to the period, while Elizabeth Waller's costumes carry the weight of authenticity. Although perhaps everything is a bit too clean, the overall visual effect is one of realism.
Bill Nighy and John Shea star as Helmut and Karl Hoffman, respectively, opposite a large cast of well-known performers. Nighy does fine work as Helmut, creating in him a cynical, morally ambiguous character one could imagine rising through the ranks of the SS. On the other hand, Shea opts for a more straightforward approach, playing Karl as a good man; lacking the intrigue, nuance and complexity Nighy fosters.
The supporting cast are a veritable who's who of Hollywood, some of whom do strong work. David Warner is particularly good as the sinister Reinhard Heidrich, a role he played before in Marvin J. Chomsky's far-more effective 'Holocaust.' Lucy Gutteridge does what is required with the under-written role of Mitzi, a nightclub singer, though doesn't make much of an impression. In addition, José Ferrer and Tony Randall bring a gravitas to their all too small roles as a Jewish professor and a doomed comedian.
A straightforward made for TV movie about a fascinating point in history, Jim Goddard's 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is a fairly mundane piece of work. The narrative is underwhelming and the dialogue is stilted, although the production design is fairly authentic. While Bill Nighy and some of the supporting cast do strong work, John Shea underwhelms and the cinematography lacks creativity. Unfortunately, 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is ultimately a portrait in mediocrity.
The Quick and the Dead (1987)
Familiar Ground
In the year 1876, Duncan McKaskel, his wife Susanna, and their young son Tom leave Pennsylvania, embarking on a journey through Wyoming- a land ripe with promise and peril. As they traverse the rugged terrain, they encounter Doc Shabbitt and his felonious gang of ruffians, who shadow their every move. It's in this precarious moment that a mysterious stranger, Con Vallian, emerges from the wilderness. Vallian's decision to aid the McKaskels sets the stage for their survival, but at what cost? In a land where justice is often dispensed down the barrel of a gun, Vallian's skills become their lifeline.
A TV movie directed by Robert Day, and based on the novel of the same name by Louis L'Amour, 'The Quick and the Dead' is a predictable but entertaining western of the old style. Much like other L'Amour works, such as 'Hondo,' 'Connagher' and 'Crossfire Trail,' the narrative deals with disparate characters who are emblematic of the cultural divide between the American East and West; characters who must learn to work together if they are to survive.
Although enjoyable, screenwriter James Lee Barrett tends towards the cliched, especially with regard to characterisation. Vallian's stoicism, Susanna's defiance, Duncan's inner turmoil, Shabbitt's eloquent villainy, Tom's awakening- all echo familiar Western archetypes, adhering to traditional character tropes of the genre. Their linear journey provides few surprises and the sparse moments of action within lack excitement or tension. Moreover, when closely examined, some aspects of the plot lack credibility. Vallian's self-sacrifice for a family he barely knows seems contrived, as does the hackneyed, underwhelming ending.
Additionally, Dick Bush opts for a conventional cinematographical approach, meaning the visuals lack flair or originality. While he adeptly captures the stark beauty of the American West, when filming in exquisite locations like Coconino National Forest and Sedona, Arizona, it would be challenging not to showcase their splendour. Furthermore, while Bush's use of close-ups and wide shots adheres to traditional Western filmmaking, tension-building techniques- such as creative framing, dynamic camera movement, or unexpected angles- are somewhat absent.
Moreover, Steve Dorff's score is overblown to the point of parody. His melodies sound like someone trying to mimic, or mock, the sentimental ballads found in your average John Wayne film; a sweeping undercurrent rolling like amber waves of grain in the wind. Conversely, Barbara Weiss's costume design brings a most welcome authenticity to proceedings, while A. Rosalind Crew's minimalistic set decoration and Chester Kaczenski's production design further enhances this visual appeal.
Sam Elliott stars as Vallian, opposite Kate Capshaw as Susanna. Elliott is pitch-perfect as the stoic, rifle-toting stranger, utilising his world-weary charm to full effect. Capshaw does commendable work as Susanna, elevating what could have been a one-note character into a believable, multifaceted personality. Tom Conti subtly underplays it as Duncan, and is very effective in a role that seems somewhat out of his comfort zone. Additionally, Matt Clark- who has appeared in many of Hollywood's best westerns- makes for a fantastic villain as Shabbitt, unhinged yet calculated, and always entertaining.
Although cliched and predictable, Robert Day's 'The Quick and the Dead' still holds entertainment value, especially for fans of old-school westerns. Despite unremarkable cinematography and an overblown score, it's a compelling piece, thanks in large part to the efforts of the cast- especially Sam Elliott and Matt Clark. While this might not be the best Louis L'Amour adaptation, it still rollicks along, like a thoroughbred at full gallop, faltering here and there; but never knocking its rider from the saddle.
Srpski film (2010)
A Tale Told by An Idiot
In the pantheon of disturbing cinema, Srdan Spasojevic's 'A Serbian Film' stands as a grotesque outlier, a film that doesn't just cross the line- it revels in its transgression. While movies like Takashi Miike's darkly comic 'Visitor Q', along with Pier Paolo Pasolini's cerebral 'Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom,' demonstrate that filmmakers can weave unsettling narratives with compelling messages, 'A Serbian Film' lacks such depth.
The term 'torture porn,' coined in the wake of the 'Saw' franchise, aptly describes horror films that are obsessed with the fragility of the human form, dramatizing its destruction with a perverse glee. Often, these films fail to transcend their bloodlust, embodying Thomas Hobbes' description of life as "nasty, brutish and short." Spasojevic's contribution to the genre, however, is anything but brief. It's an interminable descent into depravity, following beleaguered pornstar Milos as he navigates the murky waters of an 'artistic' endeavour that quickly devolves into a nightmare.
Spasojevic, alongside co-writer Aleksandar Radivojevic, crafts a narrative that is as disheartening as it is monotonous- a relentless barrage of sadism without a shred of originality or wit. The film's attempts to parallel the worst of Eli Roth's 'Hostel' fall flat, rendering even Roth's most harrowing scenes as innocuous as a Disney flick by comparison. Despite lofty claims of satirizing political correctness and critiquing colonialism, the film's execution is as shallow as a rain-slicked street; its purported themes lost in a mire of senseless brutality.
From the stilted dialogue to the clichéd character arcs, there's a distinct lack of innovation or merit in the screenplay. 'A Serbian Film' is not a clever parody nor a poignant critique; it is a cinematic aberration leaving viewers questioning not the nature of political correctness or colonialism, but the motives behind its creation. It's a film that, from its grim inception to its merciful conclusion, offers no redemption, no insight- only the bleak reminder of cinema's potential for darkness.
With its unoriginality and repetitive scenes of violence, it is reminiscent of John Erick Dowdle's 'The Poughkeepsie Tapes,' though is a much more polished effort, technically. Nemanja Jovanov's cinematography is audaciously striking, capturing the macabre with an unsettling clarity that almost dares you to look away. Sky Wikluh's electronic score is a relentless undercurrent, amplifying the tension to almost unbearable levels, while editor Darko Simic's rapid cuts ensure the viewer's descent into the film's abyss is swiftly relentless. Moreover, the special effects and make-up achieve a disquieting realism, blurring the line between fiction and the viewer's threshold for horror.
Yet, this technical artistry serves only as a bitter reminder of the film's wasted potential, becoming a mere backdrop to the narrative's relentless brutality. As the credits roll, one is left not with an appreciation for the film's technical achievements, but with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion- a testament to the film's ability to provoke a visceral response, but also to its failure to channel its technical merits into a narrative worthy of them.
Furthermore, the cast, despite their commendable performances, are simply pawns in a game that overshadows their talents. Srdjan 'Zika' Todorovic, in a role that demands everything and offers nothing, delivers a heartbreakingly raw performance as Milos, capturing the essence of a man dragged through the inferno of human depravity. Opposite him, Sergej Trifunovic, as Milos's employer Vukmir, is chillingly effective, infusing the character with a subtle menace that lingers long after the screen cuts to black.
In addition, Jelena Gavrilovic and Slobodan Bestic, as Marija and Marko, Milos's wife and brother, respectfully, give strong performances that resonate with authenticity and emotional depth. Yet, the question looms large: to what end? The film's relentless onslaught of brutality leaves little room to appreciate the efforts of the cast, showing that even the most potent performances can be rendered moot by a narrative devoid of purpose, wit or insight.
A voyeuristic foray into the depths of exploitative cinema, Srdan Spasojevic's 'A Serbian Film' stands as a Grand Guignol spectacle of the most witless kind. It's the cinematic equivalent of an unrelenting tooth extraction without the mercy of anaesthesia- thoroughly gruelling to endure. While it may boast technical proficiency and strong performances, these are but a veneer over a hollow core devoid of meaningful commentary.
It is a film that leaves behind a legacy not of insightful artistry, but of controversy for controversy's sake- a cautionary tale of how a narrative, no matter how polished its exterior, can falter without substance to anchor it. 'A Serbian Film' stands as a stark reminder that the power of cinema to disturb is profound, but without purpose or restraint, it risks becoming an empty spectacle; full of sound and fury, but signifying nothing.
Spasms (1983)
Lacking Bite
By 1983, Oliver Reed had sold Broome Hall, the 56-bedroom, palatial house he had lived in for several years and which crippled him financially. However, the upkeep on Reed's new home, Pinkhurst farm- a 12-acre Tudor manor in Surrey- was still substantial. To that end, Reed- unlike some of his peers, such as Dirk Bogarde or Richard Burton- did not have the luxury of being able to solely choose acting projects that interested him. The cheque was- more often than not- more persuasive than the screenplay; perhaps explaining his appearance in William Fruet's 'Spasms.'
Moreover, the record-breaking success of Steven Spielberg's 'Jaws'- which Reed was offered a role in and declined- might explain the film as a whole. Based on the novel 'Death Bite' by Michael Maryk and Brent Monahan, it follows millionaire Jason Kincaid, who claims to have a telepathic connection with a giant snake. He hires ESP researcher Tom Brasilia to rid him of the psychic link, while a cult- and ex-CIA agent Crowley- have their eyes on the beast and want it for themselves. With Kincaid's niece Suzanne in tow, will Brasilia be able to avoid the poisoned jaws of doom?
Sound like fun? It isn't, at least not intentionally. Clearly trading on the success of 'Jaws', Fruet and co-writer Don Enright's screenplay lacks everything that made Spielberg's film so special. In 'Jaws', the characters were believable and compelling, the dialogue was sharply witty and the situation was as tense as a stretched bowstring. Conversely, in Fruet's film, the characters are ridiculous caricatures with no depth or interesting qualities of any kind. The dull, overly expository dialogue sounds like it was ripped straight from the pages of a bargain-basement slasher novel- which, one supposes, it was.
Furthermore, whatever tension Maryk and Monahan might have been able to generate with the written word was completely lost in translation to the screen. Fruet fails to create suspense, in fact, he doesn't seem to know what suspense is. Alongside editor Ralph Brunjes, he continuously cuts from lengthy scenes of juxtaposition to poorly shot ones of snake-sadism, without any rhyme, reason or style. Tension isn't allowed to build, nor does the audience feel in any way intimidated by the threat of the snake; or invested in the story at all, for that matter.
It's a dull, unexciting venture, with few redeeming qualities. Cinematographer Mark Irwin- whose work on David Cronenberg's 'The Brood' and 'Videodrome' was so affecting- phones it in, shooting the picture like it was a movie of the week scheduled to air on Superbowl Sunday. The flair he demonstrated many times with Cronenberg is lost: his compositions are conventional, the lighting is uninspired; the whole thing looks cheap.
In addition, Eric Robertson's unoriginal score does little to help proceedings, ripping everything and everyone off, from John Carpenter to 'The Wizard of Oz'. In fact, the state of the film makes one wonder if all those involved knew they were working on a dud and decided not to try particularly hard. From the production design to the costumes and set decoration, there is a distinct lack of quality- or of interest from the participants.
Particularly with regard to the special effects. Apparently, Fruet was dissatisfied with the work of Academy Award-winning makeup artists Dick Smith and Stephan Dupuis, meaning one never really sees the snake nor the effects of its' ravaging. Fruet instead relies on tacky, blue-tinged POV shots and quick cuts, which is a real shame, as in the sole scene where one sees Smith and Dupuis's work in a well-lit environment, it is commendable. Fruet didn't know what a good thing he had.
Despite all that, as Kincaid, Reed is terrific, opposite Peter Fonda as Brasilia, Kerrie Keane as Suzanne and Al Waxman as Crowley. Like in 'Venom', another snake-based chiller he was in, Reed gives it his all, delivering a measured, understated performance. He is a joy to watch, while Fonda- despite seeming a bit bored- and Keane also do fine work; their attempts to elevate the material and their characters are commendable, if ultimately in vain. Waxman, for his part, seems to be trying to chew as much scenery as he can, and does so, swallowing the nails and all. However, he brings some life and energy to proceedings; which the film was in dire need of.
That Maryk and Monahan thought their book could be as big a film as Peter Benchley's 'Jaws' was is not unreasonable. However, without the talents of Steven Spielberg, and with William Fruet at the helm, 'Spasms' is not in the same league, in fact; it's not even the same game. Dull dialogue, paired with bad characterisation, a complete lack of tension and cheap-looking visuals dooms this film to the realm of the mediocre. Despite Oliver Reed's efforts, this giant snake-based chiller really lacks bite. One hopes Ollie's paycheque was a large one.
Solyaris (1972)
A Cosmic Symphony
Sometime in the not-too-distant future, psychologist Kris Kelvin is sent to a space station above the oceanic planet Solaris, tasked with determining the viability of its ongoing study. Upon his arrival, he finds the station in a state of disrepair, and learns that one of the scientists there has killed himself. Kelvin discovers a message from the dead man, warning him about strange things happening aboard the station. Alongside the remaining scientists, who seem verging on insanity, Kelvin begins to experience the inexplicable. Will he be able to make it back to Earth and, even if he's able; will he want to go?
Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky and based on the novel of the same name by Stanislaw Lem, 'Solaris' is a fascinating science-fiction drama, both visually striking and thought-provoking. Written alongside Fridrikh Gorenshteyn, Tarkovsky's narrative delves into a multitude of themes, from the labyrinth of regret and grief to the ephemeral nature of memory and perception. Often compared to Stanley Kubrick's '2001 A: Space Odyssey,' it is a film that different viewers will interpret in different ways, inviting one to reflect on one's own experiences and the constructs of reality.
Throughout the film, Tarkovsky poignantly explores the human psyche, confronting his characters with their past actions and unspoken sorrows. The sentient ocean of Solaris acts as a catalyst for this introspection, materializing their innermost regrets into tangible forms. This externalization of grief forces the characters- and, by extension, the audience- to confront the often-painful process of healing on the road to closure.
Moreover, Tarkovsky depicts memory as a malleable and unreliable entity, challenging the very notion of objective reality. The film questions whether one's memories serve as faithful records of one's past or are merely reconstructions subject to our current emotions and desires. Furthermore, Tarkovsky invites viewers to ponder the constructs of reality. Are our experiences genuinely authentic, or are they merely reflections of our deepest fears and wishes? Blurring the lines between the real and the imagined, Tarkovsky creates a film that transcends traditional storytelling: a mirror, reflecting not just the characters' truths but also those of the audience.
Each of Tarkovsky's characters serves as a vessel for exploring these profound themes. Kelvin is our guide through the enigmatic world of the film, a man of science confronted with phenomena that challenge his empirical beliefs. His journey is one of internal conflict, as he grapples with the manifestations of his own psyche, which Solaris brings to life. The character of Hari, meanwhile, is the personification of Kelvin's deepest regrets. Her presence on the station is a constant reminder of a past that he cannot escape, making her a pivotal figure in the narrative's exploration of memory and loss.
The supporting characters of Dr. Snaut and Dr. Sartorius are not just colleagues aboard the station but represent different facets of the human response to the unknown. Snaut reflects the weariness of facing the inexplicable, while Sartorius embodies the struggle between scientific detachment and the undeniable impact of Solaris' influence. Through each of these characters, Tarkovsky crafts a narrative that is as much about the individual's inner space as it is about the outer cosmos, where the boundaries between the mind and the external world are blurred.
The film is not just a feast for the mind; it is also a feast for the eyes. Tarkovsky's mastery of visual storytelling is evident in every frame. He juxtaposes lingering shots of the space station's sterile corridors with the lush, almost dreamlike sequences on Earth, creating a dichotomy that mirrors the inner turmoil of the characters. The starkness of the station, with its endless hallways and cold light, stands in contrast to the vibrancy of Earth, emphasizing the isolation and alienation felt by the crew.
In addition, Tarkovsky's use of symbolism- particularly through shots of water- weaves a thread through the narrative, representing the fluidity of time and memory. Cinematographer Vadim Yusov's camera lingers on scenes of rain, pools and oceans, inviting the audience to contemplate the depths beneath the surface of the characters' minds. Moreover, the use of colour is sparse yet impactful, with the muted palette of the station being punctuated by moments of vivid recollection. The lighting is purposeful, often using shadows and silhouettes to create an atmosphere of mystery and introspection.
Furthermore, Mikhail Romadin's production design, as well as the set design from S. Gavrilov and V. Prokofev, are testaments to the film's meticulous craftsmanship. The space station, with its utilitarian yet broken-down features, creates a palpable sense of claustrophobia and decay, reflecting the psychological state of its inhabitants. The attention to detail in the set decoration, from the technological instruments to the personal artifacts, adds layers of authenticity and depth, making the environment a character in its own right.
Additionally, Nelli Fomina's costume design is equally striking. The functional, uniform-like attire of the characters not only situates the story within the realm of science-fiction but also symbolizes their attempts to maintain order amidst the chaos of the station. The costumes are devoid of excess, aligning with the film's themes of stripping away superficial layers to reveal deeper truths. Combined with the production design and set decoration, a visual narrative is formed, which complements the story and its themes. They are not merely aesthetic choices but are integral to the storytelling, contributing to the film's haunting, timeless and immersive atmosphere.
Moreover, the haunting score and soundtrack are integral to this immersive air. Eduard Artemyev's electronic music composition, interspersed with classical pieces by Bach, creates a soundscape both ethereal and deeply resonant. The music serves as a reflection of the film's exploration of time and memory, while the juxtaposition of futuristic sounds and classical harmony underscores the themes of past and future, science and humanity.
Furthermore, Tarkovsky, Lyudmila Feyginova and Nina Marcushe's editing is another aspect that deserves recognition. Although some critics are quick to call the film slow-moving, each carefully considered cut enhances the narrative's dreamlike quality. The film's purposeful, meditative pace allows the viewer to inhabit the space and time of the story, to become an active participant in the unravelling of its enigmas, whilst ensuring the audience fully absorbs the complex emotional and philosophical layers of the story. The transitions between scenes are seamless, yet carry a weight that prompts contemplation, further drawing the viewer into the depths of the film's enigmatic world.
Donatas Banionis stars as Kelvin, opposite Natalya Bondarchuk as Hari, Jüri Järvet as Dr. Snaut and Anatoliy Solonitsyn as Dr. Sartorius. Banionis, dubbed by Vladimir Zamanskiy, delivers a nuanced portrayal of a man caught between the realms of rationality and the unexplainable, capturing Kelvin's internal struggle subtly- his face often conveying more than words could express. Opposite him, Bondarchuk is nothing short of captivating, bringing a haunting presence to the screen. Embodying the film's themes of love, loss and the desire for connection, her portrayal of Hari is both ethereal and deeply human, a reflection of Kelvin's own conflicted emotions.
Järvet does similarly fine work, providing a weary yet compassionate perspective, offering a glimpse into the toll that Solaris takes on the mind and spirit. His performance is understated but powerful, with moments of vulnerability revealing the character's depth. Solonitsyn, meanwhile, is the embodiment of scientific detachment, his stoic demeanour clashing with the inexplicable events (and more emotionally driven people) aboard the station. His cleverly measured performance is compelling, and he and the rest of the cast work well together.
A thought-provoking, compelling piece of science-fiction, Andrei Tarkovsky's 'Solaris' is much more than a Soviet '2001: A Space Odyssey.' In fact, comparing the films, it is arguably the better of the two. Tarkovsky infuses the narrative with thematic depth, inviting viewers on a journey that is as introspective as it is outwardly explorative. Boasting stunning cinematography and stellar production, set and costume design, as well as a stirring score and powerhouse performances from all in the cast, 'Solaris' is a cosmic symphony resonating far beyond the stars.