My Top Film Scores of 2018

            Now that we’ve taken care of the year’s worst, it’s time to get POSITIVE!  My overall Top Ten List will definitely be out by the end of the month, but before then, we return to one of my favorite topics in the world; music. 

            Music has always been crucial to the world of film, so when a film has a rocking score underneath it all, it makes the experience all the more sublime and enjoyable.  I am no expert in either music or sound design, so I can’t offer the most detailed and in-depth examination of these films.  I just know that these are the ones where I noticed and was affected by the music the most. 

8- Isle of Dogs (Alexandre Desplat)

            Isle of Dogs is by no means top-notch Wes Anderson, especially since the setting makes it a bit harder to ignore the more…racially-challenged…aspects of his filmmaking.  Despite its flaws, though, I couldn’t help but enjoy it, and a big part of that was an effectively thematic score by Alexandre Desplat, who has done a lot of great work for Wes Anderson before and continues his track record here. 

7- Das Schweigende Klassenzimmer (Christoph Kaiser and Julian Maas)

            A German film about the true story of a class of students in East Germany that, early in the Cold War, found out the hard way how easily authoritarian governments can misinterpret and twist the most innocent of actions into a conspiracy in need of harsh treatment.  The mixed use of the main theme touches on this repeatedly, starting as a soft, sweet melody that keeps sinking into a minor key to offer whispers and hints of the pains and torments to come.   

6- A Star Is Born (Bradley Cooper, Lady Gaga, and a host of collaborators)

            I do knock this film a lot- and no matter what, I stand by my assertion that it has zero business being anywhere near awards for Best Picture, Director, Actor, and Screenplay, as sadly inevitable as those nominations likely are- but I will admit, there is a lot of good stuff in it.  Chief among them being, of course, the music.  Original soundtracks, as opposed to just original scores, came back in a big way this year, with a number of Lady Gaga's collaborated works for this movie leading the pack.  "Shallows" and "Always Remember Us This Way" are genuine powerhouses, and I even found myself really digging "Maybe It's Time."  Maybe I'd like Bradley Cooper better if he stuck to making country-rock albums.  I'm not nearly as high on "I'll Never Love Again," but it serves its purpose as the closing anthem.  For my money, these songs deserve to be remembered, even if most of the rest of film around them doesn't.

5- Searching (Torin Borrowdale)

            The opening of Up is so perfect, so profound, and became so instantly iconic, it's easy to forget that the film isn’t even a full decade old.  Since then there have been plenty of attempts, both serious and comical, to get that particular lightning to strike twice, but for my money no film has come as close as Searching. 

            In terms of substance, the opening sequence of the film almost entirely apes Up, insofar as we are treated to a tableau of videos and images that tell the story of a growing, loving family, until tragedy forever alters their lives, set to a relentlessly emotional and catchy theme track.  What makes Searching stand out, though, is that it solely uses screens- mostly a single laptop, though a few other phones, tablets, and TVs are thrown in on occasion- to tell a complete narrative.  The opening sequence uses this to serve as a fascinatingly effective nostalgia-trip through the (so far) brief history of user interfaces that everyone’s used. 

            As great as that opening is, though, the rest of the score is just as excellent, utilizing rhythm and sound combinations to create the pulsing climate fear, apprehension, and uncertainty that dogs John Cho as a father searching for his missing daughter using any means available.  Every track is worth a listen. 

4- Werk Ohne Autor (Max Richter)

            Max Richter has, so far, not gotten nearly enough attention as a film composer as he deserves- his work on Waltz with Bashir ranks as one of the best original scores of the century to date- and I can't help but feel that a part of that lies in the fact that he tends to work on independent and foreign-language films, meaning that way, way too many in the English-speaking world simply don't know that he exist.  Which is a crying shame, because in von Donnersmarck’s massive historical drama, he turns in some of his best work yet, including a main theme that somehow manages to pack all the wonder, all the magic, and all the awe of the creative process into just a few short minutes.  It touches that deep, subconscious part of the human soul driven to creativity that can never be fully conveyed with words to others; like this music, it can only be experienced, deeply, personally, and profoundly.  

3- Annihilation (Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow)

            Alex Garland followed up Ex Machina in a big way with Annihilation, the thought-provoking, endlessly fascinating sci-fi movie no one saw, and Salisbury and Barrow came back as well with another score precisely tuned to enhance each and every scene of the movie.  The culmination of both the film and score in the final sequence of events at the lighthouse was, for me, one of the most visually and audibly arresting moments I experience all year; it’s still stuck in my head. 

2- Black Panther (Ludwig Görransson)

            Black Panther is one of the year’s most monumental cinematic achievements, and the film’s score is a huge part of that, creating its own auditory journey to match T’Challa’s.  Listen though it and hear how the main themes repeat and alter according to the rises and falls of the fortunes of our heroes.  Hear the sheer celebratory joy in Baaba Maal’s voice in one of the opening tracks when the ship returns home, and the world is introduced to Wakanda for the very first time.  Note the threatening, sinister undertones in Killmonger’s theme.  The variations in the music are every bit as colorful and lush as the film’s color pallet. 

            There’s so much here to pick out and enjoy, but my personal favorite has to be Okoye’s theme during her fight scenes in the casino and during the final clash; it’s fitting that one of the film’s standout women would get her own kickass theme to boot.  The fact that even side characters get their own parts of the music is just one of many testaments to the film’s amazing attention to detail.  Not to mention that there is an entire supplemental soundtrack led by Kendrick Lamar; although only part of that is in the film itself, it is a great hip-hop album and works as a perfect companion piece to the movie. 

1- Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Daniel Pemberton)

            And finally, we’re here; Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, my absolute favorite score AND soundtrack of the year. 

            Brought to us by relative newcomer Daniel Pemberton, this score jumps right out with an opening that sets the vibe for the loud, colorful, and vibrantly fun adventure we’re about to experience.  That opening track is followed by “Visions Brooklyn 1, 2, 3,” easily the single catchiest track I’ve heard all year.  And it’s all uphill from there.  Though Kingpin is the main villain, for reasons I won’t spoil here it’s fitting that the Prowler gets an especially threatening theme of his own, a real pulse-pounder that forced me to the edge of my seat during my first viewing. 

            Like Black Panther, this film also has a companion soundtrack, but one that’s used to much better effect within the film itself.  Post Malone’s “Sunflower” is central to our introduction to Miles; the song is a clear favorite of his, one he sings along to with gusto, but doesn’t quite know the words to.  It’s a perfect example of how attention to such small, real details can take an already-great film and elevate to the level of a genuine masterpiece of filmmaking. 

            “Elevate” also deserves mention, as it is the perfect sendoff for the film as the credits start to roll.  My top prize for Best Song Use, though, is “What’s Up, Danger,” the downbeat of which basically functions as the film’s final mic drop.  It is in that moment that Miles takes control of his powers, set to a sequence of stunning visual beauty. 

            In short, Spider-Man was one of the year’s best films in no small part because it boasted the best music of them all.  So…what’s up, 2019?  Whatcha got? 

-Noah Franc

The Top 5 Worst Films (I Happened to See) of 2018

            The biggest frustration for amateur film critics like me is that, since doing reviews is just a side project for us as opposed to an actual paying job, we lack the access or means to see many of a given year's releases quickly enough to write about them.  We don't get invitations or special access to film festivals, and even with general releases, most of us don't have the income or time to afford to go out and see EVERY movie. 

            As a result, I have to be pretty ruthless in choosing which films to see or not see.  Much of the time, this is extremely aggravating. However, over the years I've come to appreciate a hidden side benefit from this; unlike most professional critics, who are obligated by either their affiliated publication/website or financial necessity to see every (or nearly every) major film that comes out each year and review them, be it good, bad, or ugly, I have the luxury of saving my time and money for the films that I am at least reasonably sure I will like. 

            This means that, no matter how many movies I see before making my year-end lists, most movies I've seen I find good, or at least not offensively bad.  Sure, a few stinkers always sneak by my sensors, and every so often I'll join in watching a particular bomb for the fun of it (like, say, every David Russell movie since The Fighter), but there have never been enough red marks on my film lists to justify making a whole "Worst of" listicle like a lot of other critics.  If it’s getting panned, I just won’t bother to go see it. 

            Until this year, that is. 

            Yes, it's finally happened.  This was the year I happened to see enough that bothered me to actually make a list, and here it is.  Keep in mind, though, that the overwhelming majority of what I saw this year was still fine, and at least most of the consensus "worst" of the year stuff I was still able to avoid, so this list carries the qualifier of being the worst movies of 2018....that I just happened to see.  Have one not on this list?  Well, too bad, because I assure you I will never see it.  Life's too short, even if these movies aren't. 

5. Happy as Lazzaro (Alice Rohrwacher)

            Yes, I know this film got rave reviews out of Cannes, and has continued to garner rave reviews as it’s made the festival circuit.  And you know what?  I don’t get it.  I really don’t. 

            I found this film insufferably boring.  Its premise is solid and the first half was properly atmospheric; there is certainly nothing to be said against the film’s cinematography.  Sadly, the further and further the film receded into itself after its big halfway twist, the more and more frustrated I grew with how satisfied the film was to wave its “Symboliiiiiiiiiiiiiism” in my face in lieu of actually doing something with its premise, or to develop its “message” beyond “Inequality Bad, Innocence Good, Fuck the Banks.”  There were a solid half-dozen points where the film could have ended with at least some of my goodwill intact, but instead it just.  Kept.  Going.  And.  Going.  And by the time it finally, mercifully ended, I wished I, too, could turn into a wolf and disappear into the Italian hillside. 

4. Hold the Dark (Jeremy Saulnier)

           

            Why, hello there, Alexander Skarsgard.  Fancy seeing you here. 

            While the latest from Saulnier is certainly a nice-looking film, set within the backdrop of stunning Alaskan wilderness, the characters and screenplay just don’t measure up.  If anything, the gorgeous scenery just hammers in all the harder how far the story falls in justifying the setting.  What is supposed to be a tense, psychological thriller about a way-out-of-his-depth wilderness expert pulled into the drama of a rural, desperately poor native community turns into a drag run though how the town’s (apparently) lone white dude butchers natives and cops alike.  The absolute nadir of the entire process is a massive shootout sequence in the second act that, cinematically, is certainly well-made, but narratively serves no purpose and is such a massively jarring experience that the film never really recovers.  

            There are some well-enough performances around the edges- Jeffrey Wright as the wilderness expert and James Dale as the local police chief deserve mention- but Skarsgard is just plain terrible in the leading role, staring and skulking and daring anyone nearby to try and make him emote, and then horribly murdering those who do, all without breaking a sweat.  He’s proven himself to be a perfectly charismatic actor in other roles, so I can’t begin to imagine what sort of drugs he took to so completely repress it here.  I literally couldn’t believe that the film ended when it did, because I did not want to think it was going to stop on such an obviously contrived note, but given how padded the run time was already, it’s probably better that it did. 

**for a more complete version of my thoughts on this movie, check out our Cinema Joes episode on it**

3. Mute (Duncan Jones)

            Why, hello there, Alexander, Skarsgard.  Fancy seeing you here.  Again. 

            Yes, sadly, it was not the best of years for the son of one of Sweden’s finest.  Yet another Netflix original starring Skarsgard, this one was directed by Duncan Jones, whose 2009 film Moon is (rightfully) considered one of the best original sci-fi films to come out in the past decade.  Alas, this movie is not Moon, not even close; if Roma was Netflix’s Citizen Kane of 2018, Mute was its Batman v Superman, a project so poorly conceived and executed that it may never have been salvageable in the first place. 

            Again, much like with Hold the Dark, a lot of what doesn’t work centers around our Scandinavian lead.  Here, though, instead of playing a silent, stone-faced Alaskan wandering aimlessly through the film as the body count behind him piles up, he plays….a silent, stone-faced German Amish man wandering aimlessly through the film as the body count behind him piles up.  Huh.  Type-cast, much, Netflix? 

            I must be fair, though; Skarsgard bears a far lower proportion of the burden for this film failing, because so much else going on around him is just as bad.  There are reasons, after all- many, many reasons- why this film is higher up on this list than Hold the Dark.  Paul Rudd and Justin Theroux team up as a duo of villains clearly modeled on Hawkeye and Trapper from M.A.S.H., but with none of the wit and charm that made that show one of the staples of my childhood.  Given how Paul Rudd has done such a good job of establishing himself as a solidly funny and charismatic lead in the Ant-Man movies, it almost feels like Jones made it his personal goal to roll every bit of that back within the span of one movie.  Rudd’s trying so hard to be a big, scary, violent criminal, but oh baby, does it not work. 

            The film is riddled with terrible CGI, and of all the Blade Runner wannabes that have been made so far, this one is one of the most naked in its desire and the most depressing in its failure to live to up to its obvious inspiration.  The world-building is terrible, and the story has more loose threads than a rotting carpet, with character and narrative leads that are picked up and dropped seemingly at random.  All of this culminates in a climax so bewilderingly nonsensical, it would take home my condemnation as the year’s worst finale if it weren’t for a certain other film on this list.  Speaking of which….

**for a more complete version of my thoughts on this movie, check out our Cinema Joes episode on it**

2. Bamy (Jun Tanaka)

            It's been over half a year, and I'm still not convinced I didn't dream this sucker up in the midst of a massive mental fit.  Nor have I made any progress in determining whether or not this "horror" flick is, in fact, supposed to be satire.  As it stands, this remains one of the most baffling film experiences I have had in a long time, but at least, while viewing it, my sense of rage eventually morphed into a perverse determination to have fun with...whatever it was I was watching.  And thank God too, because the film's big third-act, supernatural bonanza actually managed to top Mute in being the most terrible and wholly unintelligible series of events I saw in a film this year, bar none.  If I hadn't found my spiritual Zen state by then, I would have hurt one of the people sitting next to me, and simply I can't go back to jail. 

            While nearly every choice in the casting, acting, writing, and effects departments are comically bad, the one that still stands out in my head is a scene where the main couple is arguing with each other from across a road.  That in and itself was bizarre, and the fight made no sense; for a couple ostensibly so in love they are ready to marry, there is not one second in the entire film where they create any sort of chemistry. But on top of that, for some reason the entire color scheme is completely washed out, as if a hapless intern had spilled a cup of bleach on the screen.  All the details blur, and I almost started rubbing my eyes to see if it was me.  But no, it wasn't; the color was just totally drained from the shot, until it suddenly all comes pouring back at the very end. 

            Why?  WHY?  It was by no means the most grating of the film's many flaws, but it may have been the most senseless of them in a film filled with utter nonsense, and for my sins I shall never be allowed to forget it.

1. Charming (Ross Venokur)

            You could be forgiven for assuming that the tired genre of the Disney Princess knock-off ended over a decade ago with the combined release of Shrek 2, the absolute peak of the Disney-knockoff-as-parody, and Enchanted, Disney's own dip into the pool.  Once the object of parody has started parodying the parodies of itself, there's nowhere left to go.  We've done the 360, and are back where we started.  Right?  Right. 

            Well, turns out you’d be wrong!  For lo and behold, in the year of our Lord 2018, Netflix started distributing Charming, a Canadian-American production that is, without a doubt, the cheapest, laziest, most paint-by-numbers Shrek wannabe I have ever seen.  Every single thing about the film- the songs, the characters, the dialogue, the droll plodding of the story from each painfully obvious beat to the next- is done in a manner so cold, calculating, and utterly without passion that I could almost feel my apartment lights dim as the film dragged on.  The only point I could ever give in the film's favor is that it cares so little, it doesn't even bother padding itself out; the whole affair barely scrapes over the hour-and-a-quarter mark.  It is one of the worst-looking animated films I've seen in ages; it's as if like very, very, VERY early test animation for the first Shrek film became sentient after sitting in the Dreamwork vaults for two decades, and resolved to haunt my nightmares forevermore.  Not one punch line lands, not one word uttered or sung is believable, and not one design has anything remotely approaching original, human thought in it. 

            It's bad enough that the film is a failed knock-off of knocked-off Disney knock-offs, but my horrified fascination with the film got kicked up a notch when I double-checked the cast, unsettled by how familiar some of the voices were....and promptly had to pick the pieces of my shattered jaw off the floor.  I mean, calling this burnt gumbo pot of a cast list bizarre is putting it mildly.  The three "classic" princesses are collectively voiced by G.E.M., Avril Lavigne, and Ashley Tisdale from High School Musical.  Demi Lovato is the female lead.  The male lead is...hang on, Wilder Valderrama??  FEZ AS PRINCE CHARMING????  You gotta be kidding me. 

            Oh, but it doesn't stop there!  The villain is voiced by Nia Vardalos, last seen in *checks IMDB*, um, My Big Fat Greek Wedding.  Sia cameos as a minor side antagonist.  Let's see, and then there's....wait, John Cleese?  JOHN?  How does That 70's Show, High School Musical, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Sia, Monty Python, and the last remnants of early-2000 teen pop end up in the same movie?  Well, I guess we know now what happens to Disney actors after the Mouse has decided it’s done weith them.  And by God, is it ugly.  Which means...quick!  Someone grab Lin-Manuel Miranda while there’s still time! 

-Noah Franc

Review- Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018): Written by Phil Lord and Rodney Rothman, directed by Rodney Rothman, Peter Ramsey, and Bob Persichetti.  Starring: Shameik Moore, Jake Johnson, Hailee Steinfeld, Chris Pine, Mahershala Ali, Brian Tyree Henry, Lily Tomlin, Live Schreiber, Luna Lauren Velez, John Mulaney, and the one, the only, Nicolas Cage.  Running Time: 117 minutes.  Based on the comics created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko. 

Rating: 4/4

            It stands to figure that 2018, a year filled with the unexpected in just about every walk of life, would have one more shocker for us up its sleeve.  In the midst of a particularly packed awards season crush- including releases from the Coen Brothers, Damien Chazelle, Steve McQueen, Alfonso Cuaron, Barry Jenkins, and even freaking Orson Welles- the team that brought us The Lego Movie managed to sneak into theaters with a new Spider-Man movie.  And not just any old Spider-Man movie; after years of mediocrity dogging this particular franchise, they hit us with what is not only the best animated movie of the year, but one of the best movies of the year period, easily the best Spider-Man film since Spider-Man 2, and quite possibly the only movie that could potentially unseat Black Panther for the mantel of the year’s most meaningful superhero hit. 

            Let’s go back and start at the beginning, though.  This is the story of Miles Morales, a  teenager living in Brooklyn just trying to get by with school, family, and life.  From the start, we know this is a world where a Peter Parker Spider-Man already exists, and apparently has for some time.  Miles doesn't address that fact much, since his Dad is a cop who doesn’t approve of vigilantism, but as it is, a world of adventure, danger, and saving people seems pretty far from his mind.  Until, that is, a series of unusual events- including, of course, a radioactive spider-bite- turn his world upside down, and he finds himself developing powers he doesn’t understand. 

            After he happens to be present for a freak experiment by the main villain, Kingpin, that tears open a rift between dimensions and kills the “original” Spider-Man, he finds himself carrying the burden of the Spider-Man mantle on his own, wanting to avenge Parker and stop Kingpin, but with no idea how to go about it and whom he can trust with his secret. 

            And that’s…right about where my plot summation will have to stop, because this is where the many surprise twists and turns the film has up its sleeve start to hit hard and fast, and I already worry I’ve given away too much of the game by describing the opening, brief as it is.  Much like The Lego Movie before it, this is a film that thrives on subverting expectations in pretty amazing ways even while the broad arches of the story closely adhere to the classical Hero’s Journey narrative.  Also like The Lego Movie, it uses a truly unique and staggeringly beautiful animated style to convey both the beauty and strangeness of its world, riding its capacity for visual panache for all its worth. 

            The movie deliberately creates a “textured” look to its images, covering mono-color surfaces with dots to make it look like your old comics sprang to life and jumped onto the screen.  There is literally nothing else like it, at least not that I’ve seen, and Sony Animation is already trying to patent the technique.  This is the most perfect marriage of cinematic form to the classical American comics style yet to hit the big screen, and that in itself may end up being just as impactful long-term as the fact that this is also the first Spider-Man movie to feature a non-white Spider-Man.

            The “comic book” effect is enhanced by the added use of print-style thought bubbles for Miles once he starts developing his powers.  Not only does this give his moments of internal monologue a striking visual flair that is hard to pull off in any medium, it also lets the filmmakers use even these pieces of the film to further break the fourth wall and provide color commentary on Miles’ emotional state at a given moment.  They are also used to create some of the film’s funniest punchlines. 

            Oh yeah, I haven’t yet mentioned; this movie is freaking hilarious, with a sense of self-awareness and humor that most other comic book movies (and, hell, even a lot of today’s “comedies”) try and fail to attain.  But then, what else could you possibly expect from Phil Lord and Christopher Miller?  There is quite a lot of Ryan Reynolds’ Deadpool in how the older Spider-Man (Jake Johnson) mixes his innate desire to do good with a brisk tongue-in-cheekness, and a little pessimistic streak to boot (minus, you know, the profuse swearing and dick jokes).  No other film this year made me laugh as openly, loudly, and often in a movie theater as this one did.  On that note, to the people who sat next to me in the theater, should you ever read this; I’m so, so sorry. 

            What makes it an all-time great, though, is how far the film succeeds in going beyond being just chuckles and pretty visuals.  The broad story is, essentially, the Hero’s Journey, but like Black Panther, it does it about as perfectly as possible, with a thoroughly believable, sympathetic, and enjoyable main character surrounded by a dynamite cast, none of whom are weak links.  Thanks to Shameik Moore, Miles Morales has finally reached the popular consciousness in a big way.  The same goes for Hailee Steinfeld as Gwen Stacy, a character who has already made such an impact that she is likely to get her own spinoff.  Mahershala Ali as Miles’ uncle and Bryan Tyree Henry as his police-officer father round out the dynamics of the movie in important ways too. 

            In fact, the relationship between Miles and his Dad deserves special mention.  As satisfying and enjoyable as the development of Miles and Gwen’s rapport was, I found his complex, and all too real, interactions with his loving-yet-demanding father to be the movie’s true beating heart.  Neither of Miles’ parents are dead, or absent, or deadbeat; both are present and loving, and Miles knows this deep enough to appreciate it.  Even still, life as a teen is rough, and as he mixes regular teenage angst with the travails of being a hero pursued by a murderous mob boss, it’s no wonder he can’t bring himself to open up to his parents.  Like everything else in the movie, the way this is handled and pays off is spectacularly satisfying, and will jerk quite a few tears out of some audience members. 

            This is the closest thing to a flawless movie I’ve seen all year.  Yes, I realize that’s a pretty big, provocative thing to say about any film, but I stand by it.  It pushes the bounds of animation, it has amazing voice work supplementing an excellent script and a clear sense of purpose, and it features possibly the best soundtrack and score of the entire year.  It has humor, action, and heart.  It made me feel invigorated to get out and go on living both times I saw it, as the greatest of art tends to do.  With movies like this, I’ll happily continue to go right back to the beginning, time and time again. 

-Noah Franc

Review: Roma

Roma (2018): Written and directed by Alfonso Cuaron.  Starring: Yalitza Aparicio, Marina de Tavira.  Running Time: 135 minutes. 

Rating: 4/4

            The film opens with the camera staring at the ground, at the patterned tiles of a floor of some sort.  But then water tinged with soap washes over it, opening up a reflective window of the open sky above, wavering and unsteady, but there.  A plane flies across, up and away into the ether.  This duality between the Earth and sky, between the hardness and dirt and scrambling nature of people’s lives and the free openness of the sky above, is arguably the most important theme of Roma, one it touches on again and again.  This is a film of almost undefinable power, and it is one of the year’s best.   

            In its purest distillation, Roma depicts a year (give or take) in the life of Cleo, a maid working for a wealthy family in Mexico City in the year 1970.  She lives, she works, she loves, she becomes pregnant and struggles with the changes this brings to her life.  Beyond this deceptively simple narrative structure, though, is a wealth of commentary on the nature of class, of race, of rapid societal change, and of the constant, unceasing contradictions and paradoxes inherent in human existence.  Like the camera, we are bound to the Earth while constantly feeling drawn, time and again, to the sky above us. 

            More than anything else, though, it is a movie about women, and about how they are forced time and again to pick up the pieces left broken at their feet when men fail.  Cleo’s flake of a boyfriend abandons her immediately after learning she is pregnant, in a scene that is one of the film’s most acutely constructed; they are sitting in a movie theater when she tells him, and as the scene plays out, the final scenes and credits of the movie in the background mirror Cleo’s growing realization that, like the movie, something unreal has just ended.  The lights slowly come back on, and she has no choice but to return to harsh reality. 

            This is paralleled within the extended family Cleo works for; while she takes care of both the house and the children (in many ways, it feels like she’s the one actually raising them), we glimpse in bits and pieces how the parent’s marriage falls apart, until, in yet another masterfully crafted sequence, it becomes clear that this father, too, is also never coming back. 

            Once these stakes are laid out for both Cleo and her employer, it is easy to draw quick assumptions about how things will play out, but the film constantly takes turns that are never quite what we expect.  The class (and possibly also racial) divide between these two abandoned souls is unavoidable, but not entirely unbridgeable; there is a clear bond that starts to form, forged in the fires of abandonment and of the simple necessities that drive them to continue on and to once more put their lives back together.  What this builds to in the second half of the film, for both Cleo and the family, is one of the most emotionally resonant endings of any film I’ve seen this year, and I dare not spoil it, except to say that it will shatter you, in more ways than one. 

            Even though this film is already available on Netflix, it is worth seeing on a big screen if at all possible.  This is one of the most beautiful and well-crafted films of the year.  There is a clear and present purpose in every shot, every framing, each sweep of the camera.  I have already mentioned the shots comparing the ground and sky, which begin and end the movie.  I also think of the many shots of Cleo where the camera follows her as she seeks something, but we never see what she sees; she is gazing off-screen, yearning for or seeking something that is beyond our field of vision.  The way that a favored car of the family father is shot as both he and others struggle to park it in the family’s tiny garage is also loaded with symbolic imagery that can only be seen to be appreciated.  The car itself later plays a key part in one of the film’s most viscerally satisfying payoffs.   

            Something that the distance between the camera and its subjects allows is an appreciation of how precisely every scene is staged; there are very few close-ups, but also not too many far-away shots.  For the most part, the camera is in some sort of middle distance, where we can see the characters clearly but also the details of the world around them, with all the moving parts that are to be found in a bustling city, but none of them are there by accident.  This is most effectively conveyed in arguably the movie’s grandest scene, a recreation of the Corpus Christ Massacre.  I could literally spend hours doing commentary on each and every shot in this movie.  It is that detailed. 

            This movie is far more than just technical artistry, though; in Yalitza Aparicio’s portrayal of Cleo, we have one of the best breakout performances in years.  She had no formal training or experience in film acting prior to being cast, yet carries a weight and gravitas to each scene that even most veteran performers aren’t able to pull off.  The entire cast is stellar- even bit roles for relatives and friends around the family are not left to waste- but it is Aparicio who will provide much of what will, I expect, be this film’s considerable staying power as one of the decade’s best.  

            When considering the character of Cleo, though, the question of whether or not Cuaron is the right person to tell this story has already come up in some discussions; Cuaron dedicates the film to the maid who, he has said in interviews, provided for and raised him when he was a child much in the same way Cleo does; the title comes from the name of the neighborhood in Mexico City where he grew up, and one of the boys in the family seems to be a pretty clear stand-in for himself.  He is still in contact with her and spoke with her regularly while writing and producing the film, which does lend the film added authenticity.  However, it is still worthwhile to consider whether a man can ever be in a position to properly tell this sort of story, especially one that specifically focuses on particularly underrepresented groups like the indigenous minority both Cleo and Aparicio herself are from. 

            One reviewer, Richard Brody from the New Yorker, delved into this question in detail, and is of the opinion that, intentions aside, the film blots out or ignores Cleo’s perspective, given that we very rarely directly hear from Cleo what she thinks or wants.  For him, this is a fatal flaw that undercuts what the film is trying to do, but after much thought, I’m not sure I agree.  Not to knock on someone with Brody’s pedigree (or indeed anyone else who takes issue with the film), but I consider it rather better that Cuaron tried to go for a more general approach, one more focused on nostalgic memory than natural realism.  It would, perhaps, have been even more arrogant and privileged for him to assume that he could tell a film that tries to explicitly explore the inner thoughts and feelings of Cleo.  We see her experience so much without directly saying anything, but Aparicio’s performance and bearing in the role provide reams of silent information for us to consider and ponder.  I usually tend towards the opinion that the greater films are the ones that try to say less, and instead present more, letting us mull things over for ourselves rather than telling us outright what to think. 

            Regardless of what one ultimately thinks of it, though, this is that rare masterpiece that deserves to be seen and contemplated by everyone, regardless of their background.  I would say they don’t make ‘em like this anymore, but the truth of the matter is that this kind of artistic achievement has always been a rare feat; most filmmakers have never made one like this, but Alfonso Cuaron has, and you owe it to yourself to experience it. 

-Noah Franc

Review: The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018): Written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen.  Starring: Tim Blake Nelson, James Franco, Tyne Daly, Brendan Gleeson, Zoe Kazan, Liam Neeson, and Tom Waits, but sadly, neither John Goodman nor Josh Brolin.  Running Time: 133 minutes.  Based on the absurdist cowboy fantasies of the Coens’ hivemind collective. 

Rating: 3/4

            Part of what makes the Coen Brothers such uniquely excellent and special filmmakers is their seeming inability to produce a movie that can be easilt dismissed from the mind.  Even their “lesser” works- and by “lesser,” I mean “Ok, it’s no Fargo, but it’s still better than most of this year’s other films”- contain something unforgettable, something that indelibly stays with you and doesn’t let you forget that you just saw a Coen Brothers film.  It could be a sequence of scenes, bits of dialogue, a particular performance, or even as simple as the Bear Man from True Grit, or the quiet desperation of Ralph Fiennes in Hail, Ceasar!  There is always a particular pleasure for a movie lover in watching the work of people who thoroughly know their craft inside and out, are willing to go the extra mile in molding together every last detail, and who don’t particularly care to hold your hand and explain in detail the wanderings of their strange minds. 

            And thus we return to the Wide, Wide West, a setting that the Coens have seemingly returned to several times over the course of their careers, each time producing something considerably different from what came before.  This time around, we are treated to an anthology series, a set of six short films united by nothing more than the literal storybook they are read to us from and the fact that each one is preoccupied with death in some manner, be it comic, tragic, meaningful, senseless, or something else altogether. 

            We start with the titular story of Buster Scruggs (Tim Blake Nelson) a wanted “misanthrope” who insists that all he wants is a fair game of poker and to not be contradicted.  And by “contradicted,” he means, “one cross word to me and I will literally shoot you to pieces.”  This whole first segment by itself ranks as one of the strangest and most jarring mashups of comedic tone and on-screen brutality the Coens have created in a career FULL of jarring tonal mashups.  Are we supposed to be laughing?  Are we supposed to hate Scruggs for being a sociopathic murderer?  Neither are easy reactions, and the film doesn’t much care to help us choose. 

            The rest of the movie doesn’t try to make any more sense, although the crass nihilism of the first few parts slowly give way in the second half to something slightly more sympathetic to us humans and our pitiful plights on this Earth.  From Scruggs, we first see the pathetic haplessness of James Franco’s would-be bank robber, and then the vulture-and-prey-like relationship between Liam Neeson as a traveling showman and his “show,” a legless and armless orator played by a staggeringly good Harry Melling.  From there we watch as Tom Waits plays a prospector despoiling a piece of untouched land in search of that most base of human desires; gold.  This is followed by the endless struggles of a lonely woman left abandoned and penniless in the middle of a great caravan to Oregon, and concludes in a stagecoach, where the meanings of life and death are discussed by a hodgepodge of peoples representing various life philosophies. 

            Something that struck me repeatedly while watching this movie was the contrast between the vast, beautiful expanse of the landscapes, the infinite stretch of the natural earth, and the absolute smallness of petty human fairs in comparison, preventing us from seeing the light around us.  Tom Waits’ section as the prospector is perhaps the most explicit part of the film in this regard; he comes across a valley of simply stunning color and variety of plant and animal life, a place “untouched by man,” but all he is there to do is literally stick his face in the mud, sifting out tiny flecks of a metal compound that human markets place a high price on.  The scene begins and ends with the presence of a large, antlered deer, seemingly a symbol of the ability of nature to return in site of our best efforts. 

            This is a stunningly shot film (Bruno Delbonnel did the cinematography), overwhelming in its presentation of the size of the world, matched by an excellent score from longtime Coen veteran Carter Burwell.  Even the small details stick with you; I will never forget the image of Tim Blake Nelson patting himself down after entering a tavern, leaving behind a cloud of starch in the exact shape of his body, Looney-Toons-style.  It’s the sort of cartoon-translated-directly-into-reality stylism that very few filmmakers can pull off, with the Coens and Wes Anderson being among the exceptions. 

            Mileage with each of the segments may vary per viewer, and the degree to which the whole affair comes together will likely divide viewers.  There’s something here for everyone to enjoy, but I personally had a hard time coming to grips with the bleak despair that grips many of the segments.  True, the Coens are rather famous for poking the mind into contemplation of the potentially very empty nature of existence, but their better works are more creative and genuinely thought-provoking that Buster Scruggs manages to be, or at least the first part is; I do feel the second half is eminently stronger in its setups and payoffs. 

            This is not to detract from the strength of the film as a whole- though it will never make my upper ranks of their filmography, Buster Scruggs is another expertly-crafted and memorable work by one of the greatest filmmaking duos in cinematic history.  It is a must-see for any fans of their style, and for anyone hankering for a fresh spin on the Western. 

-Noah Franc

Review: The Guilty (Den Skyldige)

The Guilty (2018): Written by Gustav Moeller and Emil Nygaard Albertsen, directed by Gustav Moeller.  Starring: Jakob Cedergren.  Running Time: 85 minutes. 

Rating: 4/4

            The Guilty, from Danish director Gustav Moeller, is a case study on how to draw cinematic greatness out of the most barebone of building blocks  It is minimalist in the extreme, yet despite that- or, perhaps, very well because of it- it is one of the best films in a year filled with great films, precisely because of how masterfully it uses every shot, every line of dialogue, and every twitch of the main character’s face to build an entire world out of a headset, a desktop, and a flashing red light.  Utilizing a set of just two rooms (one of which is almost always in darkness) and only one on-screen character (the handful of other named players are only heard over the phone, and even then only sporadically), Asger, The Guilty takes a deceptively deep dive into the ways our biases and bigotries- about gender, ethnicity, mental health, law enforcement, and more- can color our responses and reactions to the world, especially in times of crisis, and how costly that can end up being. 

            Asger has been shifted to the graveyard shift at the emergency call center, fielding calls as they come in and forwarding them to the response units in the field.  There is a very specific reason for this, but it is only gradually that we learn why.  That something isn’t right is clear from the start, though, as he clearly loathes being stuck on desk duty, enough that he can’t just forward a call and move on; he has to comment to the caller on where, why, or how they screwed up, and even after forwarding the calls he tries to tell the receiving unit what they should/shouldn’t do to handle each case. 

            Thus, we know right from the start that Asger is, in part, a rather egoistic prick with a massive superiority complex, but as with everything else in the film, this is a bit of a feint.  Each initial impression- the audience’s of Asger, Asger’s of other people, and of the nature of right and wrong, lawful and unlawful- proves to be slightly off in some way, just one small part of a larger, far more messy and complex truth.  As the film is ostensibly about Asger coming to terms with his own shortcomings as a cop and what is required of him to make things better, so too does it challenge the active and attentive viewer to reconsider their own previous assumptions about life’s muddled good/bad spectrum. 

            The reckoning that comes is heralded by a strange call that comes in from a woman in distress, alluding that she might have been kidnapped and taken away from her children.  Asger gathers what information he can from her and forwards it to the local department, but there’s something about the whole situation he just can’t shake.  Soon, instead of waiting for other calls to come in, he’s jotting down notes, doing database searches, making his own deductions about what he thinks is happening, and tries to badger officers from several different departments into chasing down his leads. 

            Though this is a Danish film set in Denmark, and thus no perfect analogue to policing in the United States, in so many ways the movie feels like a thematic commentary on the struggles of modern policing.  Asger is not a deranged, violent, heartless bastard- he operates out of a genuine belief in the existence of right and wrong, a desire to help victims of crime, and of the necessity of enforcing what’s right even if it’s uncomfortable- but he has never before tried to really consider how his own weaknesses can lead to him making things worse, rather than better.  It’s almost as if the film is trying to offer an answer to the bitter question over how someone in law enforcement can seek to be a good person and a good cop without falling into the trap of simply reinforcing existing inequalities and meting out violence to those least deserving of it.  I would be absolutely fascinating to watch the movie again with some American police officers and hear their thoughts on it afterward, though for obvious reasons I can’t see myself getting that chance anytime soon. 

            The film is a slow burn, but paces and builds itself effectively with each passing minute of its runtime.  No shot, no second of filming, no bit of dialogue is wasted, and Jakob Cedergren gives one of the year’s great understated performances in allowing us to see Asger’s thinking change, bit by bit and little by little, until a final revelatory moment where he is forced to confront all at once something he’d desperately been trying to avoid for a long, long time.  The film has been making its rounds internationally and may be shortlisted for the Oscars next year, but there’s no telling where distribution will take it, so make sure to see this one however you can as soon as you can. 

-Noah Franc

Review: Girl

Girl (2018): Written by Lukas Dhont and Angelo Tijssens, directed by Lukas Dhont.  Starring: Victor Polster.  Running Time: 100 minutes. 

Rating: 4/4

UPDATE: After being made aware of very sharp criticisms of this film, which ultimately made me less supportive of the film that I originally was, I wrote a follow-up piece on what changed my mind.  Please click here to read it.  The review below is unchanged from when I first wrote it.  

            From the Low Countries comes, courtesy of the annual Queer Film Festival in Weiterstadt, one of the most searing and deep engagements with the many physical and psychological hurdles of gender transition to come out in years.  Girl, written and directed by Belgian director Lukas Dhont, delves deep into the day to day existence of Lara, a young transgirl in the process of her medical transition.  Since she’s experiencing puberty and growing at the same time, this already-complex process is even more delicate and potentially fraught.   

            While she is clearly blessed with an immensely loving and supporting family and a host of engaged and capable doctors handling her medical procedures, day-to-day teenage life as a transperson is relentlessly brutal, with Lara all too aware of how so many of her classmates and ballet partners see her as more of a curiosity to be poked and prodded rather than a person worthy of respect and dignity.  Her sense of alienation leaves her feeling isolated and alone even though her father desperately tries to reach out and offer his support.  Over time, this alienation grows into a desperation that blinds her to much of the love and support around her, leaving her increasingly incapable of seeing the healthy ways through her struggles.  The climax this builds to includes a moment that induced me to look away from the screen entirely for a bit, the first time in years a film has managed to push me that far. 

            Lara’s alienation, her unending fears and anxieties, are powerfully captured through the use of shots that focuses for extended cuts on her face, setting her apart from the normal scenes of daily teenage life that surround her.  We often see her stand, silent, at a window, watching “normal” teenagers below talking, laughing, making out, and through ’s performance, Lara’s longing is made achingly palpable.  There is a biting authenticity to so many of the scenes featuring Lara’s often rather tortured interactions with people her age. 

            Lara’s father is equally powerful in how earnest and clear his love for his daughter is, and how acutely aware he is that he simply can’t protect her from the worst, even though he wants to.  It is a remarkably acted film through and through. 

            Films, as Roger Ebert loved to say, are machines that generate empathy- the best of them take us out of ourselves and allow us to see, think, and understand as other people in ways that are otherwise next to impossible to achieve.  Girl is one of the year’s finest examples of how film can achieve this, by so perfectly and sensitively delving into how we define gender, both individually and as a society.  It peels back the layers of gentility we like to use in the West to pretend we’ve already created the perfect world, when in fact we still so very far away from one.  No one deserves to experience the humiliations and pains that Lara is forced to endure.  Girl reminds us of why continuing the fight for a world where our Lara’s can exist without fear is so essential, why we can never allow ourselves to let up. 

-Noah Franc