→ January 19, 2024
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The Boy and the Heron.

I’m an avowed Hayao Miyazaki fan, having seen every film he’s directed or written other than his first, 1978’s The Castle of Cagliostro, some of them multiple times. My Neighbor Totoro is a favorite of all of my kids, and my daughter has a modest collection of Totoro-themed trinkets, while I’d rank Spirited Away among the best animated films I’ve ever seen for the complexity of its story and the way it blends fantasy and a very specific form of psychological horror. After 2013’s The Wind Rises, Miyazaki announced his retirement (not for the first time), and it seemed right as that was one of his weaker films. Maybe he’d just lost his fastball in his 70s.

He unretired at some point in the interim, spending seven years making his latest and likely final film, The Boy and the Heron. It certainly feels like a swan song, with a story that’s inspired by his own childhood and is told through his typical lens of fantasy, nature, and food, and ending on a beautiful note that seems to say goodbye to all that. It’s very Miyazaki, enough to satisfy his longtime fans, but takes a darker tone for much of the story than anything else he’s done in the last twenty years.

The Boy is Mahito Maki, a young child in Japan in World War II whose mother dies when the Tokyo hospital where she works burns down. Soon after, Mahito’s father marries his late wife’s sister, Notsuko, and they move to her estate in the countryside to escape the bombing. While there, Mahito encounters a talking, taunting heron, and wanders into an abandoned tower on the property with a haunted history. You can probably guess that we’re going in that tower, with the heron, and very strange things are going to happen there, which would be correct, as Notsuko – by then very pregnant – wanders into the forest as if in a trance, and Mahito goes on a quest to find her that takes him into another world, one populated by angry parakeets, starving pelicans, little white sprites called wara-wara, and the solution to more than just the mystery of Notsuko’s disappearance.

The Boy and the Heron is chock full of Miyazaki staples, starting with the unbelievable landscapes, lush with greens and vibrant floral tones – a reminder that hand-drawn animation is still capable of blowing us away by evoking the same sort of sensations we get from the ultra-realism of modern CGI. There are adorable tiny creatures made for merchandising in the adorable wara-wara, just like the soot sprites of Totoro. There’s food, a lot of it, which somehow looks delicious even when it doesn’t look very real. And there’s magic of the Miyazaki variety, like fire witches and talking herons (well, just one) and a hallway of doors that lead to different worlds. It’s not fan service, but it’s comfort food for fans all the same.

Where The Boy and the Heron succeeds is the way it layers a metaphorical version of Miyazaki’s life and career on top of the actual story of Mahito. Mothers in hospitals and cities under attack are common motifs in his films, both drawn from his own childhood, as is the distant relationship Mahito has with his own father – a pattern Miyazaki has said he’s repeated with his older son Goro, who has directed several Studio Ghibli films himself. A large portion of the plot concerns the ideas of world-building and the responsibilities of a creator (or, by extension, an artist), and when the movie ends by closing a literal door on one of those worlds, it feels like Miyazaki himself saying he’s done as a filmmaker. Mahito’s entire story arc from the moment he meets the heron – voiced in the English dub by an unrecognizable Robert Pattinson – seems to serve as a loosely figurative interpretation of Miyazaki’s career in animation, from his first encounters with the form through the fifteen years he worked before writing and directing his first feature to his reluctant decision(s) to walk away.

There’s a long period where Mahito is in the other world where the story loses some momentum, between his encounter with the wara-wara and his entry into the tower, and the film probably could have benefited from some editing here – not that anyone was likely to tell Miyazaki what to do with his own film. Some of this comes together in the ending, including the meaning of the tower, although Miyazaki also leaves some things unexplained, as is his wont; the conclusion turns out to be incredibly moving, especially through that lens of him using the hall of doors and Mahito’s choice to pass through one as his own way of saying to audiences that he’s done. It’s in the upper half of his films, and if it doesn’t quite reach the heights of Spirited Away or Princess Mononoke or the sheer joy of Totoro or Kiki’s Delivery Service, it’s a wonderful and moving way to end a Hall of Fame career.

The Boy and the Heron just won the Golden Globe for Best Animated Feature, which has gone to the eventual winner of the Oscar in that category in 75% of the years since the Globes introduced their category, including the last three winners. The Oscar race feels like it’s coming down to this film, a hand-drawn marvel that’s the Academy’s final chance to honor a legend in the field, against Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, one of the most innovative animated films ever and the sequel to a past winner. I think the Spider-Verse movie is the more worthy winner, but The Boy and the Heron is more likely to win, and my sentimental side hopes it does. Miyazaki has only won this honor once, for Spirited Away, and only been nominated two other times, as the Academy passed over Ponyo and two films he wrote but didn’t direct, Arrietty and From Up on Poppy Hill. Giving The Boy and the Heron this award would be the sort of lifetime achievement honor the Academy seems to love, and the film itself would be the easy choice in most years anyway.

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→ January 15, 2024
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May December.

If you’re at least in your mid-30s, you probably remember the tabloid saga of Mary Kay LeTourneau, a sixth-grade teacher who committed statutory rape by sleeping with one of her students, 12-year-old Vili Fualaau. She served about six years in prison, but had two children by Fualaau and they eventually married, staying together for fourteen years until they separated, shortly after which she died of cancer. It was played for laughs, but it was a very real tragedy, with Fualaau a victim of her grooming and abuse, while she herself had a history of private tragedies from alleged abuse in her first marriage to having her three-year-old brother drown in a pool while she was playing in it at the other end.

The new film May December, streaming exclusively on Netflix,takes this story and very, very thinly veils it with some new names and modest details, envisioning the couple as still married twenty-plus years later with one kid in college and two more about to graduate from high school. Within this movie, there’s a film in production about their story at the time of the actual abuse, and an actress, Elizabeth (Natalie Portman), arrives at the family’s house to spend time with them as she prepares for her role as the younger Gracie (Julianne Moore). Elizabeth at least thinks of herself as an extremely serious actress and embeds herself in the family’s daily routines, following Gracie to things like a flower arranging class and helping her with her home baking business, but also clearly flirting with Gracie’s husband, Joe (Charles Melton), who is now just about the same age as Elizabeth. She also meets Gracie’s ex-husband and one of her children from that marriage as well as some neighbors who offer their own interpretations of events that may be unreliable but at least tend to upset the standard narrative about the couple, both the original crimes and their marriage today.

The tone and atmosphere of May December seem like those of a serious drama, but the script is far more that of a dark comedy. Elizabeth and Gracie are utterly ridiculous people, ridiculous in different ways but similar enough that they clash many times throughout their partnership here. Elizabeth’s preparation for the role borders on parody, such as when she visits the pet store where Gracie and Joe worked when she groomed him – and asks to see the stockroom where they first had sex (or, where Gracie first raped Joe). She seems reasonable at first, just affected, but as the film goes on she comes across as either unhinged or perhaps just not that smart, as if she’s going through the steps she believes a good actor takes but doesn’t understand how to translate the checklist into practice.

Gracie, meanwhile, appears to be arrested development in senior citizen form, crying and throwing tantrums like a small child, with a slight lisp or impediment that comes and goes depending on what impression she’s trying to make. She has, or at least has had, the power in her relationship, but as they get older and the kids that bound them together are about to leave them with an empty nest, she might see the odds of Joe leaving her as higher than ever – and perhaps she sees this new film as a way to prevent Joe from leaving their history behind him.

It all leaves Joe, oddly enough, as the film’s most nuanced and interesting character, giving Melton, previously best known for the C.W. drama Riverdale, a great chance to prove himself as a serious actor. Joe insists that he wasn’t a victim, and that the way the world sees him isn’t at all how he sees himself. He’s not happy in the marriage, or at least not happy enough, but it’s less overt than it might be – he hasn’t woken up one day to realize he was groomed, or suddenly decided he doesn’t want to be married to an old lady when he’s still in his 30s. He’s also perplexed by Elizabeth, who comes from another world that he never got to experience, which leaves him vulnerable to her charms.

Joe also raises monarch caterpillars as a hobby, and Haynes is not the least bit shy about beating the viewer over the head with the metaphor here. I’m all for metaphor and symqbolism in films, but the script here lays it on so thick that you have no room for thought or interpretation, and it ends up a distraction from the tripartite character study that’s at the heart of the film. The script’s ambiguous conclusion forces Elizabeth to rethink much of what she believes she saw and learned while visiting Gracie and Joe, and opens the whole film up to more interpretations, enough so that the caterpillar stuff just wasn’t necessary.

All three leads are excellent, unsurprising for the two who’ve already won Oscars themselves, although the current odds seem to show Moore and Melton on the bubbles for the two supporting categories. It’s possible that May December will only get a nod for original screenplay, which might be merited as it’s looking like the 2023 movie crop ended up a very strong one, but this feels like a film that should earn more acclaim for its actors, without all three of whom it just can’t work. After Haynes’ distracting Velvet Underground documentary, which was sunk by the split-screen gimmick and didn’t give enough story about the band’s incredible influence, it’s good to see him return with a film this complex and challenging.

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→ January 10, 2024
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Rye Lane.

Most meet-cute films are little more than cute, and often they’re just cutesy to the point of being saccharine. They’re date movies, or “date movies,” assuming you care more about the mood you’re setting than the caliber of the movie itself. It’s just not a genre associated with quality, which is why Rye Lane, streaming now on Hulu, was such an incredible surprise: It’s a genuinely great movie on its own merits, even though you know from the start that the protagonists are going to get together, in part because they’re both so realistically drawn and well acted. (Thanks to Chris Crawford, who ranked this among his top 5 films of 2023, for telling me about it.)

As the film opens, we see Dom (David Jonsson) crying in a stall in the all-genders bathroom at an art exhibition, when Yas (Vivian Oparah) comes in to use the neighboring stall, leading to an awkward conversation where Dom reveals that his long-term girlfriend left him for his best mate. The two reconnect outside of the loo and end up walking through Rye Lane Market for a few hours, bonding over their recent breakups, eating at a taco stand for the film’s best cameo, encountering both of their exes, and engaging in more hijinks. The love connection hits a few snags, eventually breaking when it becomes clear that one of them lied to the other about something significant, setting up the finish where, of course, they get together for real.

The actual plot of Rye Lane follows the typical story arc of the meet-cute or any rom-com, naturally limiting its upside. For a formula movie to avoid being just formulaic, the characters have to be credible and the actors in the two lead roles have to excel. Jonsson and Oparah are both superb and have clear chemistry, with Oparah especially strong playing the harder-edged and slightly more complex character, as Yas has the longer back story and her character starts with the blank canvas. The script, by first-time film writers Nathan Bryon and Tom Melia, keeps the two characters believable mostly by avoiding unnecessary details – they’re not idealized, they’re not living high on the hog, they don’t have ridiculous lives or impossibly perfect traits. If anything, they’re both appropriately screwed up given what’s come before.

And on top of that, Rye Lane is very, very funny. It’s a screwball comedy wrapped up in a date movie, calling back to classic comedies of the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood, throwing its two protagonists into a series of misadventures, some of which push the edges of credibility but all of which lead to hilarious results. The visit to Yas’s ex’s mums’ house, where the two women are having a cookout, is especially ridiculous and had me cringing in a good way from start to finish. The connecting thread is that one of them has a bad idea, and the other goes along with it (or is roped into it unwittingly), and then hijinks ensue. It’s hard to pull this off without turning the movie into a joke or just ending up with a bunch of unfunny situations. The script pushes the envelope without breaking it, and the two actors are so credible in their characters that the film never once goes off the rails.

A superb feature debut by director Raine Allen-Miller, Rye Lane really does the meet-cute as well as any recent movie I can remember. It’s a wonderful ride, even though you know the shape of the story arc, and where it ends is exactly right for its story and its characters. And in a year where best-of lists are dominated by some heavy dramas, Rye Lane is the perfect palate cleanser before your next three-hour watch.

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→ January 3, 2024
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The Holdovers.

Alexander Payne’s films often depict deeply flawed people in an empathetic way, almost challenging the viewer to root for them in spite of their awfulness – Miles Raymond in Sideways and Jim McAllister in Election come to mind. The Holdovers, Payne’s latest film and a return to form after Downsizing flopped, has a pair of these awful characters at the heart of its story, giving the viewer a window into each of them as they learn to develop empathy for the other – and for other people in general – that they’d previously lacked. (It’s streaming free on Peacock, or you can buy it on Amazon, iTunes, etc.)

Paul Hunham (Paul Giamatti) is a brusque, old-school instructor of Ancient Civilizations at the Barton School, a tony boarding school in Massachusetts, loathed by students for his ungenerous grading and general classroom manner. The headmaster, angry with Paul over another matter, assigns him to be the one teacher who stays over the Christmas break with the “holdovers,” five students who can’t go home for the holidays for varying reasons. One of them, Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa), was supposed to join his mother and stepfather in St. Kitts, but gets a last-minute call that she’s going to St. Kitts alone with her husband on a delayed honeymoon, so Angus must stay on campus, and he’s not happy about it. It gets worse, as the other four boys get to head off on a ski trip, but Angus’s parents are unreachable (or just ignore the calls), so he can’t get permission to leave, stranding him with Paul, the head cook Mary Lamb (Da’Vine Joy Randolph), and the janitor Danny (Naheem Garcia). Mary recently lost her son, a Barton alumnus, in Vietnam, as he couldn’t get a student deferment, with a stark contrast between his fate as a rare Black student at Barton and his many white classmates.

Paul and Mary don’t know each other very well despite both working at the school for what appears to have been about twenty years, and neither knows Angus at all beyond his time in Paul’s class. Once he’s the only student left, Angus starts to act up, with comical and serious consequences, which helps the two get to know each other beyond the classroom. There’s a holiday party thrown by another Barton staffer, a Christmas dinner with just the three of them, an unplanned field trip, a definitely unplanned trip to the hospital, and more seemingly minor events that allow David Hemingson’s script to reveal more layers to each of the characters.

The film takes place over the winter break of 1970-71, a time when men were men, by which I mean they weren’t supposed to talk about or acknowledge feelings. Paul and Angus are cut from that cloth, and just getting to the points where they do reveal an emotion or two, such as Angus’s comments at the Christmas dinner, is a huge challenge for both men; for Angus, as a teenager, it could be seen as a sign of weakness by his peers, while for Paul, the gruff exterior hides some inner disappointment that the film only hints at later on. Mary is more open with her feelings, although they come out a lot more at the holiday party when she’s had a few, and early in the film it’s clear that neither Angus nor Paul is comfortable with even her modest degree of openness. The parting shot of the two men is brilliantly awkward, and dead on for their two characters, especially in that time period.

Randolph seems to be the favorite right now for Best Supporting Actress, and while I’ve only seen one other potential nominee (America Ferrera, for Barbie), it is a tremendous performance in a somewhat limited role. Giamatti was somewhat infamously snubbed for Sideways, earning his one Oscar nomination a year later for Cinderella Man, and while I could see him landing another nod this year, I’m also a little curious if he can play a character who isn’t fundamentally an asshole. I could see The Holdovers getting both of those nominations as well as Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay (GoldDerby shows it as the favorite for the latter), but I’m not sure how much credit here should go to Payne as the director versus the other contributors. The script itself is smart and witty and a great example of showing people developing empathy in a way that also gets the audience to empathize with them. All three lead actors are excellent. I wouldn’t take anything away from Payne here, but it felt to me like the best thing he could do was stay out of the way.

It’s that empathy bit that makes The Holdovers a superlative film rather than just a great one. Getting viewers to side with characters who are unlikeable in tangible ways is a real challenge for writer and actor – not just rooting for them like some anti-hero, but to embrace them as three-dimensional characters who have serious flaws and may not even like themselves. All three actors meet this challenge, and the script puts them in the right situations for them to show the audience who and what they are. Trying to do more would have ruined the magic.

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→ January 2, 2024
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Past Lives.

Past Lives is the first feature from writer-director Celine Song, and became a surprise hit at the U.S. box office, taking in just over $10 million even though it has no stars in the cast and much of the film is in Korean. It’s small and intimate, with only three real characters, yet manages to explore the nature of love and identity as we follow two of those people from their childhood in South Korea to a meeting in New York 24 years later. It’s a wonderful film that barely strikes a single wrong note even as it moves through territory that naturally lends itself to sentiment and cliché. (You can rent it on amazon, iTunes, etc.)

Na Young (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) are 12-year-old classmates and academic rivals when we first meet them, but just as they seem to be falling for each other, Nora’s family moves to Toronto, after which she takes on the name Nora Moon. Twelve years later, Hae Sung finds her via a page for her playwright/director father’s latest movie, and the two strike up a very intense relationship over Skype and messaging, one that seems to be headed for something more serious until one of them calls it off due to their careers and the physical distance between them. A dozen years after that, the two connect in person, but the window for them to have an actual romance has closed, and they both have to deal with the weight of their memories and the lost connection to each other.

The title of the film refers to a Korean concept, inyeon, where people are connected over their lives or even multiple lifetimes, to the point that fate or providence is pushing them together. Nora and Hae Sung spend significant time in the film debating whether they have inyeon and are actually meant to be together, although in the end it appears that they don’t, as one of them falls in love with someone else. It would be romantic if it were true, but even Past Lives doesn’t take it as fact and in many ways subverts the concept with what it does to its two protagonists.

Beyond the love story, however, there’s a powerful meditation here on national/ethnic identity and the difficulty of assimilation. Nora left Korea at 12, learning English shortly before their trip, and then emigrated a second time from Canada to the United States. She works diligently to fit into western culture, including taking on a “western” name that non-Koreans could more easily pronounce or remember, in a familiar look at the immigrant story where the younger generation becomes American or Canadian or European and loses some or all connection to their country of birth or their parents’. When Hae Sung appears the second time, by which point they’re 36, she’s moved on with her life enough that his visit throws off her equilibrium, and over several days she becomes more uncomfortable with her feelings and with this intrusion of her past life into her current one. At first, Nora’s the cool one of the two, as she’s married and looks at Hae Sung with some pity because he’s not and it’s clear that he hasn’t entirely moved on. The more they talk, and Hae Sung becomes more open about his feelings, the more it rattles her, dredging up something she’s tried to forget or bury, whether it’s him specifically or something broader about her past.

Lee is a revelation in Past Lives, carrying large portions of the film herself because her character is the conflicted one and we see more of her without Hae Sung than the reverse. I’d only seen her previously in some guest spots on the new Electric Company, but I can’t say I remember her appearances. So much of the communication between Nora and Hae Sung is nonverbal, and both Lee and Teo Yoo are superb at expressing their feelings through gesture or facial expression – the ambivalence Nora feels when Hae Sung visits, her anxiety when he and her husband Arthur (John Magaro) meet, the feeling of being stuck between two people who can’t communicate directly so she’s the translator despite her feelings for and about both men.

The script takes Nora’s perspective more than Hae Sung’s, giving her character more depth while leaving him a little harder to grasp, which would mirror the way she’d view him given the huge chunks of time between their real and virtual meetings. We see more of her life outside of their interactions with each other than we do of his, with Hae Sung’s scenes without Nora mostly times he’s out drinking with his buddies. The Best Actress field is incredibly crowded this year, so Lee may not end up in the final five, but it’s an outstanding performance without which the film wouldn’t be as effective or as affecting.

I’ve seen references to Past Lives as romantic, but I don’t think that’s the apposite word here – it’s about romance, but it’s far more realistic than romantic. A romance might have forced the two together in some unbelievable plot twist or sop to the audience. Such a conclusion would have done a real injustice to the characters and the story here of the sacrifices we make in life and the difficulties many people face when leaving one family, culture, or country for another. Instead, Song weaves a delicate tapestry around her two main characters, maintaining the credibility with the viewer so that we can spend time pondering the what-ifs of this pair, and the what-ifs in our own lives – the relationships, romantic or platonic, that never came to pass because life got in the way. It’s a simple, quiet marvel, and beautiful right through the characters’ anguish when they meet for the last time.

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→ December 24, 2023
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The Mission.

If you’re like me and are fascinated by geography – I would pore over maps and atlases as a kid, always finding something new and interesting, as if they were telenovelas – then you may be familiar with North Sentinel Island and its residents, the Sentinelese, one of the last ‘uncontacted’ tribes on earth. The island is part of the Andaman archipelago in the eastern Indian Ocean, and is part of India, which patrols the waters around the island and prohibits anyone from landing on the island or trying to contact the Sentinelese, who have in fact been contacted, but very rarely, and in the last few decades only by sanctioned anthropologists … and one very deluded American.

John Chau was 25 years old and a rabid fundamentalist Christian who believed in the nonsense doctrine that anyone who had never heard the Gospel would be condemned to hell. He read about the Sentinelese people online – how he first learned about them isn’t entirely clear – and decided that God wanted him to go preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ to them. The Sentinelese are extremely hostile to outsiders, and a few years prior had killed two fisherman whose boat drifted ashore on their island. Chau made several visits to the Andamans and approached North Sentinel Island several times, making contact with its people, before they finally killed him too – sparking mockery online of this idiot colonizer breaking several Indian laws to go shout, in English, to people who wouldn’t understand him, about his own superstitions, even though these people are well known to shoot arrows at anyone who comes near their shores.

The Mission, a new documentary from National Geographic, tells some of Chau’s story, exploring his life to try to answer the question of why a seemingly intelligent young man, raised in some privilege, would do such a profoundly stupid – and likely suicidal – thing. It’s riveting and infuriating, a severe indictment of the evangelical circles in which John traveled and the various people who enabled him to do this illegal, dangerous, and frankly inhumane thing, but I don’t think it adequately answers that fundamental question of why.

The North Sentinelese have good reason to fear and loathe outsiders. They were targets for slavers who saw the Andaman peoples, many of whom appear to be descendants of African migrants from several millennia prior, as chattel. British colonial authorities would take a break from subjugating what is now India and Pakistan to treat the Andamanese as a sort of circus freaks, with one measuring the sizes of their crania and genitals in the name of “science.” Any contact with people from beyond the islands also introduced the Sentinelese to pathogens to which they had no immunity. Since Partition & independence, India’s government has largely protected the tribes of the Andamans, some of which have chosen, in a way, to assimilate with broader Indian society, while the Sentinelese remain apart.

Where The Mission succeeds is in its depiction of the history of Christian missionaries trying to convert these ‘lost’ tribes, including an endeavor in Ecuador in the 1950s where the Huaorani tribe killed five white missionaries, but further efforts eventually led to the conversion of many tribe members and the subsequent deterioration of their culture. One of the experts who talks on camera is the linguist and former missionary Daniel Everett, who went to the Amazon to convert the Pirahã with his wife and children, but after several years lost his faith and became an ardent atheist, giving him a unique perspective on Chau’s religious mania and willingness to ignore all voices telling him not to do this terrible, dangerous thing. The film also interviews several of Chau’s enablers, including one group that specifically targets these uncontacted or low-contact tribes to spread the Gospel, regardless of impact on the people involved or risks to the missionaries, coming off very much like members of a cult. (Their leader claimed he posed no threat to the Sentinelese because we have antibiotics.)

Where The Mission falls a little short is in depicting Chau as anything more than a very naïve evangelical who started down this missionary path and didn’t seem able or willing to stop until he hit the bottom. His father is a psychiatrist who nearly lost his license for reasons that are only hinted at in the film, while his mother was the evangelical parent yet is barely mentioned here. It’s clear that at least some of his fervor came from his time at Oral Roberts University, one of the most evangelical and also one of the most homophobic/transphobic colleges in America, including one man, Bobby Parks, who was “Missions/Outreach Coordinator” at ORU until 2016 and still runs a nonprofit that uses soccer as a way to indoctrinate kids in refugee camps and other high-risk areas around the world. Parks appears to have been a Svengali to Chau, yet he declined requests to appear in the documentary or speak to its makers, so his exact role and level of influence is only implied. So how Chau went from a good student with a strong interest in the outdoors to a stark raving madman who hatched an intense months-long plan to invade North Sentinel Island remains unanswered.

I suppose my views on Chau and such efforts are quite clear, and I think he was both an aggressor and a victim here. I knew Chau’s story from this 2018 Outside story, which appeared in my links roundup on November 24th of that year, and which I think goes a little more into his own personal journey and at least asks more questions about how he got to that kayak in the Indian Ocean. (This Guardian story has more.) I know the documentary just left me fuming at how willing others were to waste Chau’s life, and how easily he fell into this downward spiral, where even his Christian faith, one founded on respect and love for one’s fellow man, led him to disregard the significant dangers he posed to the very people he was trying to save.

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→ November 25, 2023
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Wish.

Wish, the newest film from Disney Animation, would have been much better if they’d just made a fresh video for the Nine Inch Nails song and called it a day. Instead, it’s a self-congratulatory movie with an adequate story, forgettable music, and almost no humor for anyone over four years old.

The movie takes place on the island of Rosas in the Mediterranean, which seems to draw on Spanish, Italian, and Maltese cultures and architecture, where the population is ruled by a benevolent king named Magnifico. Before creating the kingdom, Magnifico lost his family to an invading tribe and chose to become sorcerer, and in so doing learned how to grant wishes. When Rosas residents turn 18 or emigrants become citizens, they give their greatest wish to Magnifico, who stores it in his castle for safe keeping. Once a month, he grants one wish of his choosing. Enter Asha, whose grandfather Sabino turns 100 the day of one of these wish ceremonies, and who wishes to become Magnifico’s apprentice, only to discover that he’s not the benevolent king he appears to be. Since it’s a Disney movie and you know things will work out in the end, it’s not much of a spoiler to say that Asha will lead the people of Rosas as they work to overthrow the tyrant Magnifico and free their wishes.

The story here has potential, and the ending is one of the better ones among Disney movies, at least incorporating the film’s themes of hope and community into a resolution that’s internally consistent. Getting there, though, is a real drag. Asha (Ariana Dubose) is a mostly one-note character, driven by good intentions without much depth or complexity, and she experiences zero growth or development over the course of the film. She wins by being good, and by being smart, but that’s it. She doesn’t have an arc so much as she has a straight line. Magnifico (Chris Pine) at least changes as the film progresses, and while it’s for the worse, hey, at least it’s an ethos. There’s something to be said for a villain who starts out as just a little bit evil and becomes all the way evil by the film’s conclusion, and who gets there for an entirely mundane reason – he’s corrupted by power. He wants something Asha has, but his story is ultimately one of absolute power corrupting absolutely. There’s more depth to his character than there is to Asha’s, and that’s one of the film’s main flaws.

It has more flaws, though, believe you me. It’s just not funny at all – there are a few decent sight gags, maybe, but the Comic Relief Goat (Alan Tudyk) is just painful because you know he’s supposed to get laughs and he doesn’t. I can’t fathom how this script got through the number of people at Disney who are involved in making movies without anyone pointing out just how devoid of humor it is. The music is also wildly disappointing; I would argue there are two decent songs of the seven originals in the movie, the rousing “Knowing What I Know Now” (which feels like a big Broadway number that might take you into intermission) and “This Wish,” which has some clumsy lyrics but solid music, and plays a key role in the story. Magnifico’s main song is dreadful, and “I’m a Star” feels like a deleted track from a Kidz Bop record.

Then there’s the fact that this movie is a 90-minute celebration of the studio that released it. Rosa’s seven friends map one-to-one to the seven dwarfs, without much embellishment or expansion. (Grumpy/Gabo is probably the best of the bunch.) There are direct and indirect allusions to past Disney films, many of which are just too obvious to be enjoyable – part of the fun of references and Easter eggs is finding them, but most of the allusions here might as well have pop-up bubbles pointing them out. Even the attempt to nod back to the classic Disney films with CG animation that evokes the hand-drawn style fails, because the characters look extremely flat and cartoonish.

Wish seems on pace to be the studio’s third financial flop in its last four, after last year’s Strange World (which I haven’t bothered with) and Raya and the Last Dragon (which opened in March 2021, so the pandemic hurt its box office). I don’t think commercial performance has any bearing on a film’s worth, but Wish seems to serve no purpose beyond making money. It’s a movie about how great Disney movies are, except it’s not great and it isn’t doing well at the box office. With a slew of great animated films this year, including the second Spider-verse movie, Nimona, and the upcoming The Boy and the Heron, Wish probably won’t even land an Oscar nomination for Best Animated Feature, which would mark the first time in sixteen years that two straight Disney Animation films missed the cut. Perhaps that’s as indicative as anything of how far the studio seems to have fallen.

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→ November 21, 2023
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The Killer.

David Fincher’s Mank was a passion project for the director, but despite its critical acclaim and awards, it wasn’t a particularly enjoyable film, or even that interesting. His follow-up is both of those things, a neo-noir thrilled called The Killer that follows a hit man on his quest for revenge after a botched hit leads to an attack on his home and his girlfriend. (It’s exclusively on Netflix and in select theaters.)

Michael Fassbender plays the title character, whose real name we never learn; he uses a series of aliases that provide one of the movie’s best gags. The film opens with a long monologue from our antihero about the nature of his life and his work, all of it as he waits for his target to appear in Paris. The hit goes awry, and he’s forced to flee, but when he returns home he finds out that two people ransacked his (very nice) house in the Dominican Republic and violently assaulted his girlfriend. He works backwards from there to find out who the assailants were and who ordered the attack, and you can probably imagine what he does with each person he finds as he moves up the chain.

The Killer is all style and vibe, without trifles like character development or story arcs. You have to be on the wavelength of a genre film like this, just like you might with a mystery, and be comfortable with rooting for a ruthless, violent protagonist because he’s persuaded you that his cause is just. The opening scene is slow and meditative, but it’s probably three-fourths of the insight we’re going to get into the main character, because once he fires that single shot that sets the remainder of the story in motion, the plot never lets up.

One of the plot’s more curious aspects is that Fassbender’s character doesn’t kill everyone. He spares at least two people he encounters who he might have killed, one of whom wasn’t involved in the crime but could potentially identify him. He also doesn’t kill the dog, which is an interesting contrast to some of the people he does kill in what seems like … overkill is a poor word choice, I admit, but there’s one in particular that just didn’t seem necessary. Fassbender provides a voice-over through much of the film that makes us privy to his inner monologue, and thus to his personal ethos, and explains some of these choices, but there’s still some mystery left over to give you something to ponder after the film ends.

Fassbender, who had just one film credit between 2017 and this film, is superb in this role, entirely credible and chilling as someone with little to no moral compass and that ideal level of confidence that allows him to act like he belongs in every setting. The screenplay, by Se7en screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker, gives that character nearly all of the air time, threading the needle between exploring the character and keeping him at arm’s length. Most of the other supporting performances are solid but minor, other than Tilda Swinton, who plays another contract killer, where I can’t decide if the role is ridiculous, or if she’s just playing it that way, or if I’m just reacting like this because she’s Tilda Swinton and I expect this from her.

Only one of the many confrontations the Killer has with his various targets turns into a fight scene – the rest involve a lot of talking, and then a gun happens – and it might be a tremendous one. I have no idea, because that scene is so unbelievably dark that I could barely tell anything that was happening, including whether Fassbender was hitting or getting hit. (Both, obviously, but I mean more specifically.) It’s part of a well-documented trend in movies and TV towards making everything too dark to see, but in this case it may have ruined one of the film’s best scenes. I can’t say for sure.

I’ve commented before that I can tolerate violence in film if it furthers the plot, but not suffering as entertainment, which is generally the idea in “torture porn” and slasher films. There is some extreme violence in The Killer and a couple of the kills are stomach-churning, so while I won’t defend its use of violence, I will say that the camera isn’t playing it for entertainment or laughs. Fassbender’s character kills in service of the plot, and it’s up to us to decide if we’re comfortable with some of them.

This isn’t as serious a work as some Fincher’s other films, but it’s a detour into a genre I particularly like (neo-noir, not murder and mayhem), and the lead performance really anchors the film. There’s enough moral ambiguity that it’s not strictly a revenge thriller, but it offers plenty of revenge and plenty of thrills, along with the slightly inscrutable antihero that neo-noir demands.

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→ November 13, 2023
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Asteroid City.

I’m not a huge Wes Anderson fan, which I think is a key disclaimer if you’re going to talk about any of his films. I loved both his animated features and felt pretty close to that about Grand Budapest Hotel, but Bottle Rocket annoyed me throughout, and I turned off Rushmore after 20 minutes because I wanted to punch the television. He’s got a style, and clearly actors will go well out of their way to work with him, but you have to get on his wavelength and stay there for the length of a film, which doesn’t always work for me given his stilted dialogue and idiosyncratic ways of framing shots.

Asteroid City might have his most impressive cast ever, with at least three Oscar winners and twice that many more nominees, almost to the point where the value of a star cameo is diminished because you stop being tickled by the time Hong Chau (nominated last year for The Whale) shows up for five minutes. At the same time, the film requires so much of its actors because most of them get relatively little time on screen – and everyone talks so quickly, par for the Anderson course – and because, unfortunately, the story here kind of stinks. (It’s streaming on Peacock or available to rent on Amazon.)

The conceit behind Asteroid City is that we are watching a televised play within the movie, although the play itself shows up on our screens as a movie (rather than taking place on a stage, where we get some interstitial moments instead). The playwright (Ed Norton) and the host of the television series (Bryan Cranston) introduce the setting and, very briefly, some of the main characters, after which we are thrust into Asteroid City, population 78, a desert town in the American Southwest whose only claim to anything is that a very small meteorite hit the town and left a “crater” maybe slightly larger than a divot left by John Daly. In this town, there’s a convention for the Junior Stargazers science competition, and we meet several families, most of whom arrive with one parent and anywhere from one to four children in tow. The convention is hosted by Dr. Hickenlooper (a surprisingly normal Tilda Swinton) and General Griff Gibson (Jeffrey Wright), and after they give out the awards for the best projects, there’s a viewing using pinhole cameras, during which an alien shows up and takes the meteorite. Hilarity ensues. There’s also a group of grade schoolers led by teacher June (Maya Hawke), a weird country band led by Montana (Rupert Friend), and the hotel proprietor and the only resident of Asteroid City we meet (Steve Carell). Outside of the play, we get black-and-white shots of the playwright, the play’s director (Adrien Brody, so underutilized here), an acting teacher (Willem Dafoe), and an actress whose part in the play was cut (Margot Robbie).

Almost all of those folks do the best they can in very limited roles, with Wright and Hawke the real standouts, but the core of the movie is the relationship that forms between Augie (Jason Schwartzman) and the actress Midge (Scarlett Johanssen, made up to look a lot like Annette Bening), and the one that develops between Augie’s son (Jake Ryan) and Midge’s daughter (Grace Edwards). Schwartzman is one of Anderson’s most frequent partners in crime, but he has dialed it way back here in the most likeable performance I’ve ever seen him give, even though Augie himself isn’t all that likeable – it’s Schwartzman giving depth to a father who’s, well, out of his depth on multiple levels. He’s also able to provide a strong foil for Johanssen’s performance as a troubled film star, one that could have overwhelmed a lesser actor in the opposite role. Schwartzman also appears as the actor playing Augie in the play in several black-and-white segments showing us the actor and Norton’s playwright or the actor discussing the play with Robbie’s character.

The script requires a lot of tolerance for Anderson’s stilted dialogue, and he pushes that too far at many points, including most of the interactions among the various prize-winning teens – other than the memory game they play while they’re all quarantined in Asteroid City by the military, which is one of the best scenes in the movie – and some of the dialogue from the side characters. It’s also just overstuffed with ideas, so that quirky bits like Hawke’s nervous, I-didn’t-sign-up-for-this teacher trying to teach astronomy to a bunch of elementary schoolers who just saw an alien, wash over the audience too quickly. It is coherent, but it is not cohesive, and by the time the last tourists pack up and leave Asteroid City, the lack of a real through-line to connect most, let alone all, of the characters overshadowed the many funny or clever bits scattered through the film.

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→ October 24, 2023
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Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves.

I’m a bit of an oddball for my age bracket when it comes to Dungeons & Dragons. I’ve played the pen and paper game, while in middle school, and liked it but found the actual process kind of slow, and of course when you put a bunch of teenaged boys together in a room, they will begin to act like idiots at some point and the game becomes secondary. (They didn’t stay idiots, though; that group now has two successful lawyers, one of whom has defended death-row inmates; a senior VP at a big insurance company; and whatever I am.) I loved some parts of it, including the character creation, and thought others were slow. I did get very into video role-playing games, both within the D&D universe, such as the Pool of Radiance (which I never completed – I couldn’t beat the final boss, even when I tried to play the game again in my 20s), and without, like the Bard’s Tale and some Ultima Games. Regular readers know I became obsessed with the original Baldur’s Gate trilogy about twenty years ago, and I won’t try the newest game because I’m afraid I’ll disappear into it for days or weeks. So I have some nostalgia for the game, but it’s limited, and when people ask if I was a D&D player I generally answer with something like “not really,” because I don’t know the lore or the rules anywhere near like dedicated players do.

Thus I approached the Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves movie (free on Amazon Prime) without any particular bias towards or against the film; I don’t think I was predisposed to like or dislike it, or to criticize it for any lack of fidelity to source material. I did worry it would be too fan-servicey, or corny, or maybe just boring because plenty of video-game stories lack the depth required for a two-hour film. D&D: Honor Among turned out to be a lot of fun, witty, fast-moving, a little too silly at times, but very enjoyable, and the rare film that left me hoping we’ll get a sequel.

Chris Pine plays Edgin Darvis, a bard who begins the film in prison with his comrade Holga (Michelle Rodriguez), a barbarian fighter, after the two were part of a large robbery gone very wrong, which also led to Edgin’s daughter Kira going with one of the members of their crew who escaped the authorities, the thief Forge Fitzwilliam (Hugh Grant). We see their parole hearing, where Edgin dissembles at length, waiting for one particular judge to arrive, allowing the script to give us Edgin’s and Holga’s back stories – he was part of the peacekeeper group the Harpers until a Red Wizard they’d arrested killed his wife, after which he teamed up with Holga, who became a sort of surrogate mother to Kira, and later Forge and the elf Simon (Justice Smith), a young mage who, like low-level magic users in D&D, isn’t good for much because he’s so inexperienced. When Edgin and Holga finally get out of prison, they find out that Forge is now Lord of Neverwinter, and perhaps not the welcoming old friend they expected to find. They reunite with Simon and draft the tiefling druid Doric (Sophia Lillis), a shapeshifter who, we find out quickly, Simon is rather sweet on. Hijinks, magic, and combat ensue as they try to find the missing magic item they were after in the busted burglary that landed the two in prison, while also rescuing Kira and uncovering whatever Forge’s game is.

The story’s fine, although you can see in general where things are heading and the film doesn’t rely too heavily on big twists and plot surprises. It’s the characters and the actors who make this so much fun, notably Pine, who wisecracks like Michael Bluth with a bit more savoir-faire and less befuddlement at what people around him are doing. Pine sets the tone from the rambling monologues he gives to stall for time at the pardon hearing, making it clear that the script is going to lean heavily on humor and his personality, and less so on the lore of the source material – which is good, because I don’t think anyone needs a film about the 5e core rules set or lengthy soliloquies about critical hits and saving throws. His interplay with Rodriguez is very strong, as she’s doing a sort of Rosa Díaz/Cara Dune mashup that contrasts nicely with his “I’ve got this under control” smartass vibe. Smith has his moments as a supporting character whose importance increases as the story moves along – again, thematically consistent with the rules of the game – and it seems like the script sets his character and Lillis’s up for bigger roles in any future installments. Grant is a complete ham, but it works, and having some knowledge of his behavior over the years, including on the set of this movie, well, perhaps it wasn’t that big of a stretch for him.

Combat in role-playing games can be a slog for players, and even in the best of circumstances it’s still driven by probabilities whether through dice or cards or some other similar mechanism, which would not translate very well to screen or page. The combat sequences in Honor Among Thieves dispense with all of that – the characters just fight, mostly Holga, who can take out a whole army, although Simon plays more of a role as the party gains experience. It’s a subtle nod to the way the game is played without ever slowing down the overall story; the fights are entertaining, well choreographed, and, most importantly, quick. (There’s also very little blood or actual on-screen violence – it’s all cartoonish or out of sight, less violent than a typical Marvel movie.)

There are some clear plot conveniences here and a visit to the Underdark that raises all sorts of questions about architectural stability and sanity. I also wouldn’t call any of the character development or overall themes “deep,” as the script is happy to give us these four adventurers and allow their chemistry to keep things light and fun, which is this film’s greatest strength. I laughed quite a bit, and I was reasonably invested in the plot, even though I think anyone can guess the general outline of the conclusion. It’s a great, not too serious adventure film in a genre that doesn’t often get this treatment.

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