→ 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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→ April 3, 2024
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Perfect Days.

Perfect Days is a beautiful, lyrical slice-of-life story from veteran director Wim Wenders, making his first film in Japanese, with a superb performance from K?ji Yakusho as a toilet cleaner in Tokyo who seems to find happiness in the simplicity of his daily routine. It earned Wenders his best reviews since his signature film, Wings of Desire, came out in 1987. I just wish it wasn’t so monotonous and inert, even with such a fantastic lead. (You can rent it on iTunes, Amazon, etc.)

Yakusho plays Hirayama, who cleans public toilets in a fancy neighborhood of Tokyo and lives a spartan life built around reading, eating, and listening to music. He’s a solitary person and seems to want it that way, barely talking to anyone through his daily route – especially not his incredibly annoying co-worker, Takashi – and visiting the same few restaurants and the same used bookstore and the same park to eat lunch, and while he’s driving he listens to the same small set of cassette tapes of music from the 1960s and 1970s. He takes tremendous pride in his job, using a tiny mirror like a dentist’s to make sure the undersides of fixtures are clean, and appears to have his route and work timed to the minute. His routine is interrupted a few times throughout the movie – his whiny, arrested-development coworker Takashi, who barely cleans anything, cadges money and a ride off him; his teenaged niece shows up, having run away from home – but he’s mostly stoic throughout. That is, he’s stoic until two encounters shake him enough to get him to show some real emotion: a visit from his sister, whose appearance makes it clear that Hirayama has chosen to live this somewhat ascetic existence; and an incident where he sees the restauarant owner who seems to flirt with him whenever he comes in hugging another man, which leads to a very surprising meeting that I thought was the film’s strongest scene.

In many ways, Perfect Days should be right up my alley: It’s small in scope and story, with a modest character list, and the emotions it generates in the viewer are real and well-earned. The script has a ton of heart and respects its protagonist. But after seeing Hirayama get up and go through his morning routine for the fifth or sixth time, my attention started flagging. The film may very well be asking you to ask whether this is a man who’s found happiness in a simpler existence or whether there’s something pathetic about someone who has chosen to partake so little in the modern world or enjoy the company of others. If so, it doesn’t push hard enough in that direction, even with the two scenes at the end that should at least give the script a chance to explore more of Hirayama’s character; instead, all we get is seeing him cry, the first time he shows any real emotions other than annoyance or mild pleasure in the entire film.

The film has few side characters, and the one with the most screen time, Takashi, is the most annoying character I saw in any movie other than maybe May December. He’s ridiculous, but not in a funny way. He exists just to give Hirayama something more to do than eat, sleep, and read, but he wears out his welcome before his first scene is over – and then he comes back multiple times. Hirayama’s niece has the opposite problem – she’s almost a cipher, with very little personality of her own. There’s the hint that perhaps she’s more like her uncle than she is like her own mother, but the film doesn’t explore that angle before she returns home.

Perfect Days does have a great soundtrack, comprising mostly the songs that Hirayama listens to in his van, with tracks from The Animals, The Velvet Underground, Patti Smith, The Kinks, and Nina Simone. There’s nothing in the film from later than about 1979, so we can infer that Hirayama has no interest in newer music and prefers the music of his youth – perhaps feeling that those songs are enough for him, or perhaps because he just has no interest in anything more modern. There are ideas in here, certainly, but the script doesn’t show the curiosity to learn more about its main character. Takusho’s strong turn is largely wasted here in a film that looks beautiful but never fully engages with its subject. I had high expectations for Perfect Days, but in the end, it just couldn’t hold my attention all the way through.

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→ March 12, 2024
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Amerikatsi.

Michael Goorjian’s Amerikatsi is a dramatic farce that explores two dark periods in Armenia’s history through the eyes of one man who manages to maintain a sense of hope even when his fellow man is cruel to him and fate is crueler. It’s a testament to our humanity and our ability to survive even in awful conditions, and an indictment of the systems and the people that make these conditions possible. It’s a beautiful, funny, heartfelt movie that deserves a much wider audience. (You can rent it on amazon, iTunes, etc.)

Charlie (played by Goorjian, who also wrote and directed the film) escapes the Armenian genocide of 1918 when his grandmother hides him in a cart, allowing him to escape execution at the hands of the Turks. Then just four years old, he ends up in the United States, but after World War II, when Josef Stalin called for Armenian expatriates to return home to held rebuild the country, Charlie does so, only to end up wrongly accused of being either an American spy or a capitalist pig or both, after which he’s sentenced to hard labor. From his cold prison cell, he can see into a nearby apartment, and he watches their lives as if it’s his daily soap opera, becoming invested in their relationship and in the man’s secret passion for art, leading Charlie to reach out and try to make a connection across an impossible boundary.

Much of what happens around Charlie is absurdist comedy, part Kafka, part Iannucci, and you have to just accept that he’s going to end up in prison despite the ridiculous circumstances that land him there. He barely speaks Armenian when he returns to the Caucasus and speaks no Russian, so any attempts to save himself after he’s arrested go nowhere, and he’s the butt of many jokes among the guards and even fellow prisoners, at least at first. He’s even thrown in the “icebox,” a storage room that’s especially cold in winter, yet over time he makes it his own space, at least, and jury-rigs contraptions like a clothesline or a way to sit at the high window and eat his meals while watching his neighbors, even writing down some of their customs like the order of the toasts after a big dinner. (Apparently, one of them is to Mount Ararat, a volcano in easternmost Turkey that is a symbol of Armenian culture and heritage.)

Charlie is an optimist, but not a fool, which is key to making this character work. He has hope, and it appears that nothing can truly extinguish it, but he isn’t blind to his situation; he hopes that there’s something better to come, not that someone will come save him from his current state. Goorjian plays him with such an earnestness that it’s easy to believe in the character, that Charlie could still find joy in small things, and that he’d take the risks he does take to get a message to his neighbor – who turns out to be a more important person than Charlie realizes – just to help another human. The guards call him “Charlie Chaplin,” an overt nod to the tramp-like qualities of the character, with Goorjian occasionally mimicking Chaplin’s walk in the film. The Tramp can be childlike and credulous, but his heart and his ingenuity win the day, which is a good summary of how this Charlie wins out in the end as well.

The score for Amerikatsi, by Armenian composer Andranik Berberyan,is exceptional, with folk music mixed with ambient music to provide some depth and color to what could otherwise have been very bland and grey scenes of Charlie in his prison. There’s also a familiar name in the credits, as the movie was executive produced by Serj Tankian of System of a Down, who also is listed under “additional music.”

Amerikatsi was Armenia’s entry for this year’s Academy Award for Best International Feature Film, and became the first Armenian film to make the shortlist, although it didn’t make the final cut of five nominees. I can’t say it deserved a nod, as I haven’t seen any of the five yet, but if they’re all better than this one, then 2023 might have been the best year in film history. Amerikatsi tells a simple if ridiculous story, and in so doing it gives us glimpses into Armenian history and epitomizes the strength of a people who’ve been victims of their neighboring aggressors for over a hundred years.

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→ March 4, 2024
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All of Us Strangers.

A reclusive writer in London starts a fling with a young man in his apartment complex, after which he takes a trip to visit his childhood home, where he finds his parents – who died twenty or thirty years earlier – just as they were right before they died, apparently alive and very happy to see him. It’s a bizarre and immediately compelling premise, with the superb Andrew Scott in the leading role. Alas, All of Us Strangers squanders all of these gifts by completely flubbing the ending in the most trite and predictable fashion. (It’s streaming now on Hulu, or available to buy on amazon.)

Scott plays Adam, a screenwriter who lives alone, without a partner or even many (or any) friends, but when he spots Harry (Paul Mescal) outside, the two have instant chemistry, although Adam is as reticent as Harry is forward and it takes several encounters before the two even go as far as a kiss. Their first conversation seems to free up Adam to write more, and he decides to take a train to the neighborhood where he grew up so he can see his childhood home, which should be sitting empty. Instead, he sees his parents, who died in a car accident when he was twelve, apparently alive and well, as they were just before the died, although they seem unfazed by the fact that he’s an adult and if anything is older than they are. He returns to see them several times, gradually revealing more about his life, including a scene where he comes out to his mother and she reacts as if it’s still 1990 or so. He also begins to see Harry more frequently, but when he tries to bring Harry to see his parents, the house is dark and abandoned, and Harry is clearly perturbed at his friend’s erratic behavior.

For nearly all of this film’s run time, it exists on another plane, where you can accept the unreality of what’s happening because it’s simple and self-contained and gives us little glimpses into Adam’s character. The film is about him, and his growth, or at times his regression, is the heart of the film. Each of his interactions with his parents, played by a frumpy Claire Foy and a mustachioed Jamie Bell, reveals a little more about his personality and why he’s become the person he is, for better and for worse. The character development is strong enough to justify the premise, but the script still needs to find a way to resolve the question of what’s actually happening with Adam’s parents, and unfortunately it does so in as unsatisfying a manner as it could have, undoing much of the remainder of the film in the process as well.

Scott is the film’s saving grace, although his performance has gone largely overlooked in awards season here and in the UK beyond one nomination for him at the Golden Globes. The film was even nominated for six BAFTAs, winning none, but Scott didn’t even get a nod for Best Actor. It’s an understated performance in a quiet role, which may have hurt him with critics and voters, but without him this film is dead on arrival. Mescal is fine as Harry, although the character itself is a little one-note, with Mescal giving him enough charm and pathos to let the viewer overlook how fortuitous his appearance in Adam’s life seems to be.

With twenty minutes or so left, I thought All of Us Strangers would end up among my top five films of 2023, between Scott’s performance and the way it establishes such a clear vibe from the start. I’m struggling to think of a film that unraveled so badly in the way it concluded, though. There’s failing to stick a landing, and there’s missing the mat entirely.

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