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Emilia Pérez.

Emilia Pérez has so much going for it that it seemed like a can’t miss – it’s a musical, it’s a redemption story, it’s about a trans person coming out and finding themselves, it’s a comedy. Unfortunately in trying to be all of those things, it ends up almost nothing at all. It’s an incoherent babblefest, salvaged only a little by its three main performances, notably that of Zoe Saldaña. (It’s streaming on Netflix.)

Saldaña plays Rita, a lawyer in Mexico who is disgusted by her work as a defense attorney, as she’s helping defend a man who killed his wife by arguing that she killed herself – and she doesn’t even get the ‘glory’ of arguing the case, as she writes the words and her dim-witted boss gives the big speech. She’s then contacted by the cartel boss Las Manitas, who reveals that he wants to come out as a trans woman, including undergoing gender confirmation surgery, and wants Rita to make all of the arrangements – including faking his death so she can begin a new life as Emilia Pérez. (She’s played in both incarnations by Karla Sofia Gascón, a trans actress from Spain.) Las Manitas was married, however, to Jessi (Selena Gomez), with two kids, and after transitioning, Emilia decides she can’t live without her children, so she poses as a wealthy cousin of Las Manitas and invites the them and their mother to come live with her, which goes off the rails when Jessi takes up again with her old lover Gustavo. Meanwhile, Emilia decides to make amends for her past by helping relatives of people presumed killed by drug cartels find out their loved ones’ fates, using her money and her connections to the underworld, becoming a popular hero for her efforts and her criticism of the authorities.

That would be enough plot to fill a ten-part TV series, but not only does Emilia Pérez try to pack it all into two hours, it does so in song. There are sixteen songs in the film, some of which are actually quite good (“El Mal,” sung by Saldaña during the gala dinner, is a real standout, and she nails it), although I’m not sure if “Vaginoplasty” ever really needed to see the light of day. The result is that a plot already stretched to translucency ends up so shallow that the film never actually says anything – even though it seems to think it has a lot to say.

The kernel at the heart of the story is fantastic: A drug lord fakes his death, comes out (privately) as transgender, establishes an entire new identity as a woman, and becomes a crusader against the violence of the drug trade and the government’s war on the cartels. That’s all this film needed to be an epic satire of the current state of Mexico, and Gascón would have been up to the task, as she’s perfectly menacing as Las Manitas, then entirely credible as a remorseful Emilia who uses the same determination that made her a successful criminal to become a serious reformer – even though the violent resolve is still there in reserve.

This isn’t that film, starting with the decision to make Rita the main character rather than Emilia, even though Emilia is in the title. Rita’s just nowhere near as interesting as Emilia is, not through any fault of Saldaña’s, but because she’s written so austerely, while Emilia is the one truly three-dimensional character in the film. Her trans status is more of a detail; it makes the plot work, but it’s not a part of why her character is so interesting. Emilia has the emotional depth and range that the other characters lack, and she should have been the central character, but the script has no interest in, say, exploring her emotional growth, or just her change of heart, or perhaps questioning whether she really understands the wrongs she committed. There’s a faint implication that she was just so deeply unhappy that it drove her to bad acts, but that’s pretty facile (if that’s even what writer-director Jacques Audiard intended) and I think could even lean into the whole “queer as mental illness” myth.

Saldaña is as good as she can be with a poorly written character, and when she sings and dances – she’s a trained dancer, which I admit I didn’t know until after I watched the movie – she owns the scene. Her songs look like scenes from a Lin-Manuel Miranda musical, in the best way: she grabs the camera with both hands and won’t let go until the song is done. And she gets just about all of the best songs, which is ironic with a pop singer elsewhere in the cast. It’s fun to see Gomez playing a vixen, even if the film doesn’t give her much time to vamp it up, and she barely gets to sing at all. She and Gascón are wasted by roles that don’t really make enough use of their talents.

The result is a film that is oddly boring for one that has some comic elements, a lot of song and dance, and eventually a big action scene. That last bit isn’t even that well earned, and leads to an ending that is an inexcusable copout where Emilia is no longer even in control of her own fate. That conclusion also underscores just how superficial Emilia Pérez ultimately is as a film: It has so little to say that it was completely fine resolving its plot with a figurative lightning bolt from the sky to wrap things up. What a waste of an opportunity.

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→ November 18, 2024
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The Remarkable Life of Ibelin.

Mats Steen was born with Duchenne muscular dystrophy, a degenerative disease that would eventually kill him at age 25. When he died, his parents logged into his blog and posted a note saying that he’d passed away, including Mats’s father’s email at the bottom. Messages poured in from people the Steens had never heard of; they’d thought that Mats was isolated, spending most of his waking hours playing World of Warcraft – over 20,000 hours, by their estimates. It turned out that he’d lived an entire life online, building deep and real connections to people around the world while showing those people aspects of his personality that his own family rarely got to see.

The Remarkable Life of Ibelin (streaming on Netflix) is a biography of Mats, whose character’s name was Ibelin, but also a window into the digital world, where things become possible for people with disabilities that are shut off to them in the ‘real’ world. Even for able-bodied users, these online communities can become meaningful parts of their lives, going beyond the shared experiences of trying to advance within the game to the point where players open up about themselves and develop real attachments, platonic or romantic, to others they meet in cyberspace. It’s an emotional ride, even though you know from the start that Mats is going to die young, because the film follows his parents through their discovery that their son lived a much richer life than they knew – and that he helped many, many people he’d never physically met.

The story here does not lionize Mats, which would be an understandable impulse for a film whose subject is dead and who was disabled most of his life, but that honesty gives the story much greater resonance (and keeps it from turning saccharine). Mats was kind, mostly, but he had a temper and a bit of a mean streak, and he could be jealous, or heedless of others’ emotions. He did hurt others’ feelings, and we hear about that, and ‘see’ it through recreations the filmmakers commissioned using WoW graphics and the actual characters’ avatars. There’s an eccentric romantic story arc that might seem very weird to people who haven’t spent much time in online communities, but it tells us a ton about who Mats was, for better and worse, and if you consider it outside of the digital context, it maps pretty well to romantic relationships in the real world.

Ibelin really gets at a question I’ve discussed with many people over the last twenty-odd years: Are digital friendships real? I have always maintained that the answer is … they can be. (This, of course, was in conversations with people who think they can’t.) The friendships Mats/Ibelin had were certainly real, real enough that some of those friends he made in the game came to his funeral. The broader view, however, would say that these friendships were real because of their nature, not because of their medium. Mats and his friends discussed their lives and their emotions the way that people do in meatspace, and experienced many of the same feelings we do when talking to people in reality – or, say, on the phone. Their relationships were real because they made them real through their actions, so that when some of the players decided to hold a meetup – Mats didn’t tell them why he couldn’t come – those friendships and the feelings behind them carried over. The connections we make with other people are real, regardless of the medium, as long as we make them real. Ibelin’s life was remarkable not because he was disabled, or died young, but because he did so much with the life he had, validating, listening, caring, and being there for his friends, even though he never met a single one of them. It’s a simple film at its core, but illuminates such a universal theme that it works – and it’s punctuated by a scene from the game that is as life-affirming as anything they could have done in the real world.

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→ November 12, 2024
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Woman of the Hour.

Woman of the Hour is the directorial debut for actor Anna Kendrick, who also stars in this loosely adapted story about the contestant on the TV show The Dating Game who chose as her date a serial killer – and probably narrowly eclipsed dying at his hands. I’ve never been a fan of Kendrick as an actor, but she shows significant promise behind the camera, elevating a script that overplays its hand repeatedly to make for a solid thriller.

Sheryl Bradshaw (Kendrick) is a struggling actress in 1978 whose agent books her a spot on The Dating Game, which often had its four seats – one woman and three bachelors – filled with would-be actors and comedians. It is her misfortune to have Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto), a smart, charming photographer who has already killed multiple women in sadistic fashion, not just as one of her three bachelors, but, as the film tells it, the most charismatic and suave of them. (One of the other bachelors on her episode was an unknown actor named Jed Mills, although the film never names him or the third man.) A huge portion of the film’s running time takes place on the show’s set as we watch Sheryl navigate the ridiculous process and deal with the obnoxious host (an underutilized Tony Hale) while Alcala keeps giving the best answers. It’s only afterwards, when the two meet off set, that Sheryl sees more of his personality and becomes sufficiently creeped out to call off the date – but not before their interaction takes a very scary turn.

Woman of the Hour actually gives Alcala a substantial amount of screen time, which establishes his character in important ways but also makes us privy to some disturbing scenes. It opens with a an unfortunately fairly accurate depiction of one of Alcala’s murders, where he strangled his victim, resuscitated her, raped her, and then killed her again, and later we see another murder and a kidnapping, also close to the true story. On the one hand, it shows the audience just what Alcala is capable of, and since most viewers will know going in – or could probably just guess – that he’s going to be her pick, it shows that the stakes are life or death. On the other hand, it’s macabre, and leering, not quite in a celebratory way, but in a way that ends up establishing Alcala as at least as much of a central character as Bradshaw.

Contributing to this imbalance is Zovatto’s performance; he makes Alcala’s ability to charm everyone, notably women, totally plausible, overshadowing everyone else on screen except when he and Kendrick are on opposite sides of the game show set. That’s also where the script begins to diverge from reality; the actual dialogue on the show was typically racy and oversexed, but in the movie, Bradshaw ditches the questions she’s been given and engages in witty, highbrow banter with Alcala while mocking the other two bachelors. It makes Bradshaw into a bit of an implausible heroine, while it shows a different Alcala than the one Bradshaw and viewers saw. The film veers further and further from reality, and more into unnecessary melodrama, right up through the text over the closing scene, which is a complete fabrication where none was necessary. (And yes, that especially annoyed me.)

This could easily have gone off the rails once the story gets the characters on set, where we get another subplot as an audience member recognizes Alcala as the man who she believes killed her friend. Kendrick handles the scene-shifting and the need to maintain the pace extraordinarily well for a first-time director – or any-time director. Once we’re on the show, the script tries so hard to ratchet up the tension, and Kendrick manages to keep it in check until the parking lot scene after the show, where the tension is real, and earned. It’s the best scene in the movie, one where so much happens without a word spoken, and takes this one woman’s bizarre experience and uses it to express something far more universal: the fear of violence that women face even in seemingly routine interactions with men, like a simple date, because of the pervasiveness of violent men.

Woman of the Hour could so easily have ended up a woman-in-jeopardy Lifetime movie in different hands. Kendrick wouldn’t have seemed like the person to steer it straight, but by taking a hyperventilating script just down a notch, she turned it into a more interesting and riveting film.

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→ October 30, 2024
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Conclave.

Conclave takes a mass-market paperback novel by Robert Harris and turns it into a prestige drama that already has jumped ahead in the awards conversation. The surprise is that it’s pulpy good fun, with a strong cast led by a masterful performance by Ralph Fiennes, until it goes a little off the rails with the first of its two big twists and reminds you of its shallowness.

The Pope is about to die as Conclave opens, and, oops! His Holiness is dead, may the jockeying for his job commence. The Church must convene a conclave of all of its cardinals, but everyone already seems to know who the contenders are, primarily the Italian reactionary Goffredo Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), who wants to roll back the clock a few hundred years; the Canadian schemer Joseph Tremblay (John Lithgow), whose ambition is so naked Jesus would clothe it; the Nigerian Joseph Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati), whose views range from liberation theology to virulent homophobia; and the pragmatist American Aldo Bellini (Stanley Tucci), whose interest in the papacy may stem as much from a desire to stop Tedesco from destroying the institution as his own ambition. Lording over the sequestered group is Thomas Lawrence (Fiennes), a friend of Aldo’s who recently tried to resign his position over a crisis of faith. Meanwhile, there’s a secret cardinal who arrives unannounced to the conclave, Vincent Benitz (Carlos Diehz), who has been working in multiple warzones and whose identity the previous pope protected for his safety. What happens from there is sort of Election with old men – there’s backstabbing, scandal, and vote-buying, with Cardinal Lawrence trying to gather information from beyond the sequestration, which is supposed to protect the Cardinals from all news of the outside world while they cast their votes.

For about three-fourths of Conclave, it’s a slick, dialogue-heavy, prime time drama that keeps moving from one controversy to the next, with Cardinal Lawrence’s nervous energy and some campy plot turns powering the film. It’s quite fun, with Fiennes at the top of his game, Tucci more or less playing Stanley Tucci in a Cardinal costume, and Castellitto leaning hard into his villain’s role. (The film’s philosophical heart could not be clearer.) Then the first twist happens, and it bursts the realistic bubble enough to take you completely out of the film’s environment and remind you that this is just a page-turner adapted for the screen. The twist would itself have been enough to upend the film, but the timing is just heavy-handed, not to mention ridiculous, and the whole sequence relies on something outside of the conclave to redirect the course of events – which undercuts the film’s greatest strength, the sequestered nature of the conclave itself.

The second twist, which ends the film and apparently is straight from the book, is probably going to be the more controversial one if Conclave gets some legs in award season, but despite its similarly “WTF?” nature, it is more effective than the first twist because it’s funny, and in a script that largely dispenses with humor, that’s a pretty powerful way to wrap things up. It does lead Cardinal Lawrence to have to make a quick decision with huge consequences, with one (divine?) hand on the scale already, but the twist’s bigger impact might just be the reminder that, hey, this has all been good pulpy fun, and don’t take it all so seriously. And it is fun – I enjoyed the movie for what it was. It never drags, Fiennes is great in every scene (and he’s in just about every scene), and I certainly didn’t see the second twist coming. If you take it at face value, it’s a good time at the theater, nothing more.

I’ve seen none of the other Oscar contenders so far except for Dune 2, so I’m only guessing whether Conclave will end up in consideration for any of the big awards, but my gut says it’s going to sneak in as one of the last Best Picture nominees because it feels like a Serious Drama and has a lot of accomplished actors in its cast. Fiennes, who has two Oscar nominations to his name, feels like a lock to get one for Best Actor, and this is a fantastic performance from him; his combination of understated speech and telling expressions is perfect for Cardinal Lawrence, a man bedeviled (pun intended) by doubt yet driven by responsibility and love for the institution. Lithgow, a two-time Oscar nominee with six Emmys and two Tonys, is a Very Serious Actor who is kind of hamming it up here as Tremblay, wearing this “who me?” expression throughout the film that makes it pretty clear that, yes, you, almost from his first appearance. Tucci. The film utterly wastes Isabella Rossellini, who plays a nun who runs the housekeeping and catering staff for the conclave and is there to provide information on one of the scandals and, I presume, to be Isabella Rossellini. Of all of the supporting players here, Castellito might deliver the best performance, even though his character is rather two-dimensional, as he gives Tedesco such a fiery personality that he makes the threat of his papacy more palpable, with, perhaps, an unanticipated parallel to an imminent election of another sort.

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→ October 25, 2024
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His Three Daughters.

His Three Daughters is not, as it turns out, a King Lear adaptation, as all three of the daughters of the title do in fact live to see the end of the movie. It is instead a very theatrical (as in, like a play) story about how we deal with grief and with watching a loved one die, and how such situations bring out the best and worst in us – especially with our siblings. (It’s streaming on Netflix.)

The film opens with Katie (Carrie Coon) delivering one of the most obnoxious soliloquies you’ll ever see on screen, and it’s a few minutes before we even see who she’s haranguing. It’s her sister, Rachel (Natasha Lyonne), who looks stoned because she is, although in her defense that might be the only way to listen to this tirade without being driven to violence. The interminable conversation, if you could even call it that, breaks when the third daughter, Christina (Elizabeth Olsen), emerges, and it turns out she, like Katie, can’t stop babbling, although in her case it’s far more self-directed than Katie’s style of lashing out at Rachel. The three women are staying in their father’s apartment as he is receiving hospice care at home for terminal cancer. Rachel is the only one who lives in the Manhattan apartment, while Katie lives elsewhere in the city with her family (including a rebellious teen daughter) and Christina lives in California with her husband and a young child. The three could not possibly have less in common, from personality to habits to appearance, and the tension of living together temporarily and of watching their father drift away leads to some dreadful fights and eventually some moments of tenderness and common understanding, showing two different sides of how familial ties bind us – even if, as it turns out, we’re not actually all tied by biology.

Almost every scene takes place in the apartment, and the vast majority of those take place in the common living/dining area; that, coupled with a cast that numbers about eight people in total aside from a few extras, gives the whole thing the feel of a play that has been adapted to the screen. It also is nearly all dialogue, which further enhances that sense, and puts a lot more pressure on the performances, especially the three leads, and to my surprise, the best one by far is Lyonne. She may have the hardest role of the three, since unlike her sisters, Rachel holds her emotions inside, and has a much harder time articulating – or facing – what she’s feeling, which, of course, may be why she seeks solace in THC. She is the only one who refuses to go into her father’s room, even when the hospice nurses encourage it, and the script does eventually explain a bit more of why her relationship with their father is slightly different than her sisters’. Coon and Olsen are both solid actresses whose characters are more one-note, and later attempts to soften both of them through more dialogue fall a little short. You don’t have to like these characters, but both are quite grating in different ways, and the way Katie treats Rachel is so offputting that I found it hard empathize with her even in scenes where she does open up and show some vulnerability. Perhaps Coon is just very good at playing someone who is capable of being extremely awful to others.

With so little change in the scenery of the film, His Three Daughters has to rely on subtler cues to help the audience follow the changing states of the main characters. Katie’s hair seems to grow increasingly unkempt as she becomes more frazzled and volatile, and Christina’s ‘together’ appearance also starts to break down; Rachel, on the other hand, is supposed to be a mess, but actually holds steady pretty well in appearance and mostly in how she deals with her two sisters.

The dialogue makes it clear at the beginning of His Three Daughters that the father is going to die at the end, but the way in which the script handles that is probably going to divide a lot of viewers. This movie tries so hard to be realistic that the brief detour into some kind of fantasy is both jarring for its complete tonal shift and useful for its introduction of a different mode for the three women to interact with each other. It does set up the resolution, even if there may have been a better way to handle it.

His Three Daughters appears to be nowhere in the awards race, although if it gets anything at all, I hope it’s a nod for Lyonne, who is pretty remarkable in this film; she sounds like Natasha Lyonne, because I don’t think she can sound like anyone else, but this is by far the most range I’ve ever seen from her, and I hope it opens the door for her to play more dramatic roles. I could have seen Best Original Screenplay consideration as well, although at this point I’ve only seen about ten movies from this calendar year so I’m just speculating.

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→ October 24, 2024
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Dune: Part Two.

The first Dune movie from Denis Villeneuve was fantastic, ranking among my top 5 movies of 2021 for its scope, its pacing, multiple strong performances, and outstanding visuals. The film did well enough for Villeneuve to finance a sequel to complete the story from the first (and only worthwhile) of Frank Herbert’s novels. While Dune: Part Two still has the same strong special effects, the script isn’t as strong as that of the first film, and the limits of Timothée Chalamet’s range become all too apparent as the film progresses. (It’s streaming free on Max, as is the first one, or can be rented on Amazon, iTunes, etc.)

Dune: Part Two picks up right where the first film left off, after the Harkonnens have taken over Arrakis, killing most of Paul Atreides’s (Timothée Chalamet) family, while he and his mother (Rebecca Ferguson) have joined up with the Fremen, a tribe of nomads who live in the desert, led by Stilgar (Javier Bardem), who help the pair escape after Paul wins a duel against one of their warriors. The sequel tracks two major plot lines that will intersect at the film’s conclusion. The first covers Paul and his mother’s time with the Fremen, hiding from the Harkonnens and coexisting with the skeptical nomads while they plan how to retake the planet. The other follows the Harkonnens’ effort to control the planet’s spice trade, with Rabban (Dave Bautista) serving as his uncle’s (Stellan Skarsgård) proxy, but Rabban’s brother Feyd-Rautha (Austin Butler), a sadistic lunatic, is angling for the job.

The film seems to stay true to the book by devoting substantial time to Paul’s tenure with the Fremen, including how he works to convince them that he’s worth their protection but isn’t a prophet or a hero, just someone fighting the same evil forces he is. What works on the page doesn’t work as well on screen, though, as the result is a film that can’t manage its pacing, with long scenes of explanations and far too much of the movie’s constructed languages. There are some great action scenes, and the intrigues of the Harkonnens pulse with their own energy, even if Feyd-Rautha’s madness is over the top. Unfortunately, the script gives too much time to Paul, and not in a way that lets his character fully develop – and a lot of that comes down to the portrayal.

Chalamet is a highly decorated actor, with an Oscar nomination and three Golden Globe nominations under his belt, but I’m starting to think he’s more limited than it first appeared. (As if I weren’t already dreading the Bob Dylan biopic enough, now I’m worried we’re going to get Paul Atreides on the guitar and harmonica singing “Shelter from the Storm”.) There’s too little variation in his tone or expression here, which not only doesn’t fit the story, it doesn’t fit the character of the novel, either. Paul Atreides matures and develops substantially over the course of the book, and the script clearly allows him to do so as well, but there’s little to no difference between his affect and his delivery from the first movie to even the end of this one, when we get to the Big Speech and then the story’s resolution. I’m just starting to think he’s not as good of an actor as we thought he was, or as we thought he’d become.

Chalamet’s mediocre performance is even more stark because of the strength of many of the other people in the film, notably Bardem, as Stilgar, the leader of the Fremen and the one who believes that Paul is the prophet of their religion; Ferguson, as Paul’s mother, who becomes the spiritual leader of the Fremen, in accordance with the prophecy; and, of course, Zendaya, as Chani, Paul’s love interest, a much stronger character in the film than she is on the page, thanks also to Zendaya’s assertive portrayal. The cast even includes two other Academy Award winners beyond Bardem, Christopher Walken and Charlotte Rampling, both of whom play small roles without a ton of dialogue, but they help further overshadow Chalamet’s toneless performance.

Perhaps Dune: Part Two would work better if viewed immediately after the first film, rather than three years later – and I’m sure it would play better on the big screen than on my home television. It sounds like it’s going to get a Best Picture nomination, and possibly a Best Director nod for Villeneuve, neither of which is an outrage, although I’m guessing I’ll find ten movies I rank higher by the time this cycle is over. It’s just a disappointing ending given how great the first film was.

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→ October 23, 2024
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Daughters.

Daughters is a documentary about a single father-daughter dance, remarkable because the fathers are all incarcerated, some for many years to come, and the dance is part of a program that began in Richmond, Virginia, called Date with Dad.

The film follows several daughters and an entire circle of fathers at a prison in Washington, D.C., from when the men start their required fatherhood coaching sessions about ten weeks before the dance through the event itself and its immediate aftermath. There is no narration, as the subjects do all of the necessary talking to the camera or in groups. We hear from the girls and some of their mothers about how hard it is for them to grow up without their fathers around, sometimes going months or years without touching their dads and maybe talking to them once a week for 15 minutes – for which the mothers are charged outrageous fees. The fathers open up quite a bit about their feelings about being absent fathers, sometimes as children of absent fathers themselves, and the film wisely avoids telling us anything about why they’re incarcerated. Some of the strongest scenes are the smallest ones, like the one where the men, who are provided with suits and haircuts before the dance, are tying their ties, with one man showing a group of the others how to tie a Windsor knot; or the one of Aubrey, the youngest of the daughters we meet, as she rattles off her multiplication tables but who is too young to fully grasp how long her father will be gone. The daughters we see range in ages from 5 to about 15, and their feelings range from sorrow to confusion to outright anger at their dads for their life choices.

When we finally get to the day of the dance, and those girls start walking down the hall towards their fathers, who are sitting in a row of plastic chairs in their suits and polished shoes, I dare you not to cry. I just dare you. Those reactions, both of the daughters and the fathers, are as pure a distillation of what it means to be human as you will see in years of movies. There is far more to the movie than that – the conversations the fathers and daughters have in the dance itself are illuminating and direct and often heartbreaking – but that one moment is the perfect unscripted scene.

I can’t relate to these men completely, because I have never been in that situation, where I couldn’t see my daughter, or hold her, or even talk to her whenever I wanted. That scene where the dads see their daughters for the first time the night of the dance did remind me of one thing, though: the fear that gripped me for almost all of my daughter’s childhood that I would die before she was an adult. I just imagined the grief, the hole in her life, all the things I didn’t get to do or say. When they tell you that being a parent means living with your heart outside of your body, they aren’t even scratching the surface. Being a parent meant living for her more than I was even living for myself.

Daughters follows the dance with brief looks at the aftermath for both sides, with one man, whose daughter couldn’t make it but who is there in suit and tie (and perhaps thought she was coming?), giving a speech to the other dads that is so open and vulnerable that it underscores again their humanity and the cruelty of our prison system. The film ends with two-sentence updates on a few of the incarcerated dads and their daughters, one of whom is now in a facility that doesn’t allow visitation rights. I don’t think I knew that was possible outside of people held in solitary confinement (which is, itself, cruel and unusual punishment), but what Daughters underscores is that such a policy harms more than just the inmates: Regardless of what the father did, depriving his children of the right to even see him – not for a dance, or even a “touch visit,” but literally just to see him to talk to him – harms the kids, and I can’t imagine what the benefit or justification is for the policy other than spite. Our national addiction to incarceration is bad enough, but this film makes it clear how the carceral state also harms succeeding generations. The damage done when we are deprived of a parent, regardless of the reason, is immense. The Date with Dads program boasts a 5% recidivism rate, meaning 95% of fathers who go through the program and are subsequently released from prison do not reoffend. That such a simple program has such powerful results should be reason enough to expand its reach.

Avoiding mention of the fathers’ crimes, alleged or otherwise, is a choice, of course. If we found out that one of these men was responsible for someone’s death – which I don’t think is true given what we hear about the lengths of their sentences – it would alter our view of him whether we want it to or not. That choice by the directors, documentarian Natalie Rae and activist Angela Patton, keeps the focus where it belongs, on the people themselves and the essential relationship between fathers and daughters that will resonate with most of the viewing audience. There are some outtakes from the dance that play alongside the closing credits, and they are definitely worth hanging around to watch, as they show more joy from the night itself than is immediately evident from the main footage, which doesn’t show a whole lot of actual dancing, a choice I understand (this is about their relationships, not the Harlem Shuffle) but that they could have balanced differently.

Daughters won two Audience Awards at the Sundance Film Festival this year, U.S. Documentary and Festival Favorite, after which Netflix picked it up; it’s already showing up on top of predictions for the Academy Award for Best Documentary, along with another Netflix documentary, The Remarkable Life of Ibelin, that premieres today. I imagine the powerful social justice angle here will help Daughters in awards season, and I hope that encourages more people to watch it and to consider doing something to help fight the incarceration cycle.

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→ October 21, 2024
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Kinds of Kindness.

Kinds of Kindness is a film about cruelty, the sort that others inflict on us, but more so the sort that we inflict on ourselves to try to please others – our employers, our partners, our religions. This latest work from Yorgos Lanthimos (Poor Things, The Lobster) comes in three short films, connected by theme rather than substance, each of which tells an ultimately horrifying story of how far people will go to satisfy someone else’s wants. (It’s streaming free on Hulu and you can rent it on Amazon, iTunes, etc.)

Each of the three parts of Kinds of Kindness uses the same set of actors as different characters  in new stories, each of which starts out normally enough but quickly devolves into complete insanity. The first one features Jesse Plemons as Robert an employee of an exacting boss, Raymond, played by Willem Defoe. Raymond tells Plemons what to eat, what to wear, when to have sex with his wife, and so on, mapping out every detail of his employee’s life, but when he asks Robert to kill another man in a staged car accident – even claiming the victim is willing to die – Robert turns his boss down for the first time. This leads to his extradition from his job and his life, and because he can’t seem to function without this level of control and without this approbation from his boss, he becomes willing to go to great lengths to try to win it back.

The second has Plemons as a police officer, Daniel whose scientist wife, Liz (Emma Stone), has been missing at sea for several months, when one day he gets a call that she’s been found. She returns, but he notices little differences that make him believe that she isn’t actually Liz, so he starts making increasingly bizarre demands on her as a test to see if she’s really Liz, or even really human. The third has Plemons and Stone as members of a sex cult led by Defoe and Hong Chau, but when Stone’s estranged husband does something to get her expelled from the cult, she goes off the rails to try to gain re-entry.

There are some tiny details tying the triptych together, including the character R.M.F., who appears in the titles of all three but doesn’t speak, but the greater connection is the theme of people doing outrageous things to please someone else, whether on command, as in the middle part, or on their own. These characters will hurt anybody, including themselves, if it regains them the affection or acceptance of the other party – their boss, their husband, or their religion – without any regard to the consequences for other people. The script doesn’t concern itself too much with realism, and in two of the three segments it doesn’t provide a proper resolution to any of the questions raised by the end, as the focus instead is on the toxic relationships in our lives and the cruelty we inflict on others and on ourselves as a result. The middle part of the film is the most twisted, as it is never clear whether Daniel is right, and thus whether he is the victim of a cruel con or in fact Liz’s abuser, yet he is the focus of the script and the camera throughout the story. The final third is also quite vicious, although here its target is organized religion, yet because its target is so obvious and so easy it’s also the weakest attack of the film, held up mostly by Stone’s performance.

Plemons delivers three outstanding performances here, as he’s the star of the first two segments and utterly convincing twice over as a man on the verge, even overshadowing a two-time Oscar winner in Stone – who, as always, is game for anything. (I won’t spoil the context, but her dancing scene ought to be some sort of meme by now.) Plemons’ first two characters are both teetering on the edge of insanity for some time before they tip over into the crevasse, and his depictions are so precise that they make the absurdity that follows easier to believe. Stone gets her real moment in the third part, where she is torn between her fervent belief in the cult’s nonsense and her love for the young daughter she left behind, although her performance as Liz is convincing enough to make Plemons’ doubts seem ridiculous and cruel.

Among the supporting cast, Chau really seems to have found a niche playing characters who show no affect, especially when saying or doing awful things, as in The Menu and Showing Up; there are some truly horrible people in Kinds of Kindness, but her cult-leader character Aka might be the worst of the lot. Defoe is playing the sort of lunatic we’ve seen him play too many times before, and after seeing him deliver so many better performances in straight roles (The Florida Project, At Eternity’s Gate), it feels a little clichéd to see him portray a couple of madmen. Margaret Qualley is underutilized in the first two segments of the film before getting a little more to do in the third.

It appears that Kinds of Kindness isn’t going to get much awards attention if any this winter, which seems like a shame given how audacious and thought-provoking it is, and how incredible Plemons’s performance is. I haven’t seen many other films yet from this cycle, so I can’t say he’s deserving of an actual nomination, but I hope that he’s not forgotten when those discussions get more substantial in the next few months.

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→ October 18, 2024
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Will & Harper.

Will & Harper (streaming on Netflix) telegraphs its main problem in the title, which is too bad for a film that has its heart in the right place and mostly gets the emphasis right. Will is Will Ferrell, without whose involvement this documentary likely never happens, but it is his friend Harper Steele, a trans woman who only came out about a year before the film was made when she was around 60 years old, who is the real star and the focus of the story.

Steele was a writer on Saturday Night Live when Ferrell first joined the cast, and she saw his comedic potential when other writers didn’t, leading to a longtime partnership and friendship between the two that went beyond the show into movies (including Eurovision Song Contest).

Harper emailed Will to announce her transition a year or so before the events of this documentary, and Will suggested the idea of a cross-country road trip, something Steele liked to do before she transitioned, but that obviously brings some new challenges she hadn’t faced before.

For the first half of the film, Harper is the real main character, as it should be. This is very much her story, and she needs to be at the heart of the movie. Ferrell is supportive and cracks the occasional joke, but he cedes center stage to Harper at every turn where there are other people around until we’re past the one-hour mark. His personality is so big, and he is so recognizable, that of course it is hard for him to fade entirely into the background, but he does manage to step back enough to allow Harper space to speak and even to have conversations with other people where he is just an observer.

Ferrell ends up taking center stage in a weird sequence where the pair go to a Texas steakhouse that offers a 72 ounce steak that’s free if you eat it within an hour – and he goes into the restaurant as Sherlock Holmes. The whole thing feels like a stunt, or something to help market the film, and it doesn’t go over well, for which he does offer a sincere apology afterward – one of many points in the film where it becomes clear that he’s trying to be supportive but that one of his usual mechanisms for that, his over-the-top comic style, doesn’t work here. Later in the film, Harper suggests that the two go out for a nice dinner, and Will goes into a costume store to look for something to disguise him enough that he won’t be recognized … and then buys the most ridiculous wig, glasses, and mustache so that it’s even more clear that he’s Will Ferrell. It’s like he can’t help himself – in a potentially stressful situation, and one where he is trying to be a good friend, he resorts to his favorite trick of playing the clown. In so many environments, that might work wonders by diverting attention from Harper when she’s extremely self-conscious or simply doesn’t want that kind of attention, but in these two scenes it backfires. 

That said, the two do meet some wonderful, accepting people in unlikely or unexpected places. Hate is not inherent to humanity. Fear is, and we have plenty of people who will weaponize that fear to advance their own agendas, and the two stop at one point and read some vile tweets directed at Harper from people who saw the two together at one of their more public appearances on the road trip. That’s one of several moments in the film where Harper is the entire focus and her emotional struggles are laid bare for everyone to see – and where Ferrell acts “normally,” just being a supportive friend who listens to Harper and validates her feelings as best he can.

Documentaries like Will & Harper do suffer from the observer’s paradox: people will behave differently when they know they’re being observed, and in this case, recorded. There are certainly points in the film where you can see the joists holding it together; the two meet up with Molly Shannon near the end of the movie, and she asks a question that is so obviously scripted it took me out of the movie for a moment. Yet there is still a lot that is real, or feels real, from the interactions in an Oklahoma dive bar to the retired therapist they meet in Arizona, things that couldn’t have been scripted but that also read as far more honest and authentic, along with several of Harper’s spontaneous soliloquies – the one near the house she bought is particularly powerful – that give this film its emotional heft.

I’m sure the film wouldn’t have sold as well had it been called Harper & Will, but that’s what this movie is about. Ferrell’s occasional missteps don’t overshadow Steele entirely, just for some segments, and even with those choices it is very clear that Ferrell is trying to be a good friend and a good ally, and in moments where he doesn’t know exactly what to say or do, he doesn’t just resort to cheap laughs, but says very little and just listens, making it clear he’s there to listen – and giving Harper the floor to share some very vulnerable and painful thoughts. It’s uneven and sometimes uncertain, but at the end of their trip, Will and Harper get us, and the film, where we needed to go.

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→ August 31, 2024
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Stick to baseball, 8/31/24.

I’m back to work this week, having gone to Delmarva on Wednesday night to catch Boston’s latest teenaged phenom, Franklin Arias, and will have a long scouting notebook up in a day or two covering that and three other games I haven’t written up yet. I’m a little at odds and ends for next week, as it looks like the schedules of the local teams are pretty unfavorable, and I may have to wait and see on the playoffs.

Over at Paste, I reviewed the board game Rock Hard 1977, designed by Jackie Fuchs, a four-time Jeopardy! champion who happened to be the bassist for the influential rock band the Runaways under the name Jackie Fox. It’s fantastic, and spurred me to rank my five favorite thematic board games (meaning games where the theme is great and well-integrated with game play).

I’ve been holding off on a newsletter until that review went up, so I’ll try to get one out this weekend. You can sign up for free in eager anticipation.

And now, the links…

  • “The truth is that Staten Island kind of sucks.” I’d argue that’s half-right; Staten Island just sucks. It’s the worst of the five boroughs, lacking the culture or diversity of the other four – and it doesn’t have the subway. New York should just hand it to New Jersey. The two states should build a bridge from Jersey City straight to Brooklyn. But this Baffler longread argues that it sucks because it’s Trumpy and xenophobic, and that there are other “little Staten Islands” around the rest of the city, too. And now they’re talking about seceding from the rest of the city on which they depend for their financial existence.
  • The City of Philadelphia released a farcical economic “study” that purports to show that building a new sports arena in Chinatown will benefit the city even though the 76ers already play in a perfectly usable facility that doesn’t require destroying a historic neighborhood and displacing residents.
  • Once upon a time, Chipotle was the “good” fast-food outlet, trying to use better quality ingredients and cultivate relationships with farmers, but ultimately, the profit motive has won out – they’ve been accused of denying raises to unionized workers at a Michigan location in violation of federal law.
  • Lionsgate put out a trailer for the new Francis Ford Coppola film Megalopolis that included a bunch of fake quotes from movie critics blasting some of the director’s older and more acclaimed movies. Megalopolis looks like it’s going to be a giant disaster, after mostly bad reviews at Cannes and multiple stumbles already from the studio and the director.
  • Ohio Republicans, who have repeatedly shown themselves to be some of the worst enemies of democracy, have approved language for an anti-gerrymandering ballot question that is designed to confuse voters into voting their way. Ohio Secretary of State Frank LaRose, who voted seven times to use district maps that were ruled unconstitutional by courts, drafted the confusing language.
  • A cop in Massachusetts raped a girl he met through the state’s program for kids interested in law enforcement careers and then murdered her when she became pregnant, according to charges filed last week. The article I linked refers to “sex acts” before the victim, Sandra Birchmore, was 16 years old, but doesn’t use the correct word for it: rape. This is statutory rape and we need to stop normalizing it by avoiding the term.
  • Mainstream news outlets complaining about the DNC’s credentialing of over 200 content creators are authoring their own extinction, according to Mark Jacob, whose newsletter covers the way right-wing propagandists have run rings around the MSM. Jacob argues that journalists need to refocus on real journalism, like investigative pieces, now that the subjects can often go around them to talk directly to their audiences/customers.
  • A conservative alumni group at the University of Virginia has pressured the school into suspending campus tours given by a student-run service because they talked about how Thomas Jefferson owned slaves and raped them. Really.
  • The denialist group Biosafety Now, which continues to push the debunked lab-leak theory and includes a wide number of prominent anti-vaxxers, has added economist Dr. Jay Bhattacharya, whose advice to then-President Trump on the pandemic was disastrous, to its board. This same group has worked closely with Republicans in Congress to push false claims that China is responsible for creating SARS-CoV-2 and should be held responsible for damages.
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