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