It is now Pope Francis’s Church. The conservatives are out and so are their
old school practices. So, what happens when a demon needs exorcising? In this
case, they call in a semi-disgraced old priest. He doesn’t really believe
either, but he thinks the form of the ritual still holds value. However, he hasn’t
yet met the possessed title nun in Mickey Reece’s Agnes, which screens
as an on-demand selection of the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival.
Sister
Agnes is cloistered in a highly traditional and secluded convent. Nevertheless,
the Devil still found her there. She exhibits all the classic signs of
possession, so the stern Mother Superior is forced to request help from the
Archdiocese. Much to her annoyance, it arrives in the persons of the rakish
Father Donaghue and his young protégé, Benjamin, a Deacon, who will soon take
his vows as a priest.
Father
Donaghue does his thing, assuming the ritual will give Sister Agnes the
psychological or emotional relief she needs. Unfortunately, this case will be a
considerably more difficult—and more real. Yet, the possession is only half the
story. Equal time will be given to the aftermath, as Sister Agnes’ closest
friend, the former Sister Mary, navigates civilian life after losing faith and
leaving the convent.
Initially,
the second half feels like a punishingly long and drawn-out epilogue, but Reece
eventually pays if off with a quiet but really well-written explanation of
faith from the newly ordained Father Benjamin. There is a lot to slog through,
but the light-bulb moment redeems it. Plus, the demonic horror stuff is pretty
creepy.
Reece
has a weird, off-kilter style all his own. His eccentric rhythms and cadences
suggest an unholy union of 1970s art-house cinema and questionably dubbed
Euro-horror movies, but somehow it seems to work for him. Ben Hall and his radio
announcer voice are a perfect match for Reece. Like in Climate of the Hunter,
Hall is an intriguing and unpredictable presence as Father Donaghue—so much so,
we would like to see him leading other horror films, helmed by other directors.
He has the life expectancy of novelist James Gunn’s The Immortals and
the emotional maturity of a test tube. Everyone wants a piece of the
genetically engineered clone, because he can’t die unless he is killed.
Fortunately, he has the protection of former intelligence agent Min Ki-hun. The
ex-spy looks like a basket case, because he is, but Min can still take down the
bad guys in screenwriter-director Lee Yong-ju Seobok, which screens as
an on-demand selection of the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival.
Disgusted
by the dirty work of his last assignment, Min has walked away from the agency.
He also has a terminal brain tumor. Weirdly, that makes him the perfect
candidate to serve as Seobok’s bodyguard. If he can keep the clone alive, he
gets first dibs on a Seobok mojo-extracting treatment.
Of
course, that will be the tricky part. A shadowy cabal already assassinated the
American scientist evaluating the Seobok project and the clone himself is
presumed to be their next target. However, Seobok (named after a Qin Dynasty messenger
dispatched to find the elixir of life) is hardly helpless. It turns out he has
massive Professor X-like telekinetic powers that were an unanticipated
byproduct of his radical genetic engineering.
Lee
is working with a familiar template (cynical government agent learns to respect
the humanity in the guinea pig is tasked with protecting), but the action
sequences are crisply executed and Gong Yoo is remarkably haggard and world-weary
as Min, despite his babyface. The problem is Seobok (portrayed with utter
emotionlessness by Park Bo-gum) truly has the personality of a lab rat. The
silent steeliness thing works much better for Jo Woo-jin as the sinister
intelligence chief Ahn Ik-hyun. However, some of the best dramatic work comes
from Jang Young-nam as Lim Se-eun, Seobok’s surrogate mother and project scientist.
According to Bill Murray in Ghostbusters, dogs and cats living together
were a sign of the apocalypse. Nevertheless, that is the plan for feline Nimfa
Dimaano. The only question is whether she will choose her burly working-class
lover (he’s a real mutt) or a rich greyhound in Avid Liongoren’s animated
feature, Hayop Ka! The Nimfa Dimaano Story, which screens as an
on-demand selection of the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival.
These
might be talking animals, but they definitely aren’t for kids. Liongoren’s send-up
of Filipino telenovelas is quite sexually frank in its language (but the action
on screen is mostly PG-13—mostly). True to its genre, Hayop Ka (meaning:
“you animal!,” a frequent telenovela exclamation) involves class-straddling
romantic relationships. Dimaano starts the film in a shacked-up with dirt-poor
but ultra-macho Roger, whom her best friendemy not so secretly carries a torch
for, but she is tiring of his crude manners and lack of ambition.
When
playboy-industrialist Inigo Villanueva drops by the perfume counter where she
works, it is sort of like Pretty Woman, but without the prostitution.
Granted, Villanueva is a bit arrogant, but he is trying to break a union for
the good of the economy, so he obviously isn’t all bad. Nevertheless, Dimaano
is reluctant to fully jump into a relationship with him, because of her deep-rooted
class consciousness.
Last time you had to reclaim your car from the impound lot, did you think: “wow,
this could be the setting of a thrilling film?” Probably not. A good part of
this tale also takes place in the NYC court system, but they try to make it
look as depressing as possible. There is plenty of finger-wagging and a bit of
nonsensical cosmic jibber-jabber, but not much else in Chase Palmer’s Naked
Singularity, which opens today in New York.
Casi
is a public defender, so we are supposed to automatically assume he is pure of
heart. Indeed, he is quite put out when his nemesis judge keeps sending his
clients to jail, for crimes they admit they committed. His new client presents
a slightly different case. Technically, Lea is a repeat customer, who requested
him personally. However, she has leverage to cut a deal. As an employee of the
city impound, she was approached by a sleazy criminal type for info on a towed
SUV loaded with a stash of drugs.
With
her help, the cops hope to bust the cartel when they buy back the black
Navigator at auction, but she has a plan to double-cross everyone. Meanwhile,
Casi periodically drops in on his stoner friend, who mumbles incoherently about
alternate worlds and quantum singularity.
Apparently,
an impound clerk with a criminal record is the only person with access to the
schedule for the city’s confiscated vehicle auctions. In this contrived world,
the narcotics detectives would logically never bother to contact any of her superiors,
to make sure they would not cross up their plans.
Frankly,
every bit of Singularity is simplistic and unrealistic. It is also
dated. These days in New York, bail is practically non-existent, even for
felonies. Manhattan is poised to elect a District Attorney who will not prosecute
any misdemeanors or nonviolent felonies and refuses to resign from the board of
the Legal Aid Society (a clear conflict of interest). Frankly, this film is
just a petulant fantasy.
Somalia is a member of the United Nations, the Arab League, the African Union,
and the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, but it was considered a failed state
even before the civil war broke out in the 1990s. Yet, as a member of the UN,
it represented a key swing vote in South Korea’s bid to join the body. Of
course, the one-party Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party regime had a greater
affinity for their North Korean totalitarian rivals, but a ragtag ROK diplomatic
contingent still did their best to lobby for their UN membership support. When
the nation plunges into chaos, they must improvise to secure safe passage out,
including possibly even working with their sworn DPRK enemies in Ryoo Seung-wan’s
Escape from Mogadishu, which opens tomorrow in New York.
Mogadishu
is a high-stress, low-reward posting for Han Shin-sung, but it also represents
the Foreign Service Officer’s first posting as an ambassador. Somalia
represents an unambiguous career demotion for his intelligence officer, Counselor
Kang Dae-jin, but they still have a friendly working relationship.
Unfortunately, North Korean Ambassador Rim Yong-su constantly out maneuvers
them when lobbying the corrupt President Barre. Yet, Kang uncovers evidence the
North Koreans are secretly arming the rebels behind the scene (which Rim later
denies and Ryoo’s screenplay remains cagey on).
As
the rebels gain momentum, the country plunges into anarchy. Battles clash on
the streets, but Kang manages to bluff the embattled government into assigning
a security detail to their embassy, for a price. The North Koreans are not so
fortunate. When their embassy is compromised, they are reluctantly forced to
ask Ambassador Han for refuge, which he grants. However, Kang and his opposite,
Tae Joon-ki are not about to set aside their spycraft.
Reportedly,
Escape is indeed based on a true story, but it clearly was not
well-reported in the West. Nevertheless, anyone familiar with North Korean
politics can only imagine how severely an embassy staff would be purged after
seeking shelter with the South Koreans, but the film does not go out that far.
Instead, it is all about getting out of Dodge.
Filmed
on location in Morocco (as was Black Hawk Down), Ryoo and his team vividly
recreate the exotic atmosphere and abject chaos of civil war Mogadishu. Like he
did in The Berlin File, Ryoo nicely marries action with intrigue
throughout Escape. It is tight, tense, and atmospheric. Ryoo really
conveys a sense of fear and unpredictable violence that comes from the failed
state experience.
Sometimes, jazz fans suggest less than enlightened racial attitudes contributed to Leon
Bix Beiderbecke’s alcoholism and emotional decline, because the white cornetist
was not able to openly play with musicians like his hero, Louis Armstrong. That
might be overstating the point, but he surely would have been much happier working
with real deal jazz musicians rather than Paul Whiteman’s sweet symphonic band.
Beiderbecke put soul into Dixieland, but he didn’t live to see his thirtieth
birthday. Brigitte Berman chronicles his life and music in the newly restored
documentary, Bix: Ain’t None of Them Play Like Him Yet, which opens Friday
at Film Forum.
Beiderbecke
is Davenport, Iowa’s favorite son, but his prominent family was not exactly
thrilled by his musical ambitions. Eventually, their snobbish disregard would
contribute to alcoholism and depression. During his short-lived prime, he was
arguably the second most respected jazz musician in America, after Louis
Armstrong, and the most accomplished white soloist. Unfortunately, like Charlie
Parker, he attracted fans who sometimes ill-advisedly encouraged his excesses—in
Bix’s case, that was gin.
Given
his reputation, Paul Whiteman inevitably decided to recruit Beiderbecke for his
big band. Unfortunately, it was not the sort of swinging outfit, where
Beiderbecke could have thrived. He more or less knew it too. Initially, Bix
turned down Whiteman to play with a real-deal band led by Adrian Rollini, but
they were so good, only musicians went to hear them, so Bix was out of work
again in three weeks.
Of
course, the most important part of Berman’s film is Beiderbecke’s music, which
still sounds great. Amazingly, even with its limited audio fidelity, a tune
like “Singin’ the Blues” sounds fresh and effervescent—much more so than ninety
percent of the music of his contemporaries (not including Armstrong).
Berman
does a nice job evoke the vibe and music of Bix’s era. Appropriately, we hear a
lot of vintage Beiderbecke and Whiteman recordings, but there are also legit soundtrack
performances by Richard Williams on cornet as well as Dill Jones and Earl
French on piano (Jones, the late stride specialist notably serves up a lovely
rendition of Beiderbecke’s piano composition, “In a Mist”).
When
watched from the vantage of the 2020s, Berman’s Bix feels like a direct
precursor to the Ken Burns school of documentary filmmaking. With its
combination of voice-overs (Richard Basehart for you MST3K fans),
archival photos, and sensitive music, Bix could easily pass for an installment
of Burns’ Jazz.
Satoshi Kon is such a significant anime filmmaker, his tragic death created a
conundrum. Is there a filmmaker who has the stature required to follow in Kon’s
place and finish his last, unfinished film, who would also completely minimize
their creative inputs, to maintain Kon as the sole auteurist hand guiding it?
Of course, fans sure would like to see his producers figure something out,
since Kon only released four full-length features and one thirteen-episode
series during his lifetime. Pascal-Alex Vincent surveys the work and themes of
the anime legend in Satoshi Kon: The Illusionist, which screens as an
on-demand selection of the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival.
Four
films and change might not seem like a lot, but his first three films recently had
full theatrical re-releases and his fourth, Paprika, is largely seen as
the “inspiration” for Inception. According to Darren Aronofsky, he asked
and received the master’s go-ahead to include a significant “homage” to Kon’s Perfect
Blue in Requiem for a Dream. He was instrumental to the rise of
anime’s popularity in the West, along with Hayao Miyazaki (Studio Ghibli),
Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell), and Katasuhiro Otomo’s Akira.
Yet, his popularity cut across genres and fandoms.
Taking
its title from Andrew Osmond’s nonfiction study, The Illusionist follows
a conventional documentary approach, mainly just incorporating talking head
interviews and film clips. However, Kon’s visuals have lost none of their pop.
Most tantalizing are the excerpts from the unfinished The Dreaming Machine.
Ostensibly, it would have been his first children’s film, but still sounds like
it would have featured similarly existential science fiction themes. Had he
completed it, Machine might have been compared to Wall-E in the
way Inception and Paprika are often likened.
2020 must have been a great year for sea monkey sales. Apparently, you could
raise capsule kaiju the same way in Japan. Of course, you never really know
what you might get when you raise kaiju in your apartment, but an unemployed actor
hopes his kaiju will battle the CCP’s Coronavirus in Shunji Iwai’s The 12
Day Tale of the Monster that Died in 8, which screens as an on-demand
selection of the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival.
Iwai
probably got his minimalist Zoom-style movie in just under the wire. It is time
to declare a moratorium on video chat pandemic-era films, because you have a
standout like Rob Savage’s Host on one hand and all the other dreary
ones on the other. Frankly, the Zoom chatting also grows tiresome here too, but
there is something appealing about the film’s surreal premise.
With
nothing to do, Sato orders a capsule monster to raise. It makes sense
considering Shinji Higuchi (the director of Shin Godzilla and an
upcoming Ultraman movie, playing himself) is available to advise him.
Unfortunately, his kaiju eggs only slowly morph into what look like misshapen
kaiju eraser heads. In contrast, the alien his friend bought is growing like a
weed. Unfortunately, it is invisible on online chats, so he can’t see it mocking
him.
12
Day Tale is
just short of 90 minutes, but it still feels a bit too dragged out. The concept
is clever and the execution hits the right melancholy notes, but this project
probably should have realized as a forty- to fifty-minute short film instead.
You can find the Droste Effect in the paintings of M.C. Escher and the packaging
of Morton Salt, Land O’Lakes Butter, and the eponymous Droste cocoa. You can
also find it in the Kato’s laid-back hipster café. In addition to a vintage
Droste cocoa tin, his friends have used the Droste Effect to extend a two-minute
time loop Junta Yamaguchi’s wildly clever Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes,
which screens as an on-demand selection of the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival.
After
a hard day of work at the café, Kato retires to his upstairs apartment, where to
his surprise, he starts talking to himself on his computer monitor. According
to his other self, he is speaking from the café’s closed-circuit TV, from two
minutes in the future. Apparently, a very limited time-loop has opened up,
which his scheming slacker friends find far more interesting than he does. Eventually,
they bring together the monitor and the CC-TV to face each other, creating a Droste
Effect. Of course, all Heck will break lose when they start giving themselves
actionable tips from the future.
Makoto
Ueda’s utterly original screenplay will make your head spin if you try to break
down the internal logic, but the breakneck energy of Yamaguchi’s execution will
keep you deliriously distracted. It is hard to say whether, strictly speaking,
this is a time travel movie or a time loop movie, but it hardly matters.
Largely shot on iPhones (probably partly out of necessity, due to the tight
spaces of the upstairs rooms), Infinite Two Minutes is easily the most
inventive science fiction movie, since maybe the films of Melies.
Yamaguchi’s
film has been likened to One Cut of the Dead, not just for its scrappy
resourcefulness but also its one-continuous take structure. Yet, Infinite Two
Minutes is particularly impressive in that respect, because it features
scenes of cast-members playing opposite themselves. Frankly, it required a nearly
superhuman feat of traffic-directing.
If there is one film festival you have to attend in person sometime, it is the
Fantasia International Film Festival, up in Montreal. Sure, the films are always
the kind of weird horror, sophisticated animation, and thrilling Asia action we
love, but it is the traditions that make Fantasia Fantasia.
First
of all, having covered Fantasia in person for the 2019 festival, I have to say their
PR department does more to make press feel welcome than any other fest I
covered. Even more important (for civilians) is the in-person screening
experience. At your first movie, you might be wondering why people are meowing
like cats? The truth is nobody really knows, but there will always be six or
seven people doing it at every screening.
However,
that is nothing compared to how the theaters always erupt in cheers for the
Nongshim cup noodle commercial. Nobody knows how that tradition started either,
but you have to love how epic they are. Even Nongshim was surprised by the love
they get at the festival, so they doubled down on their support. By the way, they
have some of the best cup noodles available in neighborhood grocery stores.
Thanks to Fantasia, we definitely have some in our cupboard.
Sometimes a film without an explicitly political message becomes political because
of who might appear in it. This is a perfect example. Self-exiled
Ukrainian-born Russian filmmaker Vitaly Mansky documented a day in the life of
the Dalai Lama at his Dharamshala headquarters in Sunrise/Sunset. To
their credit, OVID.tv has most likely forsaken the Mainland Chinese market by
streaming his intimate documentary, which starts streaming this Wednesday. They
will probably also be frozen out of Russia too, because they are also picking
up Mansky’s chilling Putin’s Witnesses the same day.
His
Holiness is up early at 3:00 AM, when he starts his full routine of physical
exercise and religious devotion. The Nobel Laureate also has a full agenda of
dignitaries who have scheduled an audience with him. (Ironically, this day he
is receiving an unofficial delegation from Russia.)
Mansky
had total access during his 24-hour window, so he was able to capture an image
rarely seen in Dalai Lama documentaries. That would be the armed guards the
Indian government provides His Holiness. (Sadly, this is a necessary concession
for the Peace Prize recipient.) Those who follow Tibet Buddhism will recognize Sunrise/Sunset
was produced over ten years ago, because The Dalai Lama was still talking
about his next reincarnation (just not in Tibet), whereas lately he has
suggested (including in the doc, The Last Dalai Lama) he just might forego further reincarnations, to prevent the CCP from anointing
a puppet imposter.
Regardless,
he displays the same warm graciousness we are used to seeing from him. For the
last twenty minutes or so, the Dalai Lama is only heard rather than seen, as
Mansky marries up audio of an interview he conducted with footage of his long
train trek back to Russia. Weirdly, His Holiness spends a great deal of time
discussing over-population. However, one of his potential solutions, more recruiting
more monks and nuns, might have been a dry joke.
Are you watching the Olympics? Probably not, judging from the ratings. Viewers
have a right to be disenchanted, when there are over 330 Russian athletes
competing in Tokyo, despite the Russian Olympic team supposedly being banned
for its systemic doping program. For a definitive expose of Putin’s doping
program, watch Bryan Fogel’s Icarus on Netflix. However, they did not
invent steroid regimens. They just built on a long Communist-era tradition. It
was a practice rife in most Warsaw Pact countries, including then Czechoslovakia.
That is where Anna Moravcova trains for the 200m dash, but she rebels against her
coaches when they demand she participate in their anabolic steroid program in
Andrea Sedlackova’s Fair Play, which is now available on VOD.
If
Moravcova were not naturally talented, there is no way she would be allowed to
train on the national team. Her father immigrated during 1968. Her mother
almost joined him, but she got cold feet. Irena Moravcova now deeply regrets
that choice, even though her feelings towards Moravcova’s father remain
ambiguous. She used to run in dissident circles, so when her old flame Marek
Kriz asks for a favor copying his samizdat texts, she reluctantly agrees,
despite the danger to her and her daughter.
Anna
Moravcova’s track times are good, but the state athletic apparatus has selected
her for its special treatment. They are vague whenever she asks about the Stromba
they inject her with and the nondisclosure documents they force her to sign
further stokes her suspicions. Nevertheless, she initially complies, because
they leave her no choice. However, when her body has a toxic reaction to the
steroids, she resolves to quit the doping program, even if the Party bans her
from competition. Unfortunately, her mother’s precarious political position and
her coaches’ manipulativeness complicate her decision.
This
might be the all-time greatest Olympic movie, even though it includes no scenes
from the actual Olympic Games. (In a bitter irony, Moravcova is training for
the 1984 Games, so you should know what that means.) Nevertheless, the way
Moravcova takes responsibility for her actions and her body—and comes to
understand her mother on a much deeper level—is quite moving and arguably even
inspiring.
Judit
Bardos is convincing both physically and dramatically as Moravcova, the young
athlete. It is quite compelling to see her confusion forge into resolution.
Yet, it is Anna Geislerova who is truly haunting as Irena Moravcova. It is a
shame she never received the Awards consideration she deserved. Together, they
do an excellent job bringing to life the tension and affection of a
mother-daughter relationship, which are always somewhat difficult, but theirs is
under tremendous tension.
Zhenia might be a superhero, or maybe a super-villain. He might have gained his
powers through radiation, like Spiderman, but his point of contact was Pripyat
(Chernobyl). His super-abilities are in his hands, but his intentions are not
always clear. With ambiguous powers come ambiguous responsibilities in
Malgorzata Szumowska’s Never Gonna Snow Again (“co-directed” by cinematographer-co-writer
Michal Englert), which opens today in New York.
Sort
of like Django dragging his coffin, Zhenia blew into town carrying his massage
table over his shoulder. Thanks to his powers of mesmerism, the mysterious masseuse
had no trouble with immigration. The next time we see him, Zhenia has built up
a large client list in a gated community outside Warsaw. He seems to hold many
of his clients in a seductive sway, especially the women (like a clean-cut
version of Nick Nolte in Down and Out in Beverly Hills). Yet, he never
takes advantage of them whenever puts them under via hypnotic suggestion. Instead,
he might practice his ballet in their spacious McMansions.
NGSA
is
a strange film that generally feels like an art-house genre film, but it is
tricky to define in what ways. Regardless, it is far and away Szumowska’s best
film, head and shoulders superior to the dreary The Other Lamb or Elles.
There are periodic expressionistic
excursions into Zhenia’s subconscious that start to try viewer patience, but
Szumowska actually makes them payoff with a haunting climax.
Alec
Utgoff’s weird lead performance well suits the film. He is like a human Rorschach.
He gives so little, yet somehow invites those around him to infer and project
so much. Weronika Rosati is also quite extraordinary, in a tightly-wound, yet
understated way, as Wika, the wife of Zhenia’s cancer-stricken performance.
Remember when your gruff driver’s ed. teacher told you to “drive defensively?” That
was good advice. Dutch father Hans does not follow it, even though he has his whole
family in the car. As a result, he inspires homicidal road rage from a serial
killer in Lodewijk Crijns’ Tailgate, which releases theatrically and
digitally tomorrow.
Hans
is pretty frazzled by his nagging wife Diana and bratty young daughters Milou
and Robine. He is also less than thrilled to be going to lunch with his scoldy
mother and his mildly dementia-suffering father. Hans is spoiling or a fight,
so when “Ed the Exterminator” takes exception to his tailgating at a rest stop,
the frazzled father refuses to apologize or back down.
Unbeknownst
to Hans, Ed is experienced at running people off the road and he is fully loaded
with pesticide that is toxic to humans. The psychopath isn’t squeamish when it
comes to menacing the kids along with the adults, but he rather annoyingly
persists in lecturing them on their poor parenting (which admittedly seems to
be somewhat valid), in between his acts of violence.
The
prospect of watching an innocent family getting terrorized is not so
appetizing, so Crijns tries to balance the heat with acid by making Hans
abrasively obnoxious. Unfortunately, that just makes the film thoroughly
unpleasant, in nearly every way.
Arguably,
Jeroen Spitzenberger is quite effective as Hans, because he makes viewers want
to kill him too. The same is true to a lesser degree for Anniek Pheifer as
Diana. You would think the serial killer stalking them would stop the
dysfunctional couple from bickering for ten seconds, but apparently not. On the
other hand, Willem de Wolf is credibly hulking, but problematically nondescript
as the killer.
A mobster like John Morgan has so many enemies, he can’t be bothered to
worry about a washed-out alcoholic copper like Frank Conway. However, he will have
worry about enemies closer to home—and perhaps some previously unknown to him
in James Crow’s Nemesis, which releases this Friday on VOD.
Morgan
presents himself as a philanthropist, but his money is dirty. Unfortunately,
neither Conway or his cop father before him could ever get any evidence to
stick on him. The best Conway can do is drunkenly crash Morgan’s coming home
party. All Conway gets for his efforts is a suspension, but Morgan is secretly
concerned someone tipped off the cop regarding his return to the UK. He
suspects his thuggish brother Richard, who resents his brother’s greater
success in organized crime. Richard Morgan will be a guest at his brother’s
dinner party, but it takes a potentially lethal turn when it turns into a home
invasion-hostage crisis.
So,
what kind of person would be rash enough to take connected kingpin like Morgan
hostage? That will be the whole surprise, or surprises. They are actually
memorably dark and twisty. In fact, the captive dinner party section is quite tense and
memorable. It just takes half the film’s run-time to get there.
Nemesis
is
a grubby overachiever that isn’t ashamed of its grunginess. Billy Morgan is
terrific as the steely silver-haired John Morgan. He definitely has a Michael
Caine-ish pugnaciousness going on. Frank Harper brings similarly grizzled
bluster as his bitter brother Richard. A notable standout, Jeanine Nerissa
Sothcott is entertainingly flamboyant and catty as Sadie Morgan, the gangster’s
cougar-trophy wife.
When you think about it, the premise of Home Alone—an elementary
school aged kid cheerfully fighting off home invaders—should have been pretty
traumatic. This film is a lot more emotionally realistic. The bad guys are part
of a pedophile-abduction ring rather than mere burglars, but at least the two
captives can rely on each other throughout David Charbonier & Justin Powell’s
The Boy Behind the Door, which premieres this Thursday on Shudder.
Both
Kevin and Bobby were snatched out of the park, but the former was the primary
intended victim. The latter is just left in the trunk to suffocate, but
instead, he fights his way out. However, when Bobby hears his friend’s
terrified screams for help, he knows he cannot leave the boy behind. Sneaking
into the isolated house, he discovers Kevin is chained to the wall behind a
locked door. The cat-and-mouse game that ensues is viscerally intense, due to
the disturbingly young age of the boys, but their resourcefulness is admirable.
Young
protags in claustrophobic jeopardy are definitely a thing for Charbonier &
Powell, the filmmaking tandem, whose Djinn released earlier in the year.
There are obvious similarities, but Behind is far more disturbing due to
its thematic content. In this case, the utter conviction and total credibility
of Lonnie Chavis and Ezra Dewey (who also starred in Djinn) keep viewers
hooked on pins and needles. Like Djinn (but maybe even more so here),
the filmmakers and their youthful cast really force the audience to care.
During this film, the suspense really kills.
The
boys’ ultimate antagonist is also extraordinarily creepy, but it would be a bit
spoilerish to call out the thesp by name. Let’s just say this is a deeply chilling
predator. Charbonier & Powell have a sinister talent for maintaining tension
and suspense, while turning the limitations of their confined sets into
positives. It is almost too much at times, but it is all highly effective.
Buddy Guy was almost the equivalent of Motown's Funk Brothers at Chess Records. He
was a frequent sideman, who recorded a few 45s at the famous blues label, but
the Chess Brothers never really considered him a star. A group of fanatical
blues in the UK thought differently. They included Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck.
Eventually, Guy became a headliner and now he is probably the dean of living
bluesmen. The guitarist looks back on his life and career in Devin Amar, Matt
Mitchener & Charles Todd’s Buddy Guy: The Blues Chase the Blues Away,
which premieres tomorrow on PBS as part of the current season of American
Masters.
Buddy
Guy hailed from Lettsworth, Louisiana. It wasn’t conveniently located near
anything except cotton share-farms, especially not schools. Guy started working
and playing in Baton Rouge, but most of his opportunities turned out to be
false starts. He also scuffled hard after moving to Chicago, until a musician
by the name of Muddy Waters heard him play.
Yet,
for years, the start-and-stop pattern continued for Guy (on his Strat, rather
than a Les Paul). Indeed, Amar and company appropriately emphasize Guy’s
persistence throughout their profile. Even when British invasion stars starting
singing Guy’s praises, Chess still didn’t really understand how to best
showcase him (while Marshall Chess appears in In Their Own Words’
profile of Chuck Berry, he is absent here).
This
also happens to be one of the more stylish and poetic films to appear under the
American Masters banner, because of the vintage documentary footage and folk
art that illustrates Guy’s early years. It vividly evokes the tenor of Guy’s
life and times, in all its hardscrabble ruggedness. The trio of filmmakers also
convey a nice sense of blues history through archival interviews with legends
like Lightnin’ Hopkins, Willie Dixon, and Muddy Waters.
There has never been anyone more rock & roll than Chuck Berry. He loved to
play loud, hated to rehearse, and liked to pay taxes even less. Rock & roll
started with him and he inspired everyone who came after, especially cats like
the Beatles and the Stones. The real king is profiled during the next
installment of In Their Own Words, premiering Tuesday on PBS.
Berry’s
family was well-established and respected in their St. Louis community, but he
was a bit of a bad kid. He even served a brief prison stretch. It would not be
his last. However, when he got out, he found success as an R&B guitarist.
His style was so distinctive, Chess Records signed him up—thus was rock &
roll born.
The
Chuck Berry instalment of In Their Own Words is just an hour, but
it hits most of the important career milestones. That notably includes
crediting boogie-woogie-blues pianist Johnnie Johnson for discovering and
developing Berry’s sound as the guitarist in his combo. Sadly (but not
surprisingly), most of Berry’s contemporaries are no longer available to
participate, but Marshall Chess discusses Berry relationship with the Chess
Brothers (his father Leonard and uncle Phil).
For
star-power, we hear from Keith Richards, who was the musical director for the
Chuck Berry tribute doc Hail! Hail! Rock ‘n’ Roll, as well as his
all-star bandmates, Robert Cray and Steve Jordan (who played with Sonny Rollins
and the original Letterman show band). The director, Taylor Hackford also discusses
the making of the film, which was a bit chaotic, thanks to Berry’s strong
personality (to put it diplomatically).
Miles Davis used to perform with his back turned to the audience. The men in
Hong Sang-soo’s latest film are not that cool. Instead, they are a rather
neurotic lot, so Hong focuses on the women they are trying to talk to instead. Those
would be Gam-hee's old friends, who she sets out to visit in Hong’s The Woman
Who Ran, which is currently playing in New York.
When
Hong’s film had its festival debut last February, Gam-hee might have sounded a
bit unusual for spending every single day of the past five years with her
husband. One pandemic from Xi Jinping later, a lot of people are over a fifth
of the way to that milestone themselves. Regardless, when her loving spouse was
suddenly summoned for a business trip, she decided to take advantage of the
opportunity to visit two old friends. She will also have a supposedly chance
encounter with a third former classmate. With the three-part structure, Hong
renews his affinity for parallel theme-and-variations.
Young-soon
is divorced and living happily with a younger roommate, but both women just
show disinterested contempt for the neighbor who comes to complain about the
stray cats they feed (his wife has a cat phobia). After years of caring for her
mother, Su-young now lives carefree in a building catering to artists. She is
cautiously exploring a relationship with an architect, but embarrassingly, it
is the young poet she mistakenly hooked-up with who comes calling. Gambee was
not expecting to see Woo-jin, but she works in the arts center, where the
restless woman popped in to see a movie. It turns out they have something in
common: Jung, whose face we briefly see, so that we know he is played by Hong’s
regular alter-ego, Kwon Hae-hyo.
There
is a bit of the old playfulness in Woman Who Ran that has been largely
missing from Hong’s post-scandal films, especially in the way he so
deliberately keeps his male characters faceless. It is still a “small film,”
but most of his films are “small.” In this case the big revelation and payoff
are mostly implied, but its subtlety is definitely its strength. Arguably, this
might be his best film with Kim Min-hee since Right Now, Wrong Then, which
was before their tabloid notoriety.
Manu and Jean-Gab plan to train their new pet to be an animal burglar, sort
of like the old organ-grinder monkeys. However, Dominique is not a primate. She
is a weirdly large mutant house fly. It is an unlikely scheme, but the randomness
of the world is their greatest ally in Quentin Dupieux’s ultra-eccentric Mandibles,
which releases today in theaters and on-demand.
Calling
Manu a homeless beach bum would imply his life has more structure than it
really does. Nevertheless, a dodgy associate recruits him for a courier job delivering
a mysterious Marsellus Wallace-style valise to a client. Much to Manu’s
confusion, the terms of the job require the case to be secured in the trunk of
a car, so he naturally steals an old beater Mercedes. After picking up his
crony Jean-Gab, they discover the mini-kaiju in the trunk.
Instead
of completing their assignment, the two slackers decide Jean-Gab will train the
fly to become their personal air-born thief. To do so, they need someplace
where they can lay low. Initially, they invade the home of a desert hermit, but
the knuckleheads destroy everything they touch. Fortunately, fate intervenes,
when Cecile, an entitled party girl, mistakes Manu for an old high school flame.
Her friends are not much charmed by the lads, who resort to plenty of
door-slamming slap-stick and a fair amount of gaslighting to keep Dominique a secret
from their hosts, especially Agnes, who shouts like a John Cleese character due
to a brain injury. She really dislikes the new guests.
Mandibles
is
a return to form for Dupieux after the dour and cringey Deerskin. Mandibles
is more like Wrong and Reality, which took delight in their
lunacy. Even though Manu and Jean-Gab do some pretty terrible things, the film
itself it bright, energetic, and upbeat. It is almost like the most surreal Seinfeld
episode ever.
Gregoire
Ludig and David Marsais are perfectly moronic and amoral as Manu and Jean-Gab.
India Hair is earthy and somehow not annoyingly idiotic as the inexplicably dense
Cecile. However, Adele Exarchopoulos might just give the performance of her
career as the tragically abrasive Agnes (seriously, forget about the
over-praised Blue is the Warmest Color).
