Best Picture 2023

I would recommend Top Gun: Maverick to anyone looking to watch an uplifting film.  Somehow The Banshees of  Inisherin was my favorite of the all the nominees.  From a filmmaking perspective, it is a very difficult year, with Avatar, Banshees, The Fabelmans, Top Gun, and Triangle of Sadness all bringing something unique to the table.  That being said, I believe that Avatar: The Way of Water clearly did the most to advance the art of filmmaking, and for that reason could be considered the best film of the ten nominated for Best Picture this year - click on the link below to read my review.  If you're interested in my opinions on the other nine films, they're here too.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Avatar: The Way of Water

The Banshees of Inisherin

Elvis

Everything Everywhere All at Once

The Fabelmans

Tár

Top Gun: Maverick

Triangle of Sadness

Women Talking

Top Gun: Maveick

Quentin Tarantino's Once Upon A Time in Hollywood was his love letter to filmmaking.  Tarantino's style, which is partly an amalgamation of other filmmaker's work, is highly regarded by critics and fans, because we recognize his intent.  For Tarantino, imitation is the highest form of flattery, but it's never the purpose of his films, rather it is the jumping-off point for something completely his own.  In much the same way, director Joseph Kosinski and actor/producer Tom Cruise approach Top Gun: Maverick.  Kosinski and Cruise completely understand what made the first film resonate with its audience; it was the power of the fighter jets, it was the bravado of the pilots, it was the unashamed red-blooded Americanism, and it was the way that music can stimulate so many feelings that are impossible to express any other way.  Of course, knowing what's in the secret sauce doesn't make you a great chef.  Both Kosinski and Cruise bring a huge amount of talent, and Cruise brings an insane commitment to the role, which when combined with the secret sauce delivers what many, including myself thought would be impossible; a sequel to Top Gun that is as good, if not better, in just about every way.  In a certain sense, anyone who saw the original film, back in '86 or anytime thereafter can imagine what happened in the interim; we've all seen Tom Cruise's exploits in a wide range of films, and quite literally it is difficult to imagine that the character of Maverick ever would have stopped flying, or could ever have led a normal "grown-up" life.  Really, it's not surprising that Maverick is still the same guy, it's we who've grown up, had kids, taken up less dangerous pastimes, and given up on our dreams of being fighter pilots.  It seems to me that Kosinski and Cruise are fully aware that the audience views Maverick with a certain amount of jealousy, it's not fair that he's been having fun all these years that we've had to be growing up.  The filmmakers realize that there is a dangerous risk that our jealousy could morph into disdain, perhaps Maverick should have grown up too.  Wisely, Kosinski and Cruise head these feelings off at the pass, and are always a step ahead.  This is a far better approach then pretending that the audience's experiences and feelings won't come into play, and I suggest that the reason most  sequels fail to resonate with the audience is that the filmmakers don't recognize that their audience has changed.  One of my brothers mentioned that he was having a hard time taking the movie seriously, because the primary aerial attack sequence is basically the Death Star trench run from A New Hope.  As I mentioned before, Kosinski and Cruise took some notes from Tarantino's playbook, and they realize that a movie doesn't have to be completely original to be great, but it can't pretend to be completely original either.  In the case of Top Gun: Maverick, Kosinski and Cruise embrace what is great about the past, and mix in just the right amount of different elements, to make it something completely new.  I realize that this review hasn't really spent much time describing what I liked about the new film, and that's because I hope that you'll take the time to find out for yourself.  My word of encouragement would be, don't be cynical when you see something that you've seen before, if you liked it the first time, what's so bad about seeing it again?

In Bruges and The Banshees of Inisherin

I am intrigued by the fact that certain films find a place in my heart, and my appreciation for them grows as time goes by.  In some cases, I may only see a film once, but I remember it fondly.  In other cases there are films that I have seen so many times that I have lost count; I gravitate towards the ones that I know to be good.  I think that a similar thing happens to me when I've seen a particularly unpleasant film; the further I move away from its initial enticement, the more I am able to recognize just how vacant the experience was.  It's this kind of film that I want to stay away from.  If at all possible I want forget the experience, keeping just the faintest reminder as a warning to avoid the next one. 

Martin McDonagh's films In Bruges (2008) and The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) each walk a precarious line, and one misstep could have resulted to either, or both tumbling into the "unpleasant" category.  Yet, against all odds, in both films McDonagh was able to able to convince me, contrary to my better judgement, to feel sympathetic to the main character, so much so that I became invested in his success.  In the case of In Bruges, I was drawn to Brendan Gleeson's character, a longtime mob hitman, who is laying low with a rookie hitman played by Colin Farrell.  If you take away the hitman element, these two men could be involved in any profession, and in a certain sense could be facing the same dilemmas that occur over the course of the film; being hitmen just raises the stakes.  Gleeson plays a reluctant hero, someone who has much more to lose on a personal level, than he has to gain in helping his new partner.  McDonagh realizes that the setup isn't sufficient to convince anyone in the audience to care, and focuses on the nuanced relationship that develops between the two men.  A lesser director would have been content to make a quirky movie about hitmen, with clever one-liners, and a shoot-'em-up climactic closing scene.  Instead, McDonagh recognizes that the most interesting thing about the film is the two men at its center, and what they do for a living is ultimately unimportant.  Of course it doesn't hurt that He Who Must Not Be Named shows up for the third act, and seems to throw a monkey wrench in the works.  Once again, a lesser director would have settled for such a development to serve as the finale, but McDonagh sticks with the heart of the film, and delivers an ending worthy of what has come before.

I believe that it would be impossible for me to analyze The Banshees of Inisherin as anything other than a sequel to In Bruges.  It had been a few years since I watched the earlier film, so I had watched it again just before heading off to the theater for Banshees.  It was immediately clear to me that both Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell were playing the same characters from the earlier film, now somehow transported to a small island off the coast of Ireland, sometime around 1923.  The surreal nature of their minimalistic existence made me think that these two men have found themselves in Purgatory some time after the events of the earlier film.  Even now as I write this, after much contemplation,  my position on this theory has only grown stronger, even though there is nothing in the film that explicitly leads me to this conclusion.   And that's not the most interesting part; what's fascinating to me is that McDonagh has flipped the focus, so that in this film I found myself being sympathetic towards Farrell's character, even though both men are still playing the same characters.  It is clear that time has finally taken it's toll on Gleeson's character, and he cannot be gracious to the inexperienced and obnoxious Farrell character for one minute more.  On its surface, the film is about two hitmen who find themselves in Purgatory, and drive each other crazy to the point where one resorts to cutting off his own appendages, but ultimately the film is about the nature of friendship.  McDonagh could have simply created a retread of the earlier film, but he's far more interested in exploring the relationship even further, and won't let death stand in his way.  As the time has elapsed since the afternoon that I watched In Bruges and The Banshees of Inisherin, my fondness for both has increased.  I think that it's likely that I will gravitate back to both of these films at some time in the future.

Don't Worry Darling

Don't Worry Darling is two different movies, both playing out at the same time; one of these is actually an effective psychological thriller, that could have stood on its own.  The other movie, is so misguided in its fixation on having a shocking twist, which it doesn't deliver, that it effectively destroys both movies.  The parts of the film that fall into the psychological thriller category center around a character played by Florence Pugh, who is either going mad, or is the only sane person in the room.  As we are living in a time where the term "gaslighting" has taken a prominent place in the cultural discourse, the overwhelming uncertainty that Pugh's character undergoes speaks to experiences that each audience member is familiar with.  Pugh's performance hits all the right notes, starting with her introduction as a newlywed 1950s housewife, who puts on the naïve façade, while she is clearly quite intelligent and an independent thinker.  As either she, or the world around her starts to deteriorate, and signs of madness begin to appear, her expressions and demeanor change gradually, and reflect the intensity of the moment.  Similar to Joaquin Phoenix's performance in Joker, Pugh creates a compelling character, who is deserving of a much better film than this.  Unfortunately the director  Olivia Wilde wasn't satisfied with delivering a great psychological thriller, rather she had her sights set on a dark social commentary, meant to lambaste a segment of society that doesn't even exist - the irony is that her whole movie is basically an exercise in gaslighting.  In her misguided "twist", Wilde contends that modern men bemoan the advances of feminism to such an extent that they long for a 1950s world, where women get up in the morning with only once purpose, and that is to please their men.  Wilde suggests that men today are so obsessed with this as an ideal, that they would be willing to drug, abduct, and keep women in an indefinite coma, just so that they would be more compliant. These modern men are willing to work thankless double-shifts at Burger King, just so that they can come home for a few short hours to what's effectively a video game about 1950s suburban life.  It's hard enough to keep your fresh batteries in your wireless controller - can you imagine the maintenance to keep this video game running smoothly?  As I'm sure President Biden said when he saw this movie, "C'mon man!".  

Thor: Love and Thunder

I enjoyed Thor: Love and Thunder because it was a strange mess of a movie, that was entertaining from start to finish.  I had been mildly disappointed with Thor: Ragnarok because it fell short of being a strange mess of a movie, which is what its trailer had adamantly advertised.  Finally, with Love and Thunder, we got the movie that Ragnarok had promised to be, one that breaks the fundamental rule of comic book movies: it doesn't take itself too seriously.  Perhaps it was the negative buzz from the fanboys, or the jaded critics' analysis of Christian Bale's "villain", but I walked into the theater expecting a repeat of the unwatchable Thor: The Dark World, but instead found a thoroughly entertaining piece of escapism, one that made me laugh, smile, and roll my eyes.  Being entertained is always better than being mildly disappointed.

Tár

My question in regards to Cate Blanchett's performance in the film Tár, and perhaps more generally about the film overall is, why?  Don't get me wrong, a film that leaves me with a question isn't in and of itself a bad thing, but it's not automatically a good thing either.  There is no arguing that Cate Blanchett virtually transforms herself for this character, not that her physical appearance is notably different from roles in other films, rather it is that she is so convincing as the conductor Lydia Tár, that we forget any of those previous characters, and at times actually forget that it's Cate Blanchett.  But why does it matter?  Perhaps there is an important message here about giving too much leeway to people who excel in their respective fields; the better you are, the more you can get away with.  We've seen this in films about politicians, movie producers, and athletes, so perhaps it was time for an exposé on classical music conductors.  But considering that Lydia Tár is a fictional character, and it doesn't seem like the classical music community is necessarily a ripe breeding ground for narcissistic predators, why did the filmmakers feel compelled to tell this story?  Admittedly, it is an interesting juxtaposition to see a strong female character depicted as egocentric, domineering, maniacal, and heartless.  Traditionally, feminist films seek to portray women in a strong, but positive light.  In the recent Promising Young Woman, with Carey Mulligan basically playing the Dark Knight, reigning down vengeance on frat boys, she was depicted as justified in her actions, so the positive portrayal of feminist values was perpetuated.  I'm not saying that there aren't other feminist films where ideas of women behaving badly, and mistreating each are explored; The Favourite for example is about a truly despicable woman, and I can't remember any redeeming qualities or excuses being made.  Actually, I believe that my recollection of that film actually causes the whole premise of my review of Tár to fall apart.  Sometimes you don't need to answer the question of why - no, sometimes it's just enough to make an interesting film, and have a virtuoso performance by one of, if not the best actress of all time.  Would it have been better if the film had served a deeper purpose?  Sure, but it's too late now.

Triangle of Sadness

I am intrigued by the fact that certain films find a place in my heart, and my appreciation for them grows as time goes by.  In some cases, I may only see a film once, but I remember it fondly.  In other cases there are films that I have seen so many times that I have lost count; I gravitate towards the ones that I know to be good.  I think that a similar thing happens to me when I've seen a particularly unpleasant film; the further I move away from its initial enticement, the more I am able to recognize just how vacant the experience was.  It's this kind of film that I want to stay away from.  If at all possible I want forget the experience, keeping just the faintest reminder as a warning to avoid the next one. 

Triangle of Sadness fully embraces its unpleasantness, so much so that there are times at which it legitimately feels like the filmmakers were engaged in some sort of contest to see whether they could break the viewer's spirit.  In an early scene we are introduced to the couple who are at the center of the film, models who are together because their joint Instagram account is doing better than either of them could do on their own.  It is clear that they are both shallow people, but it is also clear that they both have feelings, and have at least a basic understanding of what a healthy relationship should be.  The director, Ruben Östlund is like an antagonistic father, pushing down on one end of the see-saw while his helpless child experiences alternating sensations of fear, and relief, as she goes suddenly down, and then gently back up, over and over again.  Each of the characters in this film is reprehensible, everyone is guilty of something, but at certain times each reveals a glimmer of something good.  For example, in the scene where we are introduced to the two models they reveal their selfish motives and deep-rooted feelings of inadequacy as they squabble about who should have paid for the meal, but beneath the surface it seems like the male model may actually care about his female companion.  Östlund is able to convey this hint of humanity through unspoken communication, it's only with certain looks and glances to we begin to suspect that the relationship may be deeper than it appears on the surface.  If I can say anything good about the film, it is that I like that the final scene answers this question once and for all.  Aside from its bittersweet closing scene, I  have concluded that Triangle of Sadness is unnecessarily unpleasant.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that I regret watching the film, but I would almost say that.  Östlund was clearly trying to tell cautionary tale condemning materialism, capitalism, social media, corporations, white people, etc.  He tried to craft an allegory, in which certain extreme examples would convict the audience of the "isms" and biases that they've adopted unwittingly.  Unfortunately, Östlund's allegory is more like a baseball bat to the head (or perhaps some other blunt object that's close at hand), and instead of feeling convicted, the audience feels abused.  Boon Joon Ho's Parasite from 2019 was similarly cruel, and just as subtle - and I didn't like that film either.

Everything Everywhere All at Once and Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness

This will be short and sweet:

Everything Everywhere All at Once is a horrible mess of a movie, and it doesn't make any sense whatsoever that this movie would be considered for Best Picture.  It seems to me that this movie is getting recognized for one of two reasons: 1) the members of the Academy responsible for sending out the list of nominees are from an alternate universe, and are trying to send an SOS to our universe, or 2) it's a case of The Emperor's New Clothes (that seems to be going around quite a bit these past few years), and everyone is afraid that they won't be included with the cool kids if they don't pay homage to the multiverse, and its all-inclusivity.  It's no accident that the message of this film is a condemnation against those who are close-minded; the only people who shouldn't be tolerated are the intolerant.  If you're looking for me to set aside the offensive message, and focus only on the production values, I would simply ask, what production values?  In a year where we have Avatar: The Way of Water, The Fabelmans, and Top Gun: Maverick; each of those three other films nominated for Best Picture are great examples of the current state of filmmaking, each striking a balance between the story that they're trying to tell, and the technical achievements that have made it possible to bring each story to life.  Everything Everywhere All at Once feels and looks like a bad movie from the 80s, which may be fun to revisit for the first few seasons of Stranger Things, but isn't the right fit for a movie that should have been fantastic, not mundane.  

When I saw Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness back in May of 2022, I thought that it wasn't strange enough, and it didn't take advantage of what it would mean to have access to an unlimited number of alternate universes.  There was one, albeit too short, sequence where Doctor Strange finds himself tumbling through a variety of universes, that by far was one of the best scenes in the movie, but somehow made the return visits to some of the most boring places in the multiverse seem even worse.  After watching Everything Everywhere All at Once, my perspective on Doctor Strange has changed.  I'd rather have any one of the Marvel universes, than ever spend another second in in that oversaturated, drab 80's office park that inexplicably was a the center of Everything Everywhere All at Once's multiverse. 

Now if you'd like to talk about something really interesting, please feel free to reach out to me, and I'd gladly discuss how the mutiverse is simply another pseudo science concept that's been invented to explain gaps in the currently "accepted" understanding of the cosmos.  

Elvis and Weird: The Al Yankovic Story

In a deleted scene from Pulp Fiction, Mia Wallace says that there are two types of people, those who like Elvis more, and those who like the Beatles.  While Tarantino has done his damndest to convince me to come over to the Elvis side, it just isn't going to happen.  I'm sorry, but if Val Kilmer and Nicolas Cage couldn't win me over (True Romance and Honeymoon in Vegas respectively), then I just don't believe that it's possible to flip my allegiance.  On the other hand, no one needs to convince me of Weird Al's genius, so it doesn't matter if he plays himself (as in UHF), or you get Daniel Radcliffe (from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban*) to play him, that's a movie that I want to watch.  My point to this preamble is to (spoiler alert) prepare you for the strong likelihood that my review of Elvis will be less than enthusiastic, while my review of Weird: The Al Yankovic Story is likely to be quite favorable.

Ever since I first saw William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet, I have considered myself to be a fan of Baz Luhrmann films.  I took Jude to see Moulin Rogue when he was 1 1/2 years old, unfortunately he got sick during the movie, and I got sick on the way home, a fact to which my brothers Nate and Ben can attest.  I enjoyed The Great Gatsby, probably most of all because I know that Jess loves the book.  And I really liked Luhrmann's Australia, probably because it was clearly a subject about which he himself is passionate.  His newest film, Elvis has the distinct Luhrmann style, and there are sequences that are undeniably effective, but the film suffers for two reasons:  1) it's about Elvis, and 2) Elvis isn't very interesting.  I can hear the Elvis fans screaming at their Gateway computer CRT monitors (I can't imagine that Elvis fans have any other devices with internet access), "If it weren't for Elvis, Rock 'n' Roll wouldn't exist!"  Sure, as the film clearly portrays, Elvis had an ear for music that tapped into something fundamental, and he didn't care where that music originated, he just wanted to play what he loved.  I didn't say that Elvis wasn't responsible for anything interesting, I just don't think that he himself was interesting.  Similarly, I don't find his music to be that compelling, even though I can admit that his contribution to music was groundbreaking.  If I could set aside my bias, and try to review the film based solely on its merits, I believe that I would come to the conclusion that Luhrmann wanted to convey very specific things about Elvis, namely that he created a blend of the Blues, and Gospel music into something new and exciting, that we now know as Rock 'n' Roll.  He also wanted to make it clear that Elvis, a man so passionate about sharing his music, had people in his life who took advantage, and ultimately Elvis' story is a tragic one because he gave more than he was given.  Luhrmann does a good job conveying these ideas, and by that measure he was successful in what he set out to do; it's just too bad that he wasn't able to convince me that Elvis was interesting enough to be worth watching an entire movie about his life. 

I write the next line completely aware that it sounds like something a half-witted movie "critic" would write in the hopes that it would get picked up as part of the movie's advertising campaign:  Weird: The Al Yankovic Story is the kind of movie that every biopic should aspire to be.  If I want to watch a documentary, I will watch a documentary, but if I want to watch a movie about a pop culture icon, then I want to see the a spectacle that veers confidently into the stuff of legends.  For example, who in their right mind would agree to watch a movie about Ozzie Osbourne if it reveals that he was a vegetarian, and the whole bat situation was just a big misunderstanding involving beet juice and a whole grain muffin?  Not I.  Fortunately, the Weird: The Al Yankovic Story is clearly the biopic that you would expect Weird Al to approve.  For those who haven't seen the film yet I hesitate to mention its best part, but there, I think you've had fair warning.  After the initial challenges that Weird Al overcomes to make it in the music industry, he finds himself at the top of the charts, in an intimate relationship with Madonna, but plagued by the curse of the "Yankovic Bump', the phenomena in which every musical artist that he parodies is immediately catapulted to fame.  This in and of itself wouldn't be so bad, but everyone wants Weird Al to parody their songs, and no one seems to be taking his original music seriously.  What happens in the third act is difficult for me to analyze objectively, because on one hand I think that the movie goes too far off the deep end, but on the other hand, I think that's exactly why it's funny.  I cannot be objective because I realize that the film should be considered a send-up, or a parody of music biopics, and no one is really going to take it seriously.  But I find that sad, because even the most serious music biopics in recent years have been quite ridiculous if you think about it; Bohemian Rhapsody for example is dead serious about the societal importance of a man who sang the song Fat Bottomed Girls... if that doesn't strike you as ironic, I don't know what will.  As for me, I'll stick with the guy who proudly took the stage, accordion in hand, and passionately sang Another One Rides the Bus.

*Only now, after searching my past blog posts for a review of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban do I realize that I never wrote a review of that film.  Also, it made me realize that I've been telling that story about going to see Walk the Line instead of Prisoner of Azkaban incorrectly all these years.  It was actually a ticket for Goblet of Fire that I traded-in for Walk the Line.  I did go see the Harry Potter movie the following weekend, but I definitely made the right choice that night.

All Quiet on the Western Front (2022)

I will divide this review into two parts, in the first part I will attempt to comment on the 2022 version of All Quiet on the Western Front without consideration of it's 1930 predecessor, and in the second part I will ruthlessly compare it to the previous film.

Part I 

All Quiet on the Western Front is an anti-war film in the vein of Sam Mendes' recent 1917.  Both films, are set in the front line trenches during World War I, and utilize the full arsenal of Hollywood's special effects machine to graphically depict the horrors of war.  While 1917 was deliberately focused on the exploits of two soldiers, and saw the world through their eyes, All Quiet on the Western Front takes a slightly broader view, and the narrative cuts between a close-knit band of young Germans soldiers, a proud German commander, and a German diplomat who is desperately seeking to bring an end to the unnecessary deaths on a battlefield where Germany cannot hope to prevail.  When done well, this multi-faceted approach can be effective, and Edward Berger, the director of All Quiet on the Western Front is successful in utilizing this technique to convey the personal motivations that explain why war is so complicated.  I say that Berger is successful, because when the film came to a close, I felt that I had a better understanding of each of the characters, and they were not simply caricatures, but were authentic representations of how people truly act.  I will also say that Berger's approach, which included characters who represent actual historical figures, was intriguing in such a way that it has prompted me to explore the politics of the time more extensively.  Anytime a film compels me to learn more, I feel that it has been successful. 

Part II

It is fascinating that two films, made almost 100 years apart, with certain scenes almost shot-for-shot, and lines of dialogue spoken word-for word, could be so fundamentally different, yet both are proclaiming the same message.  The primary difference between the two films, is that the 1930 version takes a narrower, more focused view on the soldiers' plight, and is not interested in the politics of war.  Perhaps this is because the film was made at a time when its audience would have been fully aware of the politics, and no explanation was needed.  That being said, the 2022 version did not use the broader view simply for providing historical context, rather it examined how the same fallibilities that plague the lowliest soldier, are also encountered by the highest ranking decision makers.  As mentioned in the stand-alone review of the 1930 version, it was produced and released in the time between World War I and World War II, and therefore its filmmakers were not aware of the atrocities that German soldiers would commit a few short years later.  The same cannot be said for the 2022 version, which has been made after the fact, in a world that must come to grips with the fact that young men, who are indistinguishable from any other before or since, were capable of perpetrating the Holocaust against the Jewish people.  I must admit that I am somewhat surprised that the modern retelling of this story was silent to this fact.  I think that it is inexcusably narrow-minded to reach a conclusion that men are simply victims of their leaders, and that they do not have any moral obligations that supersede man's authority.  Of course this is a common theme of most anti-war films, all the blame is laid at the feet of the politicians and generals, while the soldiers are all portrayed as victims.  How can it be that when a war is justified, and the film is about the "good guys", the individual soldiers are portrayed as heroes, but only the sociopathic German general is a "bad guy" as defined in Berger's 2022 film?  Perhaps I'm being to harsh in regards to this new version of All Quiet on the Western Front, but what seemed like an interesting piece of history in a film made before World War II, now seems like an overly simplistic exercise in naiveté.

All Quiet on the Western Front (1930)

 All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) is an anti-war film if there has ever been an anti-war film.  Of course, it's hard to imagine a film about World War I being a pro war film.  Anyone familiar with significant dates in history would instantly recognize that 1930 falls in the period between World War I and World War II, which makes the existence of this film especially interesting. 

The film is about a group of German school children, who are encouraged to sign up to fight for the Fatherland.  The film follows these classmates from their classroom to the recruitment center, and after too short a time in basic training they are sent to the front lines, the trenches of the western front.  It is fascinating that this group of German soldiers is depicted as the protagonists, and I’m sure that there is some literary term with which I am unfamiliar, but their status as protagonists is not through outward expression of good, rather it is a reflection of their innocence.  Starting with the opening scene, where the school children are inspired by their headmaster’s fiery speech, it is clear that the boy’s nationality is inconsequential; the same scene could have taken place in a French classroom, or British, or one in the United States.  Likewise every scene thereafter captures experiences that happened on both sides of the front lines.  The film is an American* film, with the German characters speaking English, which has the effect of making it easier for the viewer to identify with the protagonists; when the only way to tell the soldier apart is by their uniforms, it somehow seems arbitrary to think of one as the bad guy, just because he has a differently shaped helmet.  Of course, it is possible that the decision to have the German characters speak English may have been driven more by 1930’s sensibilities, rather than a conscious decision by the director in service of the plot.  Likewise, the black and white film contributes to subduing any contrasts that otherwise would be evident if we could see the color of the soldier’s uniforms, and while this was clearly not a directorial decision, it does contribute to the overall effect of removing any unnecessary distinction between the soldiers.

There is a poignant scene about halfway into the movie, after one particularly horrific battle, where the soldiers are sitting on the bank of a brook that runs through an idyllic French village, during a meal together they begin to discuss the reasons why they are at war.  They recognize that the people who they are fighting against have much in common with themselves, and cannot think of any particular disagreement that they have with their French neighbors.  They come to the conclusion that a small group of people with power, those who have financial interests, are the only ones who think that this war is a good idea.  One of the soldiers suggests that those few people who actually want the war, are the ones who should be out on the battlefield.  It is a sobering thought to realize that the common man’s sense of duty, and national pride can be so easily misappropriated by evil men.  Of course this simple analysis is insufficient to address the responsibility that each man bears for his participation in war; soldiers from this same generation would participate in the Holocaust of the Jewish people.  That this film was made between the two wars makes its message complicated, but it also is a unique snapshot of history that probably wouldn’t have been possible at any other time.

When I mentioned earlier that the film is an anti-war film, and unlike any other I'd seen before, I am speaking primarily of the portrayals of abject fear, and deep sadness that take hold of the soldiers as they huddle in the dark and damp of their bunker, and encounter the mangled bodies of their friends.  If I had to analyze how a film from 1930 could be one of the most powerful films on this subject, I would likely point to the following two elements:  

1) As I recently discovered, All Quiet on the Western Front was made during a brief 3-year period in Hollywood, known as “pre-code”, just after the incorporation of sound (synchronized dialogue), and just before the adoption of the Hays Code, which brought a self-imposed censorship to the film industry.  The effect that this lack of censorship appears to have, is that the performances are not restrained based on some arbitrarily imposed sensibilities; somehow this allowed realistic human emotions to be depicted on film in 1930; emotions that would be disallowed in film for the decades that followed.

2) What is culturally acceptable has changed over time.  The 1930 version of All Quiet on the Western Front has a scene with a young soldier sobbing, and screaming with fear as the earth above the bunker shakes with the impact of bombs and artillery.  His behavior is disconcerting, primarily because it is unlike anything ever depicted in a war film made in the last 40 years.  In the film Saving Private Ryan, Jeremy Davies portrays the shell shocked soldier, who is paralyzed by fear.  His is a great performance, and perhaps is an accurate portrayal of men who have found themselves in similar circumstances, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the intensity of the performances in All Quiet on the Western Front.  I suspect that the 1930 film likely handles this basic human emotion more realistically than its modern counterparts, but we have agreed as a society that some things are better left unseen.

From a filmmaking perspective, considering that this film was the third in history to win the Academy Award for Best Picture, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the film is well constructed.  Since I have not read the novel (upon which the film is based) I can only assume that the film’s narrative structure is similar to that of the novel.  Most effective is the deliberate way in which early scenes in Germany are established; this pays off later when the main character returns home, after being changed by war, and finds that his original perception was wrong, and now his eyes have been opened.

*I think that it's fair to consider this to be an American-made film, even though it's director Lewis Milestone was born in Bessarabia, which is in the area now known as Moldova (imdb.com). It would be interesting to look at the ancestry of the director, producers, and actors, and how this impacted the production, but that would be true about any American film.

The Northman and The Witch

For Some reason, I got it into head that The Northman was rated PG-13.  Based on that belief, I assumed that this would be a rather tame coming-of-age tale of a young Viking boy who would be king.  I had seen the trailer, and knew that Ethan Hawke played the Young Viking's father, and that somehow Willem Dafoe and Björk were involved so I thought it'll probably be an OK movie.  Oh yeah, and there was a moment in the trailer when the young Viking caught a spear that had been thrown at a member of his party, and then he immediately threw it back, striking and killing the aggressor; I think that was the moment that solidified my desire to see the film.  Rarely are singular sequences shot so convincingly, in such a way as to convey the atmosphere of the film, traits of the character, and a thrilling sense of action, all at the same time.  I should probably be more embarrassed to admit this, but as the film grew progressively more brutal, and as the Vikings did more and more things that Vikings are known for (including an all-out, drug-induced Berserker raid), I kept on saying to myself, "that's pretty violent for a PG-13 movie".  There were three scenes in particular that pushed the boundary of a PG-13 rating in my mind, but in each case I thought about other films with similar scenes.  For example, early in the film, one of the people close to the young Viking is ambushed, in a sequence that is reminiscent of Boromir's death scene in The Fellowship of the Ring.  In some ways I believe that the emotional intensity of scene far outweighs any a graphic depictions of violence.  If I care about the characters onscreen, I will be affected more than if I'm uninterested in the characters.  Long story short, The Northman was actually an R-rated Viking movie, and I clearly am desensitized to violence since I really couldn't tell much sooner than I did.  That being said, is it even possible to make a great Viking movie that isn't R-rated?

Robert Eggers, who directed The Northman, previously directed The Witch, which is another R-rated movie, that may or a may not be about a witch.  I was going to make the argument that The Witch is primarily a psychological thriller, as opposed to The Northman which was more of an action/adventure film.  But as I started to formulate this position, I was reminded of the second act in The Northman, which takes place in the village of the young Viking's sworn enemy.  The events that unfold while in the midst of those who have enslaved him are the most revealing, because it is during this time that he must truly examine his own mind.  Similarly, The Witch isn't so much about a witch, rather it explores what it means to be accused of being a witch.  Clearly this is meant as a fable, and the moral of the story is that we can become our worst selves when we let others define who we are.  What elevated both of these films above the basic subject matter, was Eggers' adherence to the principle that a good storyteller must have a strong sense of why a certain subject is interesting,  and he is willing to explore those themes, regardless of where they descend.

Nope and Knock at the Cabin

Film(s) to be reviewed:  Nope and Knock at the Cabin

Purpose for watching the film(s):  

I was intrigued by the premise laid out in the trailer for each of these films, and considering past performance from each director, I was optimistic that the full-length movies would deliver on the promised thrills and surprises. 

My reaction to the film(s)

Jordan Peeles Nope is an audacious enterprise, a film that builds tension in the tradition of Hitchcock and M. Night Shyamalan; it gives us characters to care about, and puts them in a very unsettling situation.  It seems like The Twilight Zone, and The X-Files might also be an inspiration for this film, since Peele focuses heavily on the set-up, but also delivers a crazy pay-off that answers some questions, but by no means are they all answered.  Delving deeper into my X-Files comparison, Nope feels like it could be a one-off episode; we are introduced to a family of cowboys who have been witnessing some inexplicable phenomena.  The cowboys are interesting, the phenomena is interesting, the explanation is somewhat trippy, and the conclusion seems fitting and well earned.  I wouldn't rank this film, in quite the same category of Hitchcock's best, and it's not as good as Shyamalan (when he's on his game), but it was quite entertaining, and really, what more can you ask for?

In typical Shyamalan fashion, Knock at the Cabin has a simple premise, which could be explained in one sentence:  Four mysterious strangers are sent to deliver the message from Sofie's Choice to a gay couple and their adopted daughter.  Each of Shyamalan's previous films, including his best, The Village, could be condensed to a similarly simple synopsys. What makes many of Shyamalan's earlier films great, is where he took those ideas. The Village wasn't about its twist, it was about self-sacrificing love. The Sixth Sense was about facing one's fears by helping others…  I started a list of what each of Shyamalan's best films were really about, but we can discuss those later.  Unfortunately, Knock at the Cabin feels like a retread of Shyamalan's earlier, better works. Sure, there's a message here, but it's the one that you can guess easily from my description of the plot.  I realize that Shyamalan must feel significant pressure to always be out-Shyamalaning himself, and perhaps the best thing to do is just make a movie that doesn't have any surprises, and doesn't aspire to do anything remotely interesting.  Alright, now that he's got that out of his system, here's to hoping that his next film will return to what he does well.

Closing thoughts about the film(s):

So here’s the problem, M. Night Shyamalan established a benchmark with The Sixth Sense, and he was able to make a series of films that improved on that pattern.  Now we measure not only Shyamalan against that standard, but anyone who tries to enter the genre.   In today's face-off, Jordan Peele's Nope out-Shyamalans Shyamalan's Knock at the Cabin.

Women Talking and Glengarry Glen Ross

When I say that Sarah Polley's film Women Talking reminded me of Glengarry Glen Ross, it is meant as a compliment.  I realize that this seems to be a strange comparison, since the films' subject matter is quite different, but as the great Roger Ebert was apt to say, "It's not what a movie is about, it's how it is about it".  As is correctly advertised in the title, Women Talking consists primarily of women talking, and David Mamet's screenplay for Glengarry Glen Ross consists almost exclusively of men talking.  In the first film, a small group of women meet in a barn in the middle of their village, to decide whether to depart in a mass exodus, or stay and and fight the abusive men of their community.  Each woman has come to the meeting with her own agenda, and preconceptions of what decision should be made, and it is only through a vigorous dialogue that minds are changed, and a consensus is reached.  This premise, when done well can be extremely compelling, i.e. 12 Angry Men, but a film can only be as strong as the arguments that it presents.  I take that back, more correctly, a film is as strong as it convinces you that the arguments are.  What I mean by that is that even the most ridiculous arguments when presented skillfully can result in a great film, i.e. Braveheart.  Think about it, in that film we're presented with what at best is an amalgamation of historical characters, and definitely is more myth than truth, yet it's presented so beautifully that we get pulled in, and accept what we see as something even better than reality.  Women Talking is no Braveheart.  The following statement may seem harsh, but I am afraid that it captures the underlying problem that I have with Women Talking:  There is an extended sequence in which the council of women develop a pros and cons list, basically "should I stay, or should I go?".  I can imagine such a list being used during the early drafts of the screenplay, but the way that it is presented in the final film feels like a shortcut, and detracts from the story that is being told.  

It is difficult to separate the screenplay for Glengarry Glen Ross from the actors that portray its characters, because the dialogue feels like it was written for them, and each actor is so perfectly cast that you can almost imagine that they came up with their own words.  That Kevin Spacey and Alec Baldwin have turned out to be the people that we now know, makes their performances as reprehensible human beings all the more disturbing.  I would be remiss if I didn't mention Jack Lemmon's performance, in which he embodied the quintessential tragic salesman, so much so that every loser portrayed on film since 1992 (the year that Glengarry Glen Ross was released) owes something to Lemmon.  And then there's Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, and Al Pacino, each so clearly defined that one evening spent with them is more than enough to feel like we know everything about them, yet so nuanced that we have to imagine that the next evening would be a film worth watching too.  Like Women Talking, the men of Glengarry Glen Ross spend the entire film discussing their respective predicaments, but instead of searching for common ground, these men use words as weapons, like a no-holds-barred knife fight, where only the man left standing at the end can claim victory.  When I first saw this film, about 25 years ago, I remember thinking that it was a strange choice to make a movie about real estate salesmen; it's only now that I come to realize that the characters are employed as real estate salesmen, but that's not at all what the film is about.  The reason certain lines of dialogue have resonated for so long in our culture isn't just because they're catchy, but also because the screenwriter, Mamet is revealing something that's universal in our society.  The line that Alec Baldwin's character delivers, "coffee's for closers" isn't just relevant to salesmen, it speaks to the attitude that resonates with all Capitalists; there are those who feel like they deserve the coffee, and there are others who know that you have to earn coffee.

The Whale

Film(s) to be reviewed:  The Whale

Purpose for watching the film(s):  

Acquiescing to the buzz - giving in to that persistent voice in the back of my mind saying, “Peter, they’re still playing Avatar: The Way of Water on 5 screens of every 10-screen multiplex, and the remaining screens are playing the latest horror flick, or Minions movie.  If you don’t drive to Orlando and see this movie at the one theater that’s showing it within a 100-mile radius, you won’t get another chance!”

My reaction to the film(s):

I’m going to write the following statement as though I am a writer for the New York Times, a publication that would allow me to present an opinion that someone has (or may have), and run with that idea as though it were a widely held concern:  In the film The Whale, Brendan Fraser is committing the worst kind of cultural appropriation by wearing prosthetics to play a person that could just have easily been played by an actor who wouldn’t need prosthetics.  The casting of Fraser in this role is as egregious as Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Barbra Streisand in Yentl, or LeBron James in Space Jam 2.  If you take the concept of cultural appropriation to its logical conclusion, there would be a 1:1 ratio of roles to human beings, with absolutely no room for fictional characters or depictions of historical figures (unless it’s a Weekend At Bernie’s situation).  That anyone, ever has a problem with an actor playing someone other than himself (or herself, as the case may be) is ridiculous.  On that note, I thought that Brendan Fraser did an excellent job finding the balance between pathetic and sympathetic.  From a certain perspective, Fraser didn’t need the prosthetics, as his character’s physical condition didn’t define who he was, it simply exacerbated his misery.  Perhaps that fact alone should silence the critic that I conjured up at the beginning of this review; everyone is capable of sinking into the depths of despair, and it is unfair to assume that only people who fit a certain profile could experience particular feelings. 

Closing thoughts about the film(s):

Ever since my first Darren Aronofsky film, π (Pi), I have been a little scared each time I see another of his films, I’m never quite sure what he’s going to do next.  Whether it’s using a common household item to relieve cranial pressure (as in the aforementioned π), or the crazy amount of abuse that the wrestler subjected himself to in The Wrestler, it’s good that he keeps the audience on its collective toes.  Sometimes movies are too predictable.

Purple Rain

 Film(s) to be reviewed:  Purple Rain

Purpose for watching the film(s):  

Jess bought me an “STP” t-shirt about 22 years ago, and it’s starting to get a little threadbare, so for Christmas 2021 I asked for some more t-shirts.  Jess bought me a Baby Yoda t-shirt, and a Purple Rain t-shirt.  Then, in December of 2022, I just so happened to be wearing my Purple Rain t-shirt when I went to see Avatar: The Way of Water, and as the usher was ripping my ticket he said, “People always made fun of me because I didn’t see Purple Rain until I was in my 30s”.  I looked down, somewhat embarrassed, and said, “I still haven’t seen Purple Rain”.  It was as I shuffled dejectedly to my seat that I resolved to see Purple Rain that very night… 

My reaction to the film(s):

Usually I avoid describing details of a film’s plot, to me that’s like spoiling the story.  When I ask someone else about a movie that I haven’t seen yet, I only want to know what their impression of the film was.  From their description of how they emotionally reacted to the film, and based on what I know about the person, I develop my own conclusions as to whether I think that I will like the movie or not.  In the case of Purple Rain, its plot epitomizes everything about the movie, and it would be impossible to describe my reaction to the movie without discussing its plot.  As I begin to describe the plot, you’ll have to imagine how my serious look of contemplation transitions to a sly smile as I write the following words:  In the tradition of Bogart and Brando, the late artist, formerly (and currently) known as Prince portrays a reluctant hero, who must face his greatest challenge… himself.  Realizing that there may be some critics that would question whether Prince, a relative newcomer at the time to feature films, would be convincing in a leading role, it was decided that Morris Day (of Morris Day & The Time) should play the protagonist.  Now I can’t say that Morris Day was as good a villain as Joaquin Phoenix was in Gladiator, but then that would be an unfair comparison, since it’s kind of hard to act like a bad ass when you’re being upstaged by a man in high heels and wearing a purple sequin jumpsuit.  If you’re thinking to yourself, “wow, it didn’t take Peter very long to deviate from describing the plot of the movie”, then you’re wrong - except for describing the scene where Prince drives a woman out to the middle of nowhere on his motorcycle, then tricks her into stripping off all of her clothes, then drives away abandoning her naked and alone (because he thought it was funny), and the scene where Prince confronts his father for being abusive to his mother (with no sense of irony regarding the previously mentioned scene), I have now described the entire plot.  But what makes it a great movie, is that it’s Prince, and there’s Prince music, and did I mention that Prince is riding a motorcycle?

Closing thoughts about the film(s):

Do you ever get that feeling when you’re watching a movie that another piece of the cultural puzzle has been fitted into place, and you’re one step closer to being cool?  Now I finally get all those Morris Day & The Time references in Kevin Smith movies. I’m not sure that makes me any cooler, but the next time someone asks me about my Purple Rain t-shirt, I can say, “yeah, I’ve seen that movie too”.

Avatar: The Way of Water

I tried asking ChatGTP to write a review "in the style of Peter Crum", but apparently the nuances of my prose are beyond the capacity of the OpenAI's  current algorithm.  Since I have over 20 movie reviews in different stages of draft right now, I am planning to take a more streamlined, and consistent approach to my reviews (at least until I get caught-up).  I expect that an incidental side effect of my switch to a formulaic review style will be that future iterations of AI will have a better chance of taking over my movie reviews when I am no longer able, or no longer wish to write them myself.

Film(s) to be reviewed:  Avatar: The Way of Water

Purpose for watching the film(s):  

What is the purpose for looking up into the sky when your child says "look, there's a rainbow!"?  The purpose seems obvious, but the more you think about it, the more you will realize that the answer can be quite complex.  Similarly, my purpose for watching Avatar: The Way of Water is multifaceted:  James Cameron is a visionary filmmaker, who has fundamentally advanced the technical elements of filmmaking over the past 40 years.  Films such as Aliens, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, and Titanic stand as benchmarks, that define their respective genres to this day.  The original Avatar in 2009 revolutionized the industry in a way that surpassed all of Cameron's previous efforts, erasing the lines between live action and animation, which effectively removes all constraints from filmmaking, leaving only imagination as the limit to what can be captured on film.  Not going to see Avatar: The Way of Water would be like spraying bear repellent in your own eyes when your child says "look, there's a rainbow!"... That would be really dumb.

My reaction to the film(s):

Every frame of this film is amazing.  Of course the same can be said for the film Ratatouille, which is far superior in just about every way, unless of course you are looking to find self-loathing in your moviegoing experience.  Early in the film I found myself trying to determine where the real elements ended and the animation began, but this was an exercise in futility.  Before long, I was able to let go, and just enjoy the experience, and I was able to accept that everything that I was seeing was just as real as everything else.  Of course this is the kind of illusion that filmmakers have been striving for since the advent of the medium; whether it's been stunts, editing, camera angles, or special effects, these technical elements have been used to show us something that otherwise would be impossible.  Well, maybe not always impossible, but at least impractical.  The previously mentioned self-loathing that Avatar: The Way of Water subjects us to isn't as bad this time around as it was in the original Avatar.  The first film in the series was basically Dances With Wolves in space, which isn't a bad idea all things considered, but it really would have benefited from some call-backs, i.e. they could have had some blue buffalo, and the main character could have learned the word "tatanka".  The sequel spreads the blame around a bit more; now there's reasons to feel guilty about being a white person, a blue person, a white person raised by blue people but still having a place in your heart for your white father, being a scientist, not knowing how to swim, making fun of people who don't know how to swim, etc.  Clearly I believe that the Avatar series could do without Cameron's ideological slant, but I will admit that it adds a distinct perspective to what otherwise might be a flat narrative.  Not that I'm comparing the Avatar movies to Apocalypse Now, but when I'm watching Coppola's masterpiece, I don't get hung-up on his ideology because it's so interwoven into the fabric of the film.  Unfortunately, Avatar: The Way of Water does feel preachy, which detracts from the overall experience; not enough to keep me from looking forward to the upcoming third film, but enough that it detracted from the viewing experience.

Closing thoughts about the film(s):

Please note that I used the phrase "self-loathing" in this review prior to revisiting my review of the original Avatar, in which I also used that description.  If the next version of ChatGTP can't figure me out, I don't know what else I can do to help it.