Japan Cuts ’20: Seijo Story

Nobuhiko Obayashi was the mad genius behind House (and the sensitive auteur who helmed many other great Japanese films). Kyoko Obayashi is the producer (and den mother and caterer) who helped make them possible. As their names suggest, they were also happily married for over sixty years. Isshin Inudo & Eiki Takahashi profile the Obayshis and document the post-production work on their final ambitious collaboration in Seijo Story: 60 Years of Making Films, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Seijo is to Tokyo a lot like what Studio City is to Los Angeles, but it is also home to a first-class university. That is where the Obayashis met as undergrads and collaborated on their first 8mm films. He somewhat logically decided his emerging talents as novelist and musician made him best suited to be a film director. She used her organizational skill to support his films. At first, she refused all credit, but eventually she has been duly recognized as a top producer.

As a filmmaker, Obayashi has helmed celebrity commercials, experimental films, coming-of-age dramas, and unclassifiable genre films. Initially, House was a flop, but in recent years, it has become a smash hit at midnight screenings. If you haven’t seen it yet, go watch it now. Yet, he is the first to admit their films have been a team effort.

Japan Cuts ’20: Extro

If you want to work as an extra in the Japanese film industry, you will find yourself wearing a lot of Edo-era historical costumes. If you’re really lucky, you might get crushed by a kaiju or two. No matter what the context, extras must blend-in and never stand-out. It sounds easy, but it will be quite an adventure for some extras pursuing their trade in Naoki Murahashi’s mockumentary, Extro, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Kozo Haginoya is now semi-retired, so he has time for the extra work that comes his way through the Lark Agency. He mostly appears in Jidaigeki period productions filmed at the near-by Warp Station Edo, a model samurai-era town. Yet, his dream is to play a fireman, like Steve McQueen in Towering Inferno. Regardless, it will be touch-and-go for him just trying to make it through this episode of The Claws of Edo.

Unfortunately for Lark, Haginoya will not be Lark’s most embarrassing client. That’s when Extro takes a rather madcap turn. Murahashi definitely gives Japanese extras the Waiting for Guffman treatment, but he is so deadpan about it, the film’s zaniness totally sneaks up on the audience. For at least the first hour, viewers could be fooled into thinking they are watching a legit documentary, especially given the presence of real-life stars like Yuki Saito, Koji Yamamoto, and Riho Miaki (a.k.a. J-Pop star Riho Kotani), playing themselves.

Fear City: New York vs. the Mafia

Even though he recently lost his mind, it is important to remember Rudy Giuliani saved New York not once, but twice. He restored law & order and economic vitality as mayor, but before that, he liberated the City from the tentacles of organized crime. As U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, he spearheaded an unprecedented prosecution of New York’s “Five Families,” all at once. The FBI agents and prosecutors explain how they did it in the three-part documentary series Fear City: New York vs. the Mafia, directed by Sam Hobkinson, which premieres this Wednesday on Netflix.

The FBI had been trying for years to take down the Mafia, but to little avail, until an Ivy League law professor offered the FBI a free seminar on applying the relatively new RICO statute. For the special agents reluctantly attending, it was a revelation. RICO provided a legal framework to tie the bosses to the crimes of their captains and soldiers. This would be a game-changer when paired with greater wiretapping latitude and technology.

Fear City is largely told from the perspective of the FBI and prosecutors, which is actually a nice change from most Mafia-centric mob programming. As a result, there is no phony sentimentalizing the Mafia as some sort of “family”-style organization. Instead, they make it clear what predatory parasites they were. John Savarese, a young prosecutor Giuliani assigned to the case, explains he was particularly outraged by the Mafia’s crimes as an Italian-American, because the Mafia preyed on newly arrived Italian immigrants, forcing their way into their neighborhood businesses.

It will probably be particularly galling for the old thugs to see their longtime critic, Curtis Sliwa, making similar points in the opening (but nobody can deny he adds color). In addition to Savarese, we also hear from Giuliani himself, as well as his lead prosecutor, future Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff, and many of the FBI Agents assigned to the Five Family-specific task forces. However, some of the wildest talking-head interviews and recreation-sequences feature the mysterious technician who placed their bugs, often literally under the bosses’ noses.

Japan Cuts ’20: Tora-san, Our Lovable Tramp

His full name is Torajiro Kuruma, but everyone calls him just plain Tora-san. After forty-nine films, Japanese fans felt like he was a member of the family. Technically, the movie franchise reincarnated him. Tora-san originally premiered in a one-season TV series that outraged viewers by killing him off in the final episode. Yoji Yamada never made that mistake. He would helm Kiyoshi Atsumi in all but two Tora-san films, starting with the original, Tora-san, Our Lovable Tramp (a.k.a. It’s Hard to Be a Man), which screens as part of the Tora-san sidebar celebration during the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Tora-san always fought with his father, so he left home early and never came back. However, he has started feeling sentimental, so he decided to return home. His kid sister Sakura is all grown up now, but she still lives with their aunt and uncle, because her marriage prospects are limited without a dowry. In fact, Tora-san comes home just in time to spoil a potential marriage negotiation arranged by her employer.

Poor Tora-san will never master the art of courtship. However, this will be the first time he tries to romance a woman on his own behalf, when he starts putting the moves on Fuyuko Tsubouchi, the daughter of Gozensama, the temple priest. She is way out of his league, but there might be hope yet for Sakura.

A Tora-san statue has been erected in the Shibamata district of Tokyo, where the films are set—and appropriately so. Starting with Tramp, the films lovingly capture the rhythms of life blue collar, lower-middle class neighborhood. Everyone works hard and does the best they can there, even Tora-san.

Despite the cliched description of Tora-san as a “lovable loser,” Atsumi’s portrayal is much subtler than you might expect. He is a bit of an idiot, but he has heart and we definitely feel for him when it is broken. There is no question Atsumi was the sort of clown who could also make viewers cry. Indeed, it is rather sweet to watch his sibling chemistry with Chieko Baisho, who portrays Sakura with wonderful sensitivity. As a result, it is easy to see why Yamada had her return in many subsequent Tora-san films.

Japan Cuts '20: Wolf's Calling (short)

It was a questionable application of a problematic law. Much to his dismay, director Toshiaki Toyoda was arrested (but never charged) for possession of an antique firearm that had been passed down through generations of his family. At least it inspired this short film. A young woman will uncover a similar heirloom in Toyoda’s Wolf’s Calling, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

The woman did not know what to make of the piece, but presumably her ancestor did. Toyoda now flashes back to the Edo era, more or less. Samurai like Rurouni Kenshin largely thought guns were cheating, but if you had someone packing, you definitely put him in front. Eventually, that warrior will come to the fore. However, Toyoda will not show us the battle. Instead, we only witness the call-to-arms and assembly at Kasosan Shrine. It sounds simple, but it is still pretty awesome to behold.

The forest-shrouded shrine is an enormously cinematic location that Toyoda films from many dramatic and inventive angles. This is one of the rare short films that really deserves to be seen on the big screen—the bigger, the better. The sound should also be cranked up, because the evocative soundtrack was composed and performed by Seppuku Pistols, who bring a punk rock aesthetic to traditional Japanese courtly music. As a bonus, Calling features a number of prominent Japanese films stars, including Tadanobu Asano as the veteran Takashi Shimura-like samurai.

PBS Short Fest ‘20: The Birth of Afrobeat

You can definitely say jazz drummer Max Roach was influential. He inspired an entire genre of music with one Downbeat article. At least, that is how the late, great Tony Allen explains it—and he should know. He is the one who applied Roach’s lessons playing with Fela Kuti. Allen looks back on the beginning of his career and forward to new projects in Opiyo Okeyo’s all-too-brief short documentary, The Birth of Afrobeat, which is far-and-away the best film streaming as part of the PBS Short Film Festival.

Hopefully, Okeyo extensively recorded Allen, both in performances and interviews, while he had the chance. Sadly, the great drummer passed away on April 30^th, but his legendary powers were not the slightest bit diminished when he performed and recorded with the Chicago Afrobeat Project. Several bandmembers duly express what an honor and thrill it was to collaborate with Allen, but they clearly have some pretty funky chops themselves.

Okeyo and co-cinematographer Michael Gabriele shot the film in black-and-white, which well suits the vibe of Chicago’s gritty and edgy jazz scene. He also incorporates some retro-style animation to illustrate Allen’s Afrobeat creation story. Everything about the film is very cool. The only problem is it is just too short. Allen could easily carry a full-length feature documentary, so hopefully that is what Okeyo ultimately has in mind.

Japan Cuts ’20: Beyond the Night

Folks in this provincial village need a paintball range or some kind of venue for letting off steam. Their anxieties are running high, but being Japanese, they keep it locked inside. Sometimes, it is hard to tell from descriptions whether a film is a proper thriller or a drama. In this case, it is still hard to decide after screening it. Simmering emotions will indeed erupt into violence during the course of Natsuki Nakagawa’s Beyond the Night, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Mikiro Toyama has recently arrived in town, under rather murky circumstances. He is struck by Sotoko Hashida, a woman on his UPS (or whatever) delivery route, who seems to be bullied at work and abused by her husband. Yet, she is decidedly unreceptive to his cautious offers of help. We quickly learn she has a ragingly dysfunctional and codependent relationship with Atsuya Hashida, the underachieving son of a powerful local family. He definitely has sadistic tendencies, but she is not a masochist, per se. Their marriage cannot simply be boiled down to a dominant-submissive relationship. There is something more twisted going on between them.

The Hashidas also seem to share some dark secrets regarding her disappearing family members. In short, it is complicated, but Toyama is not inclined to let things go, even though the last time he developed a savior complex, it apparently did not work out so well. He will look to Sotoko for a cue, but her signals are definitely quite mixed.

The Painted Bird: Adapting Kosinski

For years, Poland’s Communist regime conducted a deliberate and malicious disinformation campaign to discredit novelist and human rights activist Jerzy Kosinski. John Corry exposed The Village Voice’s willingness to do their dirty work in the pages of The New York Times. Today, Kosinski is still widely read, including in Poland where he was once forbidden, but the Voice is no longer in print. To crown his posthumous victory, the Kosinski novel the so disturbed his ideological enemies has now been adapted for the big screen. The language is the relatively new Interslavic, but the spirit and narrative remain faithful to Kosinski. Human cruelty defines the nightmarish vision of Czech director Vaclav Marhoul’s adaptation of The Painted Bird, which releases today in select theaters and on VOD.

A boy has been sent to live with his rustic aunt in the hopes that he will be protected from the war in the countryside. Unfortunately, her untimely death sets in motion a series of disasters that will brutalize his body and spirit. Showing no mercy, villagers violently shun him, in the ignorant superstitious belief that he is a cursed harbinger of misfortune. In some ways, this always turns out to be true, but their moral failings directly contribute to each tragic episode.

From time to time, the boy finds shelter with a sympathetic adult, like Lekh, the bird-keeper, who provides the title, by releasing a bird with painted wings, knowing full well the wild flock would tear it apart. Numerous times, he escapes likely deportation to concentration camps, most notably thanks to the intercession of a kindly (but dying) Catholic priest. He also finds an unlikely protector in the Red Army (making the Communist regime’s antipathy even more perverse). Yet, each encounter inevitably leads to fresh terror.

This is a tough film that initially shocks viewers and soon exhausts them. Nevertheless, there is a purpose behind the horrors and humiliations rained down on the Boy. It is like witnessing literal Hell on Earth, which by definition, never seems to end. Indeed, viewers will feel like they too are staggering through a hostile Hellscape, which is quite an accomplishment for Marhoul.

Stylistically, the dark, immersive intimacy of Painted Bird shares a kinship with the films of Andrei Tarkovsky, Aleksey German and Bela Tarr, but it has a stronger narrative drive. Indeed, it is one horrendous darned thing after another for the Boy. It compares very directly with Elem Klimov’s Come and See, but it makes the Soviet epic look positively upbeat. This is high auteurist cinema that makes no concessions to popular taste, but Vladimir Smutny’s black-and-white cinematography is undeniably arresting.

Japan Cuts ’20: Fukushima 50

Thanks to the fifty brave plant workers, the 2011 Fukushima nuclear emergency was not Chernobyl. It wasn’t Apollo 13 either, thanks to irresponsible behavior of government and utility executives. Nevertheless, the courage and sacrifice of those who stayed behind at the Fukushima Daiichi power station has made them folk heroes. Their story is told in Setsuro Wakamatsu’s Fukushima 50, which screens as the official centerpiece of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Initially, 50 of the 800 Daiichi plant employees stayed, but eventually their ranks swelled to 580, including firefighters and sub-contractors. Fifty is still a nice round number. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. The combined effects of the earthquake and tsunami (the shifting tectonic plates actually lowered the protective sea-barrier) just set off a chain of disastrous events. Of course, site superintendent Masao Yoshida is best qualified to lead the crisis response, but he is constantly micro-managed and second-guessed by Tokyo Electric Power (TEPCO) executives in the capitol, as well as the Prime Minister’s office.

Fortunately, he can rely on the cool head and expert advice of his old colleague, Toshio Isaki, the shift supervisor. He was on-duty in the control room of the most critical reactor. It will also be Isaki who assigns “suicide squads” of veteran employees in a desperate attempt to relieve pressure on the containment facilities and cool the core.

Fukushima 50 is an unabashedly old-fashioned, but immediately gripping ripped-from-the-headlines disaster movie. There are some reasonably impressive catastrophe effects in the first act, but most of the tension comes from the claustrophobic setting and steadily escalating stakes.

Ghosts of War: When War Really is Hell

It is a small French chateau rather than a Romanian castle, but this piece of real estate is not so different from the one in the Michael Mann’s The Keep (based on the F. Paul Wilson novel). Bad things happen there, but unfortunately, it will be American GIs occupying it (with great trepidation) in director-screenwriter Eric Bress’s Ghosts of War, which releases tomorrow on VOD.

After some really nasty fighting, a unit of five American soldiers is ordered to hold a French chateau that was formerly requisitioned by the National Socialist occupiers. It sounds like a cushy mission, since it comes with beds to sleep in, but the men they are relieving are suspiciously eager to leave. Yep, the place is haunted—apparently by the original owners, the Helwig family, who sheltered local Jews. Presumably, the spirits of the Helwigs want their new guests to continue taking the fight to the German, at any and all costs.

Except, there is more to the story. Hello, big twist. Yet, ironically, the film starts to crater once Bress springs his shocking revelation. Up until then, the film is maybe not stunningly original, but it is a rather tense and effective exercise in historical haunted horror. The American GIs are definitely on the rough side of The Dirty Dozen, but viewers can still sympathize with them (especially when we see the really crazy one making kind gestures towards liberated concentration camp prisoners). However, when the film starts showing off its game-changing secret, it also turns against the U.S. military.

Bress’s last directorial turn was The Butterfly Effect from back in 2004 and you can find some thematic affinities between Ghosts and that film down the stretch. Nevertheless, he really should have kept it simpler. The claustrophobic first and second acts work, but all accrued good will eventually goes out the window.

Flannery: A Moral Writer for Our Times

Notoriously, a snobby establishment writer asked distinguished editor Robert Giroux: “do you really think Flannery O’Connor was a great writer? She’s such a Roman Catholic.” It was the sort of tone-deaf comment that reveals more about the speaker than the subject, like Pauline Kael wondering how Nixon won because she didn’t know anyone who voted for him. Of course, O’Connor’s Catholicism thoroughly permeates her work, along with her mordant wit. For those who make a point of being put-off, she is easy not to get. Fortunately, the talking heads mostly get her in Elizabeth Coffman & Mark Bosco S.J.’s documentary, Flannery, which opens virtually tomorrow, in conjunction with Film Forum in New York.

She was a Southern Catholic, which was almost a contradiction in terms during the early to mid-20^th Century. It made her an outsider, yet both very directly shaped her identity. Her life was short, due to lupus, but her work continues to resonate. Wisely, Coffman and Father Bosco frequently let O’Connor speak for herself, through letters and journals read by Mary Steenburgen, her only long lost (until now) television interview, brief animated renderings of her work, and excerpts from film adaptations. Indeed, her filmography is not so inconsequential for someone considered so difficult to translate to the screen, including John Huston’s Wise Blood and a 1957 TV production of “The Life You Save,” starring Gene Kelly.

Her fascination with the grotesque is widely noted and generally approved. Yet, rather frustratingly, the film’s own experts sometimes appear compelled to apologize for O’Connor’s iconoclasm and disdain for pretension. She could skewer the pomposity of Eastern liberals just as ruthlessly as the ridiculous (yet sinister) rituals of the Klan. Even the theater listing hedges with caution, regarding potential hot-button objections.

Frankly, O’Connor is too complex, too bold, and too uncompromising for our current era of Twitter-mandated morality. It is a near miracle she hasn’t already been canceled. The irony is that she wrote with more moral authority than almost any other American writer. However, her stories did not present the easy, virtue-rewarded happy endings, like the kind found in recent Evangelical films. Instead, she presented the messy and uncomfortable truths of faith and grace, somewhat akin to Ferrara’s Bad Lieutenant and Scorsese’s Silence, if we can continue the film comparisons.

Still, it is impressive that Coffman & Bosco set out to profile O’Connor in the current climate. In fact, it is in times like these that we need her writings most. Recommended as a start, but not as the final word, Flannery opens virtually tomorrow (7/17).

Shudder: Lake of Death

Ruminating is unhealthy, especially in horror movies. Don’t dwell on the past or wallow in guilt, because it only invites trouble. Whatever you do, don’t leave the city on veritable guilt trip. For the sake of “closure,” Lilian does exactly that, but she will also be accompanied by a handful of acquaintances, who commit all the other drunken, jealous horror movie taboos. She might just get permanent closure in Nini Bull Robsahm’s Lake of Death, which premieres tomorrow on Shudder.

As orphans, Lillian and her twin brother Bjorn were always close—too close viewers can obviously tell. Last summer, he disappeared after she left, presumed to have drowned in the lake. This is her first time back to process all her grief and guilt. Inexplicably, her ex, Gabriel, has joined her, even though her prospective new man, outdoorsy Kai is a local. In addition, she brought along her pal Sonja, her latest boyfriend Harald, and Bernhard, an annoying paranormal podcaster.

Anyone who really knows their Norwegian cinema and mystery novels will recognize the characters and premise largely parallel that of Andre Bjerke’s novel Lake of the Dead (written under the pen-name Bernhard Borge), adapted for film in 1958. Robsahm modernized the circumstances a bit, turning the crime novelist into a podcaster. However, she kept the legend of Gruvik, the old rustic woodsman, who supposedly murdered his family and then killed himself after falling under the lake’s evil spell.

Perhaps Lake is a much more rewarding viewing experience if you are well versed in the precursors Robsahm is riffing on. Most American horror fans will find it a competent and slickly produced, but rather predictable cabin-by-the-lake movie. Seriously, if you are surprised by the third act revelations than you do not know the genre very well. Nevertheless, there is something satisfying about the atmospheric location and creepy set design. Likewise, real fans will also get a kick out of John Debney’s foreboding score (some of his best recent work).

The Newest Carmilla

Dracula might be slightly more famous, but J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla has also spawned some impressive adaptations, including Carl Dreyer’s silent classic Vampyr, Ben Johnston’s opera, and Hammer’s The Vampire Lovers, with the great Ingrid Pitt playing Carmilla Karnstein. It is also inspired some fairly exploitative takes, because of its Sapphic overtones. There will be neither arias or gratuitous nudity, but there is still very definitely a burgeoning sexuality that will not be repressed in Emily Harris’s Carmilla, which releases virtually this Friday.

Lara Bauer lives a sheltered but lonely existence, as the daughter of a wealthy English continental landowner, with only her puritanical governess, Miss Fontaine, and a handful of domestic servants for company. She is therefore deeply disappointing when the visit from one of her few friends, the daughter of her father’s old comrade, is postponed, due to the girl’s mysterious illness. Shortly thereafter, a freak carriage accident occurs outside the estate grounds. The only survivor is a striking but silent young lady, whom Bauer’s father will host as she recuperates.

So far, so Le Fanu. Naturally, Lara is drawn to their guest, whom she names “Carmilla,” partly out of desire for companionship. However, there seems to be something deeper to her attraction. Fontaine has her suspicions as to what that might be—and it alarms her tremendously. In fact, we are led to deduce the governess was once involved in her own shocking scandal, so she now enforces strict Calvinist propriety with the zeal of a convert.

The atmosphere and period design of Harris’s Carmilla are first class all the way, but none of the departures from Le Fanu’s original narrative are improvements in anyway. In particular, Fontaine’s judgmental intolerance never feels like a product of her character, but rather serves the film’s message instead. Sexual repression is thoroughly baked into Le Fanu’s source novel and just about all adaptation, post-Dreyer, but the fact that Carmilla has left a string of emaciated corpses in her wake and the presumption she is preying on the girls of the neighboring village are what give the story its suspense and urgency. Rather perversely, Harris largely loses sight of the vampirism, rather turning Le Fanu into D.H. Lawrence.

Kaye Ballard: The Show Goes On

Kaye Ballard’s sense of career-timing was either amazing or terrible. It is hard to tell which. She recorded a Fanny Brice tribute before Funny Girl and a Peanuts concept album before You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown. She was fairly famous during her Broadway heyday, but her admirers still think she should have been a much bigger star. Sadly, she did not live to see the release of her documentary, but she maybe didn’t miss that much over the last few months. Regardless, the vocalist-comedienne gets her overdue ovation when Dan Wingate’s documentary Kaye Ballard: The Show Goes On releases virtually this Friday, following special live-streaming premiere screenings today and Wednesday.

Ballard (then billed as “Kaye Ballad”) first came to prominence with the Spike Jones band, so you know she must have had a sense of humor. She gained critical acclaim during the original Broadway run of The Golden Apple, a production that was probably a decade ahead of its time and maybe also overdue for a revival. She had longer runs on Gower Champion’s Carnival in the early 1960s and Joseph Papp’s Broadway Pirates of Penzance. In between, she co-starred on Rogers & Hammerstein’s TV Cinderella and two sitcoms that ran for two seasons: The Mothers-In-Law and The Doris Day Show (on the former she played the wife of Roger C. Carmel, who is probably best known as Harry Mudd, the Star Trek villain).

It is the sort of career that kept her in the public eye during her prime, but did not maintain her in cultural consciousness of Gen Xers and subsequent generations. Perhaps things would have been different if she had been cast in the lead for Funny Girl. Ballard would have been the perfect choice, since she regularly performed a Fanny Brice tribute as part of her nightclub act, after recording an album of Brice songs. Instead, the part went to a mediocre performer, who has been trading off her fame from the show ever since.

Indeed, the career survey that unfolds in Wingate’s film allows us to track where things went right and wrong. Sometimes, Ballard just made the wrong decisions. However, if there is a bad guy in the narrative, it would be Phil Silvers, who was apparently out to undermine her throughout the out-of-town tour for Going Bananas.

It really is fascinating to revisit the pop culture of yesteryear through Ballard’s recollections. She was a regular on Jack Paar and Steve Allen, whom Millennials have probably never heard of. She also helps rehab the image of Perry Como, who turns out to have been quite an encouraging boss for the younger repertory performers on his show, such as Ballard and Sandy Stewart (Bill Charlap’s mother).

Reborn: Mothers & Daughters, Thunder & Lightning

The foundling discovering their true legacy is a triumphant staple of Victorian literature, but it will not work out that way for Tess Stern. For one thing, her mother did not voluntarily abandon her. B-movie actress Lena O’Neill was told her daughter was stillborn. Yet, somehow Stern survived and developed the scary power to control electricity in Julian Richards’ Reborn, which releases today on DVD.

Creepy morgue attendant Ken Stern discovered Tess was still living, even though O’Neill’s callous doctor had cast her aside like rubbish. He brought her home for his mother to raise—and for him to abuse. Somehow, he figured out her uncanny abilities and fashioned her with an inhibitor, but when she slips out, all heck breaks loose. It is a bit problematic screenwriter Michael Mahin makes such a scummy character hearing-impaired, but it provides a handy method for Tess to dispense payback.

Nearly twenty years later, O’Neill is still grieving the daughter she never properly mourned. Prompted by her shrink, she sets out to find her body for closure, only to discover the hospital cannot properly account for it. Meanwhile, Stern starts looking for her too. As their paths start to cross, Stern meets several people who have done wrong towards her mother, but she is much less forgiving. However, the method of their deaths rather baffles Det. Marc Fox, who is also a bit of a casual O’Neill fan.

The basic premise of Reborn is pretty standard stuff, but it is elevated by some nifty performances from genre veterans. Barbara Crampton is absolutely terrific as O’Neill, especially in scenes where we see her channeling her emotions into her craft. She also has some subtly turned chemistry with Michael Paré, who makes Fox a surprisingly thoughtful and mature figure, in what could be his best screen performance in years. As a cool bonus, Monte Markham brings commanding genre authority as O’Neill’s analyst, Dr. Hetch.

Killer Camp, on CW

It is lethal bait and switch. Imagine you signed up for a randy summer camp reality show in the tradition of Meatballs, but discovered it was actually based on Friday the 13^th. That was the big switcheroo pulled on the contestants of this new “reality” show inspired by 1980s American slasher movies. Every week, another camper is “killed” off—we hope and assume the quote marks are appropriate—in Killer Camp, which premieres Thursday night on the CW.

Apparently, the show’s true theme was a genuine shock to the contestants, but they stayed at Camp Pleasant, because TV air-time is still TV air-time. In fact, at least one horror fan is psyched by the turn of events. As host-comedian Bobby Mair explains, the slasher, “Handyman Bruce,” will bump one of them off each episode. The twist is Bruce is only a puppet, telepathically controlled by the real killer, who is masquerading as one of the campers.

Of course, campers are not supposed to sit around waiting to get hacked apart. They will keep busy competing in challenges to earn cash and more importantly, win clues to the killer’s true identity. However, whatever money remains unearned during each game goes into the killer’s pocket, so the mystery guest will be trying to secretly sabotage their efforts.

For genre fans (especially those of us deeply steeped in the films KC is riffing on), the show offers a lot of goofy, guilty-pleasure entertainment. The premise is quite sly and the execution (so to speak) is energetic, albeit mostly in a dopey, meathead kind of way. Frankly, the challenges ought to have more horror elements (at least judging from the first episode), but the look of Handyman Bruce is spot-on. Admittedly, he looks more like the killer from The Town that Dreaded Sundown than Jason Voorhees, but that is cool with us.

Tod Browning’s Mark of the Vampire

We always assumed vampire legends were silly superstitions, but in the age of coronaviruses, it may very well be that an aversion to bats was a survival instinct hard-wired into our DNA. Bela Lugosi and Tod Browning did more than their share to stoke those primordial fears. Four years after the classic Dracula, they returned to the blood-sucking well with Mark of the Vampire, which airs on TCM this Friday.

Sadly, Sir Karell Borotyn dies one fateful night, but the only apparent cause are two small bite marks on his neck. You know what that means. So does the cowardly Dr. Doskil, but Inspector Neumann of the Prague police thinks all the rustic locals’ vampire talk is just a bunch of rubbish, even though the recently deceased Count Mora and his equally dead daughter Luna have been seen prowling around. However, he starts giving the rumors some credence when both Borotyn’s daughter Irena and her fiancé Fedor Vincente suffer similar bite marks. The Van Helsing-like Prof. Zelen confirms their vampire suspicions and starts organizing a defensive campaign (“bat-thorn” instead of wolfsbane).

Mark has a twist that a lot of fans absolutely hate, but it has been ripped off anyway in dozens of subsequent films. It is not nearly as elegant as the original Dracula, but Mark still has plenty of entertaining skulking through graveyards. The great James Wong Howe’s black-and-white cinematography has the classic atmospheric look that made the monster movies of the 1930s and 1940s so darn cool. This was actually a case of Browning remaking himself, but his original silent film, London After Midnight (starring Lon Chaney) is now considered lost.

Obviously, it is shame that we are missing out on Chaney Sr. in a horror setting, but the cast of Mark also includes several legends. Lugosi was probably frustrated by his lack of dialogue, but his scenes with Carroll Borland (playing Luna) are arguably just as iconic as the original Dracula (you can clearly see their influence on Plan 9 from Outer Space, for what that’s worth). Lionel Atwill (who later tried to enforce the law with monsters on the loose as the Inspector in Son of Frankenstein) is rock solid playing the skeptical Neumann.

SFFILM HK Cinema ’20: Still Human

It is a time of blacklists and potential reprisals for Hong Kong artists who support HK’s democratic aspirations and traditional way of life. Anthony Wong Chau-sang has been told he is not on the “official” list, but his job offers from major HK studios still dried up, even before the imposition of the Orwellian “National Security” law. Yet, the world-famous star (who is openly flirting with accepting Taiwanese citizenship) has maintained his high-profile career and artistic integrity in indie films and legit theater. Ironically, he could very well be expressing his progressive values even more now in projects like Oliver Chan Siu-kuen’s Still Human, which screens tomorrow as the opening film of SFFILM’s annual Hong Kong Cinema series.

Leung Cheong-wing is difficult to handle, but it is hard to blame the former construction worker for his bitterness. A freak accident consigned him to a wheelchair, requiring an in-home care-giving (in his tiny “two bed room” flat). The only nurses willing to accept such a gig are from the Philippines, but they never stay long, because of his temper. Evelyn Santos is the latest recruit, but family difficulties back home give her a strong motivation to stay.

Even before the accident, Leung was largely alienated from his family. However, his younger former co-worker Cheung Fai provides a bit of a support network. Initially, Leung is gruffly dismissive of Santos and she tries to play dumb in response, but as anyone who has seen Intouchables or dozens of other films can predict, a rapport starts to grow between them. Soon, the old grouch is even encouraging her dreams of a photography career, sometimes without her even knowing it.

This will probably sound somewhat conventional and predictable to American patrons, but films addressing themes of disability, aging, and immigrant workers (strictly legal in Santos’s case) have considerably more novelty in Hong Kong—and they are likely to get even rarer, given the chilling effect of Beijing’s crackdown on HK liberties. Regardless, Leung is a perfect role for Wong’s talents and sensibilities. Never indulging in mawkish shtick, Wong plays the cranky codger with usual subtlety and complexity. There is a halting, start-stop pace to the development of his relationship with Santos, which gives it credibility.

Egoyan’s Guest of Honour

Jim loved international cuisine, but he was not very Bourdain-like in his adventurousness. In fact, he closed many restaurants as a picky food inspector. His daughter Veronica thought it was an odd choice for a second career, but she did not understand her father, the former restauranteur very well—and vice versa. However, she will start to learn the truth as she prepares for his funeral in Atom Egoyan’s Guest of Honour (note the Canadian “u” in “honour”), which opens virtually today for the New York market.

Initially, neither Father Greg or Veronica understand why Jim requested a memorial service in his church, but he is more than willing to oblige. He asks Veronica to tell him something about her father and hence the film unfolds in flashbacks. It seems she always blamed him for committing an unforgivable sin during her youth, but the circumstances might be more complex than she realized. Tragically, her anger led to her own moral infractions. However, she would be punished for a crime she did not commit: alleged sexual improprieties with members of the high school concert band she formerly led.

Slowly, Egoyan and Father Greg will unravel the truth. The latter is a small but pivotal role, played with unexpected sensitivity by Luke Wilson. In fact, Father Greg is one of the most humanistic and redemptive priests portrayed in English language cinema since who knows what? Of course, titular guest is the center of attention and David Thewlis does some of his best work since the once under-appreciated The Lady (responses to which will now be complicated by subsequent developments in Burma). He is a conflicted and contradictory figure, but Thewlis fully conveys his pathos. Likewise, Laysla De Olivera is equally confounding as Veronica, eliciting sympathy and frustration in equal measure.

Greyhound: Tom Hanks Adapts C.S. Forester

The U.S. Merchant Marine suffered a higher fatality rate than any other American service branch during World War II. German U-boats were the primary reason. They were always deadly, but especially so when hunting American cargo and troop ships in the so-called “Black Pit,” the central Atlantic waters Allied air support could not reach. A veteran Naval officer with no prior combat experience must protect a large convoy during its perilous transatlantic passage in Aaron Schneider’s Greyhound, adapted from C.S. Forester’s The Good Shepherd by its star and screenwriter, Tom Hanks, which premieres today on Apple TV.

Although he is a career officer, Capt. Ernest Krause’s first command is the destroyer USS Keeling—call sign: “Greyhound.” The newly promoted captain is keenly aware several of his junior officers and able-bodied seamen are far-more battle-tested than he is. However, he takes strength from his Christian faith and his love for Evelyn, who would be his fiancée, if times were peaceful.

As soon as the convoy enters the Black Spot, a German U-boat is detected on sonar. Greyhound is sent on a detour to hunt it down, in what will be the first test of Krause’s leadership. Unfortunately, the detour will also deplete Greyhound’s depth charges and fuel. Racing to catch up with the convoy, the Keeling is forced to spearhead the rear-defense when a full “wolfpack” of U-boats suddenly attacks.

It is a shame Sony canceled Greyhound’s theatrical release in response to the CCP-virus and sold it to Apple, because it is a lean, tense war film that still deserves to be seen on a big screen. As a screenwriter, Hanks distills the narrative down to its elemental essence, jettisoning any dead weight melodrama, while retaining a nuts-and-bolts realism. Greyhound could almost serve as a training film for destroyer crews, if the stakes were not so dire.

Granted, we do not really get to know the personality quirks of the crew, but Capt. Krause is not on-board to make friends. He is there to keep them alive and protect the convoy. There is an obvious kinship between Capt. Krause and other celebrated Hanks characters, such as Captain Phillips and most conspicuously Capt. John Miller from Saving Private Ryan. Yet, Krause is particularly compelling, probably for precisely the reasons some snobby critics are rather lukewarm on the film. Hanks never gives himself any flashy Oscar-reel dialogue, but what he shows is the depth of Krause’s Christian belief—it is a faith that manifests itself in humility—something we rarely see in film or society during these hyper-cynical times.

Hanks is quietly powerful as Krause—it really might be some of his best work yet, even though it comes in a combat-driven film. Most of the rest of the ensemble are good soldiers playing good sailors. However, Stephen Graham is memorably salty and flinty as Krause’s first officer, Charlie Cole. Elizabeth Shue only appears briefly in an early flashback as Evelyn, but it is a rather poignant scene, in which she and Hanks express much, while speaking rather little.

The Tobacconist: Bruno Ganz is Sigmund Freud

This film teaches the pleasures of fine cigar, so enjoy it while you can. Coincidentally, it is also about the rise of a totalitarian regime. Coming of age is never easy, but it gets rather perilous for a naïve teen living in Vienna on the eve of the National Socialist takeover. At least he has access to first-rate counsel in Nikolaus Leytner’s The Tobacconist, which releases virtually tomorrow in New York.

When Franz Huchel’s mother suddenly loses the protection of her older lover, she packs him off to Vienna to work in Otto Trsnjek’s tabak. Apparently, they had a fling years ago, during more care-free times. The film openly invites viewers to speculate Trsnjek, the WWI veteran-amputee, may in fact be Huchel’s father, but the thought apparently never crosses the lad’s mind. Nevertheless, Trsnjek becomes a crusty father figure to Huchel, but for problems of the heart, he turns to their celebrated customer, Prof. Sigmund Freud. Remember, he always had a lot to say about cigars.

Huchel has fallen for the Bavarian Anezka, who you could safely say is much more experienced than he. Perhaps even professionally so. That could very well spell considerable heartache for Huchel, but Freud will be the first to explain to him love does not always make sense. Yet, if The Tobacconist sounds something like Il Postino, with Freud replacing Neruda, than keep in mind the rise of Hitler’s regime is equally weighted with Huchel’s personal drama, until the micro is logically and tragically consumed by the macro.

In fact, Trsnjek could be the sort of radical centrist hero the times are calling out for. The tobacconist is openly contemptuous of Communists, but he still lets them patronize his store, whereas National Socialists are not welcome. Obviously, this policy will cause a great deal of strife as the winds shift in favor of demagogues and statists.

Somehow, Leytner and screenwriter Klaus Richter (who adapted Robert Seethaler’s novel) mostly get the balance right. Frankly, their approach is often downright Freudian, especially the interludes depicts Huchel’s increasingly turbulent dreams. Freud’s scenes with young Huchel are saturated with wistful humanism, but they are never cute, trite, or shticky. These are serious life conversations that just happen to be conducted against an ominous historical backdrop.

Parallax: Very Indie SF

Naomi’s grasp on reality is slippery at best, but she would be the first to acknowledge it, so we can’t call her delusional. The question is which reality she intermittently experiences is real and which is a dream? It might be even more complicated than that in director-screenwriter Michael W. Bachochin’s Parallax, which releases this Friday on VOD.

Naomi’s long-suffering fiancé Lucas believes they live in objective reality, where he dutifully takes care of her while she mopes around the house in a state of near catatonia. However, Mikayla, the woman who appears in the fantasy landscapes Naomi visits in her waking dreams, after painting them on her canvases, seems to think otherwise, even though she is less dogmatic about it. Mikayla also acts like she is Naomi’s partner, causing her further confusion. Frankly, the disturbed artist is starting to come unmoored, mentally and emotionally, because her nightmares of drowning are depriving her of sleep.

That is sort of the situation, but of course it is much trickier than that. Bachochin has a big, heady twist to lay on viewers halfway through that really turns the film on its head. Unfortunately, the first half (or so) has major pacing issues. For far too long, viewers will also feel like they are trapped in that house with the monosyllabic Naomi.

Shudder: The Beach House

This film could spur sales of air purifiers, but it certainly does not promote recreational pot use. Careful what you put in your body, because it just might stay in there. It is not immediately clear what those air particulates are, but they look ominously foreboding in Jeffrey A. Brown’s The Beach House, which premieres tomorrow on Shudder.

The Beach House starts slow, but finishes strong. At first, the film seems to be an exercise in social awkwardness, when Randall takes his girlfriend Emily to his father’s vacation home on the exact same weekend Mitch and Jane Turner had arranged to borrow it. The older couple tries to be gracious, but there is tension, because the Mrs. Turner is clearly ailing. Presumably, this will be their last visit to the beachfront property. However, everyone seems to relax when Randall breaks out the edibles (over Emily’s objections), at least for a short spell. Still, the heaviness of the dust or pollen in the air remains an unmistakable ill portent.

It turns out, Brown is revisiting one of the classic horror-sf sub-genres, but it would not be sporting to say which one. One the other hand, it is probably fair to say it will involve a good deal of body horror. Frankly, there are times when Owen Levelle’s hazy and moody cinematography brings to mind Dean Cundey’s lensing of classic early John Carpenter films, like Halloween and The Fog, which is very high praise.

Archive: When Robots Learn to Feel

George Almore’s robots do not always act in accordance with Asimov’s Laws of Robotics, but he didn’t design them to be robotic. His intention was to make them as human as possible. So far, he has been successful in rather awkward ways, but nowhere near enough to accomplish his ultimate goal. He hopes to provide a vessel for his late wife Jules, but the clock is ticking in director-screenwriter Gavin Rothery’s Archive, which releases this Friday on VOD.

It is a couple decades into the future and artificial intelligence is still a work in process. Amore has accepted a position reopening his company’s mothballed facility in frosty northern Japan, because he can also use the facilities for his cutting-edge robotic research. He has a little bit of company in his blocky first two prototypes, J1 and J2, who do not look very human. More importantly, he can also communicate with the “download” of Jules’ consciousness, which has been saved through proprietary technology developed by the Archive company.

The idea is to transfer Jules into a compatible robot host. Unfortunately, it has never been done before and archives degrade quickly, making contact increasingly intermittent, before their inevitable expiration. Legally, he should not be tinkering with another company’s IP, but Almore is well past the point of caring, but he must hide his work from his suspicious boss.

Archive is a smart sf film that takes an intriguing premise and fully develops it during the course of the narrative. It is also visually impressive, thanks to the terrific robot designs and the striking mountain backdrops. Most notably, Rothery’s treatment of the robot characters might be the smartest seen in a feature film since Jake Schreier’s Robot and Frank. There are times when J1 and J2 really deliver an emotional walloping, which is saying something, since they are even boxier than Robbie the Robot, but Rothery earns it.

The War of the Worlds (1953), Criterioned

He is the first Dr. Clayton Forrester—the good one, who led Earth’s response to the Martian invasion. In the first great alien invasion movie of the 1950s, Nyby & Hawks’ The Thing from Another World, the fighting spirit of the American military is enough to overcome our unwelcome visitor. In the first and still best film adaptation of H.G. Wells’ classic novel, mankind displays ingenuity, courage, and compassion, but it will not be enough. Still one of the most influential SF films of all time, Byron Haskin’s Oscar-winning, George Pal-produced 1953 The War of the Worlds releases today in a fancy Criterion Collection edition (which includes Orson Welles notorious radio broadcast).

This War has not one, but two prologues: one is a rousing March of Time-style newsreel, followed by a montage of Chesley Bonestell’s astronomical art that wonderfully evokes the mysterious vastness of our galaxy (as we then understood it), as well as explaining why the Martians chose our planet to conquer. Then a strange meteor crashes somewhere along the Southern California coast, not far from where Dr. Forrester and his colleagues have been camping.

Of course, that was no meteor—it was the first ship of the Martian armada in disguise. Forrester stays in town to examine the surprisingly radioactive space rock once it cools, but he won’t get the chance. At least he spends a pleasant evening with the locals, including USC library of science instructor Sylvia Van Buren and her uncle, Pastor Matthew Collins. Unfortunately, the Martians start zapping people and power grids during the square dance—and the devastation spreads exponentially as more ships land.

Arguably, Haskin & Pal’s War represents the best use of color in a genre film certainly during the 1950s, but perhaps of all time. The special effects won an Oscar and they continue to shape our visual image of Wells’ alien invasion tale. Like Orson Welles’ radio play and Spielberg’s mediocre remake, Barre Lyndon’s screenplay updates the story to its time of production, but it also departs from Wells’ original in a way that is decidedly for the better. The novel’s knee-jerk hostility to religion is gone, replaced by Lewis Martin’s sympathetic, heroic, and ultimately poignant portrayal of Pastor Collins. Since this is a review for hyperbole, let’s go ahead and say it could be the greatest supporting performance in a science fiction film.

Volition: Deja Vu, but Different

The issue of free will versus predestination is usually the realm of philosophers and theologians, but it holds pressing real-world implications for a low life with the ability to foresee the future. He never seems to have the power to change anything, so he has largely given up on life. However, things suddenly start to change, but not necessarily for the better, when he gets involved with a diamond caper in Tony Dean Smith’s Volition, which releases on VOD platforms this Friday.

James lives in a perpetual state of déjà vu. He can foresee bits and pieces, but he is constantly trying to assemble the full picture. He mostly lives off petty scams, but he accepts an offer from a small-time gangster hip to his talents to fence a consignment of blood diamonds. However, two henchmen (one being the working-class godfather’s brother-in-law), try to make a play for the stones, leaving James holding the bag. That was the idea, but nothing goes exactly as planned.

Volition starts out feeling like it comes out of a Twilight Zone bag, but its big, landscape-altering game-changer places it firmly in science fiction territory. It would probably be telling to reveal just what is truly afoot, but Smith and co-screenwriter-co-producer-brother Ryan W. Smith do it as well as the best films in the subgenre.

Adrian Glynn McMorran plays James as an unusually dissolute and grungy sf protagonist. He is a hard character to love, but the audience comes to sympathize with him, as we come to learn his full back-story. McMorran also has decent chemistry with Magda Apanowicz, portraying the woman he gets involved with at really the worst time possible. However, arguably the most intriguing and humanly conflicted performance is that of Bill Marchant, as Elliot, the foster-father who knows James’ secrets better than he does.

The Bat (1959), a Sentimental Favorite, Starring Vincent Price

Cornelia Van Gorder is mystery-solving mystery novelist, much like Jessica Fletcher, but she is tougher and tarter. She started out as Rachel Innes, the heroine of Mary Roberts Rinehart’s novel, The Circular Staircase, but morphed into the less sentimental character of the Broadway adaptations, titled The Bat. The original West End run featured Claude Rains, so it must have been spooky. Rinehart subsequently released a novelization ghost-written by Stephen Vincent Benet to differentiate the divergent properties. However, we are more interested in Vincent Price, who co-starred third official feature film adaptation. The dastardly villain is on the prowl, much to Miss Van Gorder’s annoyance in Crane Wilbur’s The Bat, which airs this Wednesday on TCM—and is easily findable online, having fallen into public domain.

Miss Van Gorder and her comic relief maid Lizzie Allen have rented the country home of local bank president, John Fleming, but they have trouble hiring domestic help. Evidently, the property has a bad reputation. It does not help when Fleming dies in a supposed hunting accident. Actually, it was Dr. Malcolm Wells who killed, in hopes of stealing the million bucks Fleming embezzled. Of course, he has an advantage, since he also serves as the medical examiner.

So, is Dr. Wells the notorious Bat—the faceless mad man, who has terrorized the town? He is obviously a leading suspect, along with Warner, Van Gorder’s arrogant chauffeur-turned-butler and Lt. Andy Anderson, who always seems to arrive on the scene just in the nick of too late. Whoever he is, the Bat keeps skulking around the Fleming house, in search of the missing money.

Admittedly, The Bat is not a great movie, nor is it very scary, but it is fun, in a nostalgic, Scooby-Do kind of way. It also moves along quite briskly, thanks Louis Forbes’ jaunty and brassy score, featuring jazz-exotica guitarist Alvino Rey. Wilbur certainly understood the material, since he wrote a knock-off play titled The Monster.

Filmfest DC ’20: We Have Boots

Today is Independence Day for the United States. Wednesday was the opposite for Hong Kong. 7.5 million Hong Kongers lost their freedom and the Hong Kong Special Autonomous Region (SAR) lost its autonomy when the CCP imposed the so-called “National Security” Law, in clear violation of the “One China Two Systems” (1C2S) arrangement. This did not just happen out of nowhere. It is the culmination of a concerted program to violate and undermine the legally-binding Sino-British Joint Declaration. Evans Chan provides the full historical background in the tragically timely We Have Boots, which streams for free through Monday, courtesy of this year’s Filmfest DC.

As soon as Britain and the CCP started negotiating terms of the 1997 transfer, many Hong Kongers (justifiably) feared the worst was inevitable. HK activists were already protesting CCP human rights violations, but Chan identifies the demonstrations in support of imprisoned Chinese Nobel laureate Liu Xiaobo as a watershed moment. Student activism came to the fore in opposition of the proposed new educational curriculum that was naked CCP political propaganda. That movement was a direct precursor to the 2014 Umbrella Movement (unsuccessfully demanding true universal suffrage, rather than Potemkin elections featuring the CCP’s hand-picked candidates), which in turn spawned the 2019 mass protests against the Extradition Bill.

In short, things have been getting steadily worse and markedly less free in Hong Kong for over ten years. Chan provides context that is often missing from the U.S. media’s superficial coverage. At various times, he establishes the schism between the scrupulously non-violent moderates and the more radical extremes, as well as the split between the 1C2S majority and the genuine pro-independence minority (which is small, but growing, perversely thanks to the thuggish behavior of the HK cops and Beijing’s enforcers).

We Have Boots is not the most elegantly constructed documentary you will see, but Chan marshals a great deal of information to give viewers a comprehensive grounding in the events leading up to where Hong Kong is today. He also clearly establishes the dangers activists face, including the infamous state-sponsored kidnapping of the Causeway booksellers and the rash of mysterious suicides among democracy activists. There are moments that are simply Orwellian, as when activists are charged with “inciting to incite rioting.”

Kore-eda’s The Truth

Fabienne Dangeville was no Joan Crawford, but she wasn’t the paragon of maternal virtue her new memoir makes her out to be. Instead, she has always been more interested in career than anything else. That is how her daughter Lumir remembers their family history, but her memory is also subjective. No matter whose recollections are more accurate, family is still family in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s The Truth, the first French-language production from the Japanese auteur, which opens today in very select cities and also releases on VOD.

Lumir has returned to Paris with her TV actor husband Hank and their daughter Charlotte, to celebrate the publication of her mother’s book, but Dangeville’s reluctance to send her an advance copy has aroused her suspicions. Meanwhile, the great actress struggles to relate to her latest film role, playing the aged daughter of a terminally-ill woman, who has used the relativity of interstellar space travel to stretch her time, but as a result, she has been almost entirely from her husband and daughter’s lives. Frankly, she only accepted the part to work with Manon Lenoir, the daughter of a former friend and colleague, whom she may have done wrong, at least according to Lumir.

If that premise sounds familiar, it is because associate producer Ken Liu’s story “Memories of My Mother” was previously adapted as the short film Beautiful Dreamer before becoming the source of Kore-eda’s film-within-the-film. It is quite a unique distinction for Liu among his fellow sf writers, but it is easy to see how the themes of his story overlap with those of Kore-eda’s family drama (and his entire oeuvre).

Of course, patrons of French cinema will be much more interested in the first-time pairing of Catherine Deneuve and Juliette Binoche as the mother-daughter tandem. They will not be disappointed. Admittedly, Deneuve is playing with her own image to some extent, but her grand diva act is certainly entertaining to behold. She also has some terrific scenes with young Clementine Grenier, as her granddaughter. However, Binoche is totally believable as the down-to-earth Lumir, who nurtures her resentments without wallowing in them. She plays Lumir as a functional adult rather than an over-the-top cliché. (Thank heavens, Meryl Streep is not in this film.)

Shudder: Metamorphosis

Catholic exorcists and Jedi masters agree anger is a singularly dangerous emotion that can make you prey for dark forces. Instead of anger, it is inexperience and self-doubt that plague Father Joong-soo. Unfortunately, his problems will become his resentful family’s problems after an exorcism goes horribly wrong in Kim Hong-sun’s Metamorphosis, which premieres today on Shudder.

The negative press surrounding Joong-soo’s failed exorcism during the prologue was so bad, it forced his brother Gang-goo to relocate his family. However, the worst part for the priest was the death of the possessed girl, right after the demon used her tongue to threaten his family. They do not want anything to do with him (except his young nephew) and he wants to keep his distance from just about everyone. Yet, when the demon starts terrorizing them in the guise of other family members, they are forced to turn to humble Uncle Joong-soo. Of course, he does not believe he can face the evil entity on his own, so he calls in his mentor from the exorcising hotspot of the Philippines.

K-horror has a knack for doing demonic possession, perhaps because Catholicism is widely practiced and also resented across South Korea, so it taps into some deeply held anxieties. Metamorphosis is nearly as scary as The Divine Fury and The Priests, but it arguably takes even darker and more disturbing turns. Kim shows no mercy towards Joong-soo and his family, so brace yourself.

Denise Ho: Becoming the Song—and the Voice of Hong Kongers

It is hard to hold back the tears watching Cantopop idol Denise Ho and her fellow democracy activists in this film. Not just because they are inspiring—although that is certainly true—but because the sense of hope it documents was dealt such a harsh setback yesterday. As of today, 7.5 million Hong Kongers are no longer free and we let it happen, because we are more preoccupied with Trump’s tweets and our own grievances. Democracy died not in darkness, but the plain daylight of our disinterest. Viewers get a sense of the Hong Kong that was potentially lost in Sue Williams’ Denise Ho: Becoming the Song, which opens virtually today.

Denise Ho is everything the media usually celebrates. She is an immigrant, who moved to Canada with her family in the late 1980s, only to return to Hong Kong, to pursue a career in music. She was the protégé of Anita Mui, who was widely dubbed the HK Madonna for her sexually empowering stage persona. Ho also became the second notable Cantopop celebrity to come out of the closet, following the example of her close friend, Anthony Wong Yiu-ming. So, what was it about the Lesbian artist that was so incompatible with the values of Western corporations like Lancome that they dropped their sponsorship deals? She joined the 2014 Umbrella protests for greater democratic governance in Hong Kong.

Filming in the wake of the 2019 Extradition protests, Williams follows Ho as she takes a more DIY approach to touring. The star who used to perform in stadiums across Mainland China now books smaller, more intimate clubs in Hong Kong and around the world, for the HK diaspora. Of course, for Ho the money is not important. If anything, she has forged a closer connection with her fans.