→ February 14, 2019
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What Will People Say.

What Will People Say, the second feature film written and directed by Iram Haq, was Norway’s submission for this year’s Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, and is heavily based on events from Haq’s own adolescence. She’s Norwegian, of Pakistani descent, and when she was a young teenager, her father kidnapped her and returned her to Pakistan to live for a year and a half because her parents feared that she was becoming too westernized. The grim and often brutal script follows its protagonist, here aged 16, through the same sequence of events, exploring the ways both Islam and her south Asian culture are wielded to control and break young women, in a story that would be hard to accept if it weren’t true. The movie is streaming free for amazon prime subscribers.

Nisha, played by first-timer Maria Mozhdah, acts like a regular teenager, rebelling against restrictive parents, hanging out with friends, with a budding relationship with a white boy. When he sneaks into her room one night, her father discovers them and proceeds to beat the boy and hit Maria, which leads to the involvement of child protective services. Maria’s mother tricks her into coming home, after which her father (Adil Hussain) and brother kidnap her and fly her to Islamabad, where he leaves her with her aunt and grandmother so she can learn to be a Pakistani housewife and mother, and, they hope, to cure her of these wicked western ways she’s learned in Norway. While there, she and her cousin fall for each other, only to be caught and humiliated by the local police, after which her father comes to retrieve her and start a new cycle of abuse and restriction that leads to the arrangement of a marriage without her consent.

What Will People Say, taking a phrase that Haq says is used in south Asian cultures to control women, is almost unrelenting once the downward spiral begins with her father’s violent reaction to finding a boy in her room. (He accuses her of having had sex with the boy, which isn’t true, but he repeats it in front of the social worker and demands that she marry the boy to save their honor.) Nisha endures some physical abuse and far more psychological abuse, but still shows strength of spirit and an ability to adapt to her situation, at least building a real affection for some of her cousins once it’s clear that she won’t be able to escape back to Norway, and eventually finding some strength to fight back against her domineering, self-loathing auntie – which makes it all the harder to stomach when she’s caught, shamed (for nothing), brought back to Norway, kept in near-total isolation, and ends up lying to social workers that everything’s fine.

Mozhdah is outstanding as Nisha, put through a gauntlet of torments and particularly asked to show outright fear, the sort of fear that incorporates terror and the loss of hope, especially as Nisha realizes her family members are working against her – especially her father, with whom she had a close relationship and thus in whom she’d placed great trust. (Haq has said she reconciled with her father as he was dying of cancer; on his deathbed, he told her to make this film, “to show how evil people can get when they are scared.”) Hussain, who played the main character’s father in The Life of Pi, is often terrifying in his role as Nisha’s father, where he’s asked to show contempt for the child he’s supposed to love and whose best interests he believes he has at heart.

Hussain’s performance ends up the key to making What Will People Say work in the end, when Nisha does escape, ostensibly for good, and her father shows a small sign that he finally understands her perspective – that he and her mother don’t actually share a vision of Nisha’s future, and that his actions now lead to a path where she would end up losing most of her freedom. It’s a tiny glimmer of optimism in a story that has beaten Nisha down, literally and figuratively, for most of its 105 minutes, one that would be hard to accept were it not so heavily based in reality. Haq’s script indicts so many forces, from south Asian cultures to Islam itself to the Norwegian authorities who ignored the evidence right in front of them, that it feels like a story written out of anger. Haq has said she’s not angry any more. What Will People Say transfers that anger to us.

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→ February 13, 2019
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High Flying Bird.

Steven Soderbergh’s newest film, High Flying Birds debuted in select theaters as well as on Netflix on February 12th, which means everyone can watch it now just as it’s getting reviewed – and it’s good, flawed but good, and likely of interest to most of you here since you’re probably a sports fan of some sort if you’re reading this in the first place. It’s also notable because for at least the second time Soderbergh has filmed a feature entirely on iPhones, which is sort of a mixed bag for the viewing experience. The movie really stands on two pedestals: the righteous indignation of its plot, with the screenplay by Tarell Alvin McCraney (who wrote the play that became the film Moonlight) and a standout performance from the always-compelling Andre Holland.

Holland plays Ray, an agent who represents multiple NBA players, including recent #1 draft pick Erick Scott (Melvin Gregg). The NBA is in a lockout as the movie opens, right before what I presume is Labor Day, which means players aren’t getting paid, which means Ray isn’t getting paid, which means his agency is crying poverty (with Zachary Quinto playing his one-dimensional boss). So Ray, with the help of his former assistant Sam (Zazie Beets), concocts a scheme, on the fly, to try to force owners to improve their offer to the players’ union, involving Erick and his teammate, the arrogant star Jamero Umber, playing an ‘impromptu’ pickup game at a charity event run by Ray’s friend and mentor Spencer (Bill Duke).

With MLB potentially heading for a work stoppage, and players taking to social media every day to talk about the deteriorating situation – revenues are rising, but player compensation isn’t, and obviously the best free agents are still unsigned – High Flying Bird feels incredibly timely even though it’s about another sport and incorporates a racial theme not as present in MLB. Slavery is mentioned multiple times – and its mere mention is worked into a successful running gag – while it’s no accident that the owners who appear on screen are all white, while every player, agent, or other representative is African-American. The script carefully avoids any discussion of dollars, focusing instead, as it should, on the distribution of the spoils; once you start bringing dollar amounts into any discussion of the salaries of professional athletes, you provoke the emotional bias that makes people say “$10 million to play a game?” and then I have to reach for the rum again.

There are many facets of Soderbergh’s direction and McCraney’s script that don’t work. Foremost among them is Soderbergh’s inclusion of snippets from interviews he conducted with three current NBA players – Karl-Anthony Towns, Donovan Mitchell, and Reggie Jackson, which means I was today days old when I learned there was an NBA player named Reggie Jackson – discussing life in the NBA, especially as a rookie. At the beginning, the answers help provide some context for what’s about to happen, but Soderbergh interrupts the film twice with more snippets in the final 20 minutes, which wrecks the tension and the flow of the narrative as he’s trying to wrap up both the global storyline and the set of storylines for Erick, Sam, and Ray. Many characters who play important roles in the plot are utterly one-dimensional, including Kyle Maclachlan’s bespectacled NBA owner (complete with trophy wife who speaks to her dog in nauseating baby talk). Sonja Sohn is well-cast as the NBA Players Association’s main rep, but the side story of her trying to start a family with her wife/partner doesn’t fit anywhere in the rest of the story.

And then there’s the editing and cinematography, which ultimately knock this film down from great to good for me. The picture quality is excellent, and most of the time you’d never think anything was filmed on something other than high-end equipment, but Soderbergh chooses some very strange angles, often filming people from an angle a little too high or low and distorting the viewer’s perspective. (Insert film angle optimization joke here.) There are also some very abrupt edits where scenes seem to change before a character has finished a sentence, and while Ray and Spencer in particular work some long pauses into monologues, Soderbergh doesn’t let any moments at the ends of those soliloquies breathe.

Holland is always great – he had side roles in Moonlight and 42 – but this is the most substantial part I’ve seen him tackle, and he’s not just good but credible from the opening scene (which has Ray and Erick engage in some very clever banter, a pace I wish the film had tried to keep up in later scenes). Ray gets preachy with Erick a few times, which does give an ironic aspect to the sermon Jamero’s mother drops him, but Holland’s charisma and particularly his tight, highly modulated delivery makes him compelling where he might have been exhausting. Beets and Gregg are also solid in supporting roles, although I didn’t find the chemistry between them all that evident even though the two characters do get together. Duke is just a delight even though his character plays the same short melody over and over through the film.

High Flying Bird will leave you with zero doubt as to its take on the late-stage capitalism of professional sports: The athletes are still treated like chattel, by mostly white owners, and many fans don’t care or side with the owners because they think the players’ high salaries should be enough, rather than considering whether the players are getting their fair share of revenues, or, as the script points out, how many hands reach into a player’s paycheck before it reaches him. Meanwhile, MacLachlan and his wife are planning to jet to Australia for a long weekend on their private plane, and he manages to patronize the hell out of Sonja Sohn’s character (in a subtly homophobic way) and isn’t much better to Ray. There are clear good guys and bad guys here, and unlike most coverage of labor issues in American sports, McCraney’s take is at least directionally correct. It’s a film worth seeing and discussing, and if the book that Scott carries around all film in a sealed envelope, revealed at the very end, gets a little bump in sales as a result, so much the better.

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→ February 10, 2019
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Eighth Grade.

Comedian Bo Burnham made his screenwriting debut with 2018’s Eighth Grade, a cute coming-of-age story with newbie Elsie Fisher in the lead role of Kayla. It will compete with itself between making you laugh and making you want to crawl out of your own skin, because I’m guessing just about everyone who sees this will relate to something that happens to Kayla as we follow her through the last few weeks of eighth grade and see her navigate social anxieties and prepare for high school. The film is free now on amazon prime.

Kayla is a shy, awkward teenager – watch how Fisher walks, as if she’s trying to make herself smaller – who posts ‘advice’ vlogs that, as we see, no one watches, but also worries that she’s giving advice she doesn’t even take herself. Nothing extraordinary happens to her for most of the film; she gets invited to a pool party, wins the dubious honor of being named quietest in her class, spends a lot of time on Instagram and Snapchat (as we’re told, nobody uses Facebook any more), has a crush, hears about sex, and eventually has a day where she shadows a perky, outgoing high school senior named Olivia (Emily Robinson, who has fantastic hair). We get a school-shooting drill, impossibly uncool teachers and school administrators – really, a principal tries to dab, and I’ve never been so embarrassed to be over the age of 20 – and, eventually, one bad thing happens that triggers the big scene you might have caught in the trailer where Kayla and her dad (Josh Hamilton) have an emotional conversation around a fire pit.

Eighth Grade is by far at its best when Kayla is on the screen and at the center of whatever’s happening. She gives a description of anxiety, without naming it as such, that’s about as good a depiction of the physical aspects of the disorder that I have heard anywhere in fiction. Fisher’s bright eyes and blond hair would seem to make her a standout, but she plays Kayla as so unsure and vulnerable that she ends up seeming younger than her classmates and that much more sympathetic. And Eighth Grade should be viewed through her lens from start to finish; even the worst thing that happens to her works better because she’s always at the focus of the narrative and the camera. There’s a joke around a banana that is such picture-perfect physical comedy that I can only assume Fisher actually hates the fruit in real life – or else she deserved a Best Actress nod for that scene alone.

Where Burnham lost me and cost himself some momentum is when he went for cheap laughs, like making the adults not just uncool but sort of assertively uncool, like the dabbing principal or the teacher in the sex education video who says “it’s gonna be lit!” To a teenager, parents and adults are just generally not cool, but Burnham goes twice as far as he needs to go so he can hammer that point home. A few of the gags hit, but more miss or just seem out of place because they take the focus away from Kayla’s journey – and her story is the heart of the film in every sense of the term.

Other than Fisher’s performance, the biggest reason Eighth Grade works, even with its inconsistencies, is that Burnham has managed to hit so many universal emotions and experiences with just a handful of anecdotes over the course of about 90 minutes. While there’s nothing here that specifically happened to me as a kid, the sensations and emotions were entirely familiar – none more so than that sense that you’re the one person in the room everyone is looking at, the one person everyone else has identified as the oddball. A few of the anecdotes are rooted in modernity; all the kids are constantly on their phones, talking to each other through DMs, snaps, and instagram comments. You can generalize almost everything in this film that Kayla experiences to match something you remember feeling as a kid. And I got to feel this film on two levels, since I’m also the father of a girl just a year younger than Kayla is, so eighth grade for us is just around the corner. (I’ve already forbidden her from using Snapchat though.) So while the script is inconsistent and has some gags that don’t land, the story is so authentic to the experience of growing up as a suburban teenager that the film eventually works and resonates without resorting to cheap manipulation or big twists.

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→ February 8, 2019
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Of Fathers and Sons.

This year’s slate of nominees for the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature might have had the biggest surprise of all in its omission of Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, the rare documentary to cross over into popular success, earning over $22 million at the U.S. box office, putting it 12th all time in the category on BoxOfficeMojo. (The categorization there is itself debatable; three films in the top 11 are concert films, another is a Dinesh D’Souza propaganda piece, and two are Michael Moore propaganda pieces.)

One of the five films that did make the Oscar cut this year was the little-known Of Fathers and Sons, an Arabic-language film by the Syrian-Kurdish director Talal Derki, who was previously honored for his film Return to Homs. For Of Fathers and Sons, Derki spent over two years with a jihadist family in Syria, watching the Islamist father radicalize his sons and speak of the inevitability of a world war that leaves his particular brand of fundamentalist Sunni Islam triumphant across the world, in fulfillment of prophecy. It is harrowing and defeating, yet deeply personal, even intimate, as we watch two of the sons in particular react differently to their father’s exhortations.

Abu Osama is the father, apparently one of the founders of al-Qaida in Syria, and Derki spent those two years watching Abu Osama and his eight sons, most all of whom are named after jihadists, including his eldest, Osama Osama, and another son, Ayman Osama, named for current al-Qaida leader Ayman al-Zawahiri. The documentary has no narration, other than Derki occasionally posing questions to Abu Osama, and the only narrative arc is a natural one – the father’s indoctrination of his sons into the rhetoric and mania of a holy war against the enemies of their very specific branch of Salafi jihadist Islam (which includes pretty much everybody else, although Americans, Jews, and Shi’ites all get their turn as targets of derision). This process is set against domestic scenes, including more ordinary interactions between father and sons, as well as scenes of the boys by themselves, mostly just being boys, a strange reminder that jihadists are made, not born, and that even the father, who comes across as inhuman almost every time he speaks to the camera or to other adults, has a human side when it comes to his family. Eventually, however, the time comes for Osama to head off to training camp to become an al-Qaida fighter, while Ayman balks at the brutality of the training, and Abu Osama suffers an injury that shifts the story without deterring him from raising an army of jihadist children.

The marvel of Of Fathers and Sons is its access, apparently unfettered where the males are concerned, but with virtually no women or girls appearing on camera – the only women of any age on screen are shown at a distance in public spaces, such as outside the local school. Abu’s niece is outside at one point, never shown, when we hear the boys yelling at her that she shouldn’t be outside without her burqa, and Abu then jokes about punishing her or worse. Then we find out she’s two.

And that’s where Of Fathers and Sons becomes very uncomfortable to watch, which cuts both ways. Derki has ceded his voice to maintain access (and, perhaps, stay alive?) among men who would gladly commit murder for the sake of their very narrow beliefs. Abu has a sniper’s hideout near his house, and at one point, he and Derki are in it, when Abu seems someone on a motorbike and shoots him, gloating that the man fell off but asking someone off-camera for another gun so he can kill the man, which he doesn’t appear to do. Does Derki have any moral responsibility to say something there? Could he, without compromising his life and those of whatever crew he had? Less strident but just as disturbing is the sequence where he shows Osama, who is about 12 but whose age Abu doesn’t even know, how to shoot a pistol; with all of the kids looking younger than their stated ages, probably due to their diets, seeing a child who isn’t old enough to shave holding a pistol and shooting with an adult’s confidence while talking about God’s will and, eventually, training to fight with al-Qaida is even more disturbing to watch than the on-screen slaughter of a sheep towards the end of the movie.

I know it might sound contrarian to say this, but I’m completely fine with this getting a nomination over Won’t You Be My Neighbor?. Of Fathers and Sons has something important to say, and Derki lets the subjects say it for him. His direction feels totally hands-off, which means there are some scenes in here that might be superfluous, but do serve to fill out the picture of Abu Osama and his sons as a family who still have some bonds in common with any other family, but who live in a war zone, in dangerous conditions, and preach hate as a regular way of life. It is a story without hope, at least not for these boys, but perhaps a warning to the rest of us if we want to prevent the next generation from growing up to be jihadists too.

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→ February 6, 2019
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Tito and the Birds.

The Brazilian film Tito and the Birds (original title Tito e os Pássaros) was one of 25 animated titles eligible for this year’s Academy Award for Best Animated Feature Film, just now getting a release to U.S. theaters in both subtitled and English dubbed versions. It’s a visual feast with a story that is modern in details, classic in theme, and hews closely to the story templates of most animated films that try to appeal simultaneously to adult audiences and to most kids. It’s dark for its genre, but full of hope, with kids as its heroes and a simple message, cogently delivered, en route to a spectacular ending. (I saw the subtitled version.)

This year will mark the 19th time the Academy has given out a Best Animated Feature Film prize, with the number of nominees in each year tied to the number of eligible films – if fewer than 16 films are eligible, three earn nominations; otherwise, five get nods. The history of the award shows three strong biases: The Academy loves major studio releases, they prefer computer-animated films, and they strongly favor English-language films. Only one animated film that wasn’t originally written in English has won the honor (Hiyao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away won in 2002, the second year of the award); there have never been more than two nominees in languages other than English, with that last occurring in 2013 (Ernest & Celestine, which is wonderful, and Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises). The last film that wasn’t computer-animated to win was the Wallace and Gromit feature in 2005. This year’s slate of five includes two Disney/Pixar titles and one Sony Animation title, plus one co-produced by Fox Animation and Europe’s enormous Studio Babelsberg. With Mirai, a Japanese feature that wasn’t from Miyazaki or his Studio Ghibli, taking the fifth spot, the odds were stacked against Tito from the start – and then you add that the writers and directors were themselves first-timers and I don’t think this ever had a shot at a nomination. So with all of that prologue, and recognizing this hill points almost straight up, I’ll give my opinion: If Tito and the Birds wasn’t the best animated film of 2018, it was damn close, and its exclusion would be an embarrassment if the Academy were capable of that sentiment.

Tito takes place in a slightly altered version of the present, as a new pandemic begins around a disease of fear. Doctors don’t know what causes it or how it spreads, but it causes people to shrivel into shapeless blobs and, in its final and incurable stage, into rocks. The answer to the riddle of the disease seems to lie with the birds, which is where Tito and his scientist father Dr. Rufus come in; Dr. Rufus has been trying for years to build a machine to allow us to understand the language of birds, in part because he believes they are trying to warn humanity of some impending catastrophe. The machine fails and Dr. Rufus goes into exile, which leaves Tito and his friends Sarah, Buiú, and the wealthy scion Teo to try to rebuild the machine and stop the epidemic, even as Teo’s father Alaor, the film’s main antagonist, tries to stoke the fears through his television shows so he can sell real estate in his new, walled-off Dome Gardens.

Alaor is Trump, obviously – the pre-election Trump, using his platform as a reality TV celebrity to stoke fear for his own financial benefit, ignorant of or simply unsympathetic to the damage he might be wreaking on society as a whole. The disease vector is never identified in the film – this is a fear disease of fear itself, which means that Alaor can accelerate its spread by reminding people of all of the dangers in the world, foremost among which is other people. The epidemic rages as the kids work together against the city’s Gestapo-like biohazard agents and race to rebuild Dr. Rufus’ machine, failing one time after another as the disease even threatens to overtake each of them. The conclusion wasn’t what I expected – the writers had an easy way to wrap up the story, but took the long way round, and it works quite beautifully on both literal and metaphorical levels. The scripts speaks to how society should confront its fears, such as the rampant xenophobia that has infected our national dialogue, but also has a message that should resonate with anyone who’s had to cope with individual fears or anxiety.

The visuals here match up to the quality of the story, with an oil-painted look to the backgrounds that balances between impressionist and post-impressionist painting styles, including land and seascapes that reminded me of last year’s Loving Vincent, which took actual Van Gogh paintings and used them as backdrops for the entire movie. In our era of hyperrealistic computer animation, there’s a nostalgic pleasure in the exaggerated, inexact depictions of the characters themselves – Buiú in particular is my favorite, and the way he’s drawn reminded me of Jason from Home Movies. Their slapdash look contrasts well with the bold colors and huge strokes of the backgrounds when the characters are outside, complemented by the small elements on screen when the characters are indoors (e.g., the blue flame under a tea kettle).

That combination of a great story with strong animation feels like such a throwback, especially since computer-animated films dominate the box office as well as the awards in the category. (The Annie Awards split their Best Feature category in 2015, adding a category for independent animated features, and Tito and the Birds earned a nomination there, losing to Mirai.) It’s probably a matter of personal taste, but this kind of animation feels both nostalgic and yet still fresh, because there can always be something new when pen meets paper. For a film that began life as a script in 2011 and was finished in 2016-17, Tito and the Birds feels like it could have been finished yesterday, yet will remain relevant for a generation to come.

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→ February 1, 2019
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Capernaum.

The Lebanese film Capernaum, which landed one of the five nominations for this year’s Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film and took home the Jury Prize at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, is both a daring effort to tell a grim story through the eyes of a poor child and an exercise in extended misery porn that seems to border on the exploitative. Told with a framing device that never quite works as intended, the story follows a 12-year-old boy who is neglected by his oversized family as he runs away, finds refuge with an undocumented Ethiopian worker, and eventually commits a violent crime that lands him a five-year sentence in juvenile prison.

Zain, played by a novice actor and Syrian refugee named Zain Al Rafeea, has already been convicted of that crime at the start of the film when we meet him as he sues his parents for something that is never that clear, although if you’ve seen the trailer, you’ve seen where he tells the judge he wants his parents to be forced to stop having children. (His mother is pregnant, yet again, during the trial.) Zain and his younger siblings are forced to hustle on the street every day to bring in money for their family, never attending school, until one day his parents discover his eleven-year-old sister, Sahar, has hit puberty, which means they can sell her to the local shopkeeper as a bride. Zain runs away from home and ends up on the street until Tigest, an Ethiopian woman with a baby at home whose existence she’s trying to hide from the world, takes him in, allowing him to take care of her son Yonas during the day while she works. She’s caught in a roundup of illegal immigrants while at work, leaving Zain and Yonas to fend for themselves, setting in motion a spiral of events that ends with Zain in prison.

The story is told in flashbacks between snippets from the civil case, and the framing device works against the film on several levels, not least because it’s unrealistic and serves as a sort of revenge fantasy element against Zain’s parents. (The question of whether his mother has any agency over her reproductive system is never raised; abortion is illegal in Lebanon, and birth control is available but stigmatized.) Writer-director Nadine Labaki, who also appears as Zain’s lawyer, has packed enough ideas in here for a much longer movie, including multiple issues around women’s rights, child labor, immigration laws, the Syrian refugee crisis, and the exploitation of the poor, which results in a movie without any real thematic focus that instead makes Zain’s suffering the core conceit of the plot. His character has an obvious Oliver Twist quality to him, a combination of a strong survival instinct as well as intense empathy for other children who suffer around him, but Labaki uses him like a pinball and keeps tilting the script to make things a little worse for him at every turn until he finally snaps (with reason) and commits the crime for which he’s jailed.

Al Rafeea’s performance as Zain is remarkable, given his background: He’d never acted or had any training, had lived in Lebanon as a Syrian refugee for eight years, and couldn’t read or write. (Labaki has since said that he’s been resettled in Norway, a lightly ironic outcome as the character Zain wants to buy himself passage to Sweden. In the same piece, she says the filmmakers started a fund to try to help other kids shown in the movie who “still live in dire conditions.”) I found him credible in every way, even though the script demands that he portray a broad range of emotions, some of which you would think would be hard to fake, like the empathy he shows for other kids or the contempt in which he holds just about every adult in his life. But the lawsuit is just a gimmick; it’s never clear what the actual claim is, and how Zain gets into that courtroom with his own lawyer is funny but also wildly unrealistic, as are the two feel-good vignettes that wrap up the film. There’s much to recommend in the middle of Capernaum – just about everything involving Zain in the streets is great, and some of the camerawork when he’s running through Beirut’s slums or walking along the side of a highway with cars flying by him is tremendous – but Labaki tried to tackle too much here instead of just letting Zain’s story stand on its own. There’s just no way this should have taken a nomination over the Korean submission, Burning, which is still the best movie I saw from 2018, but didn’t make the final cut.

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→ January 28, 2019
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FYRE.

My prospects ranking package began its rollout this morning for ESPN+ subscribers with the list of 15 guys who just missed the top 100.

—

By now there’s a pretty good chance you’ve seen FYRE, the Netflix documentary on the ill-fated music festival to be held in the Bahamas in the spring of 2017 that turned out to be a giant con run by its founder Billy McFarland and musician Ja Rule. (There is a competing Hulu documentary on the festival that I have not seen.) Netflix chose to release this briefly in theaters, which will qualify it for awards consideration in the next cycle, and for sheer entertainment value it’s among the top documentaries I’ve ever seen.

I love a good con in fiction, but this con happened in real life, and the most amazing theme of FYRE is how so many people working on the festival saw the con happening in real time and did nothing to stop it. Fyre itself was originally an app that would allow people to book celebrities for events, streamlining a process that was opaque even to people with the money to do this but not the access. At some point, McFarland – and we’ll get to him in a moment – had the idea to create a music festival to promote the app, and then plowed ahead with the concept, despite lacking any experience in running festivals, and then hired a bunch of people he knew to try to run the event, half of whom didn’t know what they were doing and half knew what they were doing but couldn’t execute given the constraints of time, money, and location. Many of these folks appear on camera and voice their concerns that it was never going to work, but as far as I can tell, none of them actually quit the organization – one was fired for raising these issues – or did much beyond say that they thought the plans were in trouble.

McFarland appears here only in footage from the planning meetings, because it turns out they pretty much filmed everything as they were trying to make this festival happen, but isn’t interviewed directly; he does answer questions in the Hulu documentary, the producers of which paid him to do so. What FYRE does give us, however, is a sense of just what a grifter McFarland really is: he’d previously come up with Magnises, a members-only club with a credit card-like passport that would give members access to exclusive events, an actual club to visit in Manhattan, and discounts on hard-to-get tickets to concerts and shows. While it delivered on some of its promises, eventually the company started overpromising and underdelivering, or just not delivering at all, leading to a surge in complaints and cancellations just as McFarland was bragging about massive membership growth – and also turning his attention to Fyre.

His ability to get Magnises off the ground and even build some kind of customer base set up the Fyre fiasco in two ways: It became clear that he was very good at getting publicity, and he started a pattern of trying to separate wealthy or high-income millennials from their money. The Fyre Festival wasn’t just poorly run, but poorly funded, and the company took money from would-be concert goers for things that didn’t exist, like housing on or near the beach, and eventually came up with the idea of wristbands that attendees would use to pay for “extra” events like jetskiing but that was just a scam to get working capital so the concert wouldn’t go under before it started.

Of course, the most entertaining parts of Fyre come down to the depths of the scam, and how McFarland appears to be so privileged that he can’t understand the word ‘no.’ I won’t spoil it for people who haven’t seen the film, but the Evian water story has quickly become a meme, with good reason. People did get to what was supposed to be the concert site, only to find it wasn’t ready for anybody, with just some hurricane tents propped up on the beach and inadequate supplies or housing for the people who did show up, with the concert cancelled just hours before the event was supposed to begin, and no plans to get all these people back home after they were flown to the site on a chartered plane. McFarland appears to have tried to just keep a half-step ahead of the people while stealing their money, and I think the most shocking part (other than the Evian bit) is that he is eventually arrested over this scam, gets out on bail, and immediately sets out to begin another grift, this one even more blatant than the previous ones.

Nobody feels sorry for the well-heeled Fyre Festival customers who were willing to fly to the Bahamas for what was essentially billed as a luxury version of Coachella and kept handing over cash without doing much to see if the people taking their money were reliable. I can’t say I felt a lot of sympathy for them either, but that schadenfreude was not a major part of FYRE‘s message to me. I can’t get over how many people worked on this project, knew it was a dumpster fire on a flatbed rail car that was slowly going off the tracks into a ravine, and stuck around – even when they weren’t getting paid. One person, never identified, did leak details to a site that called Fyre Festival a scam and probably contributed to its downfall (or at least to the rise of skeptical media coverage of it), but everyone we see here except for the one who was fired kept working here until the event was cancelled. (The guy who was fired – the one real voice of reason here – is the same guy who brags that he learned to fly by playing Flight Simulator.)

This event never gets off the ground were it not for a clever social media campaign that made heavy use of ‘influencers,’ notably those on Instagram, who were promised compensation if they would simply talk about the festival and post its image of a blank orange square. (I don’t know why either.) The documentary skirts the subject too much for my liking, because ultimately, influencer culture is itself a fraud. Yes, if you have a large social media following, you can direct people to buy certain products and services, just by nature of the volume of eyeballs on your content. That absolves the influencer of any responsibility for what they appear to recommend, which was later codified by the FTC into guidelines requiring influencers to disclose “material connections” to brands they recommend, and to do so in a way that will be clear to most users. I have a large Twitter following and modest audiences on Facebook and Instagram (the latter of which I’m using more, mostly just for fun or silly posts), and so I am offered a lot of stuff in the hopes that I’ll recommend it – sometimes things just show up at the house. I have a simple policy: I won’t recommend anything I don’t like or use myself. I have told publishers not to send items. I declined a gift card to a restaurant chain (no, not Olive Garden) because there was a quid pro quo attached to it. Granted, I am not an “influencer” using it as my primary source of income – but maybe that’s not the most ethical way to make a living, either.

As for the Hulu version, I’ll probably watch it because I have a couple of close friends who’ve urged me to do so, even just so we can discuss it, although the consensus seems to be that FYRE is better. And it is wonderfully bonkers at so many points. Ja Rule has a quote near the end that is a jawdropper. The Evian story and McFarland’s third scam, while out on bail, are both are-you-fucking-serious moments. The Lord of the Flies (Lord of the Fyres?) scenes on the beach and later at the airport are both enough to make you screw up your faces in disbelief, although those beach scenes made me a little uncomfortable as these well-off young adults complained over conditions that probably a billion people in the world experience as their normal. It’s shocking in so many ways, none more so than the grifter Billy himself, who must be some sort of sociopath for the ease with which he lies to people and to cameras while gleefully helping himself to others’ cash.

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→ January 24, 2019
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Cold War.

Pawel Pawlikowski won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 2015 for his movie Ida, and returned this year with the critically acclaimed Cold War, distributed by amazon studios, which just earned three Oscar nominations this week for Best Foreign Language Film, Best Cinematography, and, in one of the biggest surprises of the nominations, Best Director. The taut 85-minute, black-and-white drama sets a doomed romance against the backdrop of the Cold War itself, with its two main characters moving back and forth across the Iron Curtain as the political climate tears them apart and their animal magnetism pulls them back together.

Based heavily on the story of Pawlikowski’s own parents, who were musicians in Poland after World War II and split up multiple times before Pawe? was born, Cold War stars Joanna Kulig as Zula and Tomasz Kot as Wiktor, who first meet when Wiktor helps put together a music ensemble to play and honor traditional Polish folk music under the Communist government. Zula has singing talent but lies about her background and experience to con her way into the group, and Wiktor feels an immediate attraction to her that she recognizes and exploits to secure her place at the makeshift academy. This eventually explodes into a passionate affair that leads Wiktor to plan for their defection while their company tours Berlin, only to have Zula choose to stay behind at the last moment, setting in motion a series of meetings and partings over the next fifteen years between Paris, Yugoslavia, and Warsaw, with Zula becoming a jazz singer, Wiktor ending up a political prisoner, and the two absorbing increasing costs to leave each other and come together again.

The pain of parting may be nothing to the joy of meeting again, but Zula and Wiktor are unable to maintain that joy for very long, and begin to tear each other apart – especially Wiktor, who seems to often treat Zula like a prize to be won, or an object to be possessed, as opposed to an independent woman with her own agency. Kulig and Kot have absurd on-screen chemistry that allows Pawlikowski to show virtually nothing while making the desperate passion between the two characters palpable: There’s one love scene where the camera and the actors pause, and we only see Zula’s face, and in the span of under ten seconds the viewer can feel the intensity of this relationship while still understanding that it can never end well.

The decision to shoot the film in black and white appears to have resonated with Academy voters, as both this and Roma landed cinematography nods; Pawlikowski said that color didn’t work when they tried it, as he wanted to replicate the gray bleakness of Poland in the aftermath of the war and the communist takeover. It gives the Polish scenes that depressing air, although it works against the portions of the movie in the nightclubs and salons and ateliers of Paris, where the sense of life is muted … or perhaps that was Pawlikowski’s point, that Zula and Wiktor, as products of the war and the communist regime, can’t fully appreciate or embrace the artistic and personal freedom of the west after their experiences?

Kulig smolders as Zula, moving deftly from ingenue to partner to free spirit to an independent woman who can be petulant and indignant as Wiktor begins to treat her worse the more they’re together. Kot, looking like a slightly older, more rakish Michael Fassbender, drifts more abruptly from dark remove to desperation, as Wiktor’s ability to take Zula for granted once she’s there is completely mystifying, while his single-minded focus on finding her when they’re apart is palpable and easier to understand.

Cold War is short – it’s less than half the length of fellow nominee Never Look Away, which clocks in at 188 minutes – and it zips along once Zula enters the picture, sometimes a little too quickly for some of the tension between the two characters to develop naturally. The film’s ending is problematic, although the last line and shot are both beautiful, in a way I can’t discuss without a huge spoiler; I’ll just say I don’t think it’s adequately set up by the 80 minutes that come before. That puts it behind my big 3 of foreign films from 2018 (Burning, Roma, Shoplifters), but the first 95% of this movie is so good and such a gripping depiction of the familiar story of star-crossed lovers that it’s still a success and worth seeking out.

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→ January 20, 2019
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The Guilty.

The Danish film The Guilty earned one of the nine spots on the shortlist for this year’s Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, with an English-language remake coming at some point with Jake Gyllenhaal in the lead role. That Oscar category is loaded enough this year that I’d be surprised if it landed one of the five nominations, but The Guilty is a tremendous thriller, one that grabs you by the throat early on and never lets go, while also providing an insightful character study into the only significant person to appear on screen. It’s available to rent right now on amazon or Vudu for $7.

Asger Holm is a police officer who’s been accused of an unspecified violation on the job, the details of which appear much later in the story, and demoted to desk duty where he takes 112 (the Danish equivalent of 911) calls and doesn’t seem to take the job very seriously. After a few relatively minor calls, including one from a man who was robbed by a sex worker and doesn’t want to admit that that’s what happened, Asger takes a call from a woman, Iben, who manages to communicate that she’s been kidnapped by someone she knows and is being taken somewhere outside of Copenhagen in a moving car. She pretends she’s talking to her daughter, Mathilde, who is now home alone with her baby brother Oliver, while Asger navigates a conversation to try to get details on where Iben is – and then later gets a call from Mathilde as well. The film never leaves the call center and Asger is in every shot, just moving between two rooms, as he tries to figure out who took Iben and where she’s going, raging against his powerlessness in the situation while eventually confronting his own misdeeds that put him on desk duty in the first place.

The Guilty clocks in at just 85 minutes, and there’s no fat on this story: there’s the main plotline around Iben’s kidnapping and the subplot around Asger’s demotion and a court hearing the following day that will determine his fate and that involves his partner Rashid. The Iben thread twists and turns multiple times, with the tension ratcheted up by dropped calls, her kidnapper asking to speak to her daughter, and eventually Asger getting the kidnapper on the phone. Asger’s own frustrations, both over this case and over his career and personal life as well, boil over into his calls, especially as he feels like the dispatchers he calls aren’t taking the incident seriously enough – and again, he finds himself powerless to do what he’d ordinarily do if he were out in the field, but has been emasculated by his suspension from that role and can only work through others. Eventually, he makes a mistake, as any human would, and has to face the consequences in real-time as the kidnapping is still in progress.

Asger’s character is the only one of any significance to the viewer – Iben is there, on the phone, but we only see of her what Asger hears, and while he learns more about her as the story progresses, it remains superficial throughout. He seems unsympathetic at the start, sneering through his headset at the people who call for help because they’re stupid or did something while drunk, but his interest in Iben, and willingness to break rules and potentially endanger his own career for her shows depth to his character and makes him more sympathetic … but there are still layers beneath that one that will add to our understanding. He’s the hero, but a flawed one, and is flawed in a realistic, human way that informs his words and actions to form a coherent, three-dimensional rendering. Without that depiction, and the strong, restrained performance by Jakob Cedergren, the film simply would not work.

The Guilty has been highly acclaimed in Europe, earning Bodil Prize (the Danish Oscars) nominations for best film, best director, and best actor for Cedergren. I’m guessing, having seen three of the other eight nominees and read reviews and background information on the others, that this film won’t make the final five; Roma and Burning feel like locks, Cold War and Shoplifters bring incredible reviews and accolades from elsewhere, Capernaum is highly topical, and Never Look Away comes from the director of the Oscar-winning The Lives of Others. Of the four shortlisted films I’ve seen, though, it’s the easiest to recommend by far, because it’s the most straightforward and the most purely entertaining: this is a smart, concise thriller that sets out one goal and puts everything in its script towards achieving it. Because it’s so lean, the narrative never flags, and director/co-writer Gustav Möller instead conveys Asger’s frustration by only letting us see Asger and through the use of long pauses in most of the phone conversations. The story here is solid, boosted by a couple of twists, but it’s the way Möller tells the story and Cedergren portrays it that makes The Guilty such a great watch, even if you can sort of figure out where this is headed. I wouldn’t put it above the three other foreign films I’ve seen from the shortlist, but it’s easily the most accessible of the four, and does so without sacrificing its integrity or insulting the viewer’s intelligence to do so.

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→ January 19, 2019
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Stick to baseball, 1/19/19.

Nothing new from me this week, between prospect writing and a trip to NYC the last two days to attend a MEL magazine event. The prospect rankings will start to run on ESPN.com on January 28th and will roll out over two weeks.

And now, the links…

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