by Philip Price Director: Cord Jefferson Starring: Jeffrey Wright, Tracee Ellis Ross & Sterling K. Brown Rated: R (language, some drug use, sexual references & brief violence) Runtime: 1 hour & 57 minutes What is immediately striking about Cord Jefferson's directorial debut, based on Percival Everett’s 2001 award-winning novel Erasure, is how it balances the two different movies that it is and how these two movies work together to re-enforce the overall point of the film rather than competing against one another for more prominence or importance. The truth is, both could exist on their own and still be engaging, but how they lean on and feed in and out of one another elevates the heart and intelligence of both. From one angle, “American Fiction” is a burning satire, a total takedown of every stereotype the entertainment industry and by association, our culture at large, has ascribed to the African American individual and experience. From the opposite angle, Jefferson's film tells the story of a Black family in America that upends every single one of those stereotypes; painting not a perfect picture of a family to prove a point, but rather what is still a flawed yet funny and successful yet sad portrait of a life not typically seen embodied by people with pigment. Whether you see “American Fiction” as a conventional story told unconventionally or vice versa will depend on what walk of life you're approaching the film from, but the point is that by the time the credits roll the interpretation of the film's melding objectives are all on the same page. Jeffrey Wright's Thelonious 'Monk' Ellison is a writer who faces the challenge all introverted writers do in that he purports to understand and possess insight into the human condition without having spent any actual time in the wild, among people outside his academic circles in some time. Monk is distrusting of the individual student or person he encounters who does not think on the same wavelength as he does while optimistic to the point he believes those same people who make up a culture of book readers will appreciate his high-brow literature enough to allow him to make a living off it. As a white male, this idea of knowing the truth deep down but still masking it in hopes that everything will be OK in the grander scheme of things leads to an interesting facet of the film, at least to viewers who look/think like me. It would seem there is a collective/unspoken desire for things to remain uninterrupted in the ways of the world even if we outwardly express a desire for truth and innovation; in other words, progress is fine as long as it is guided by the same kind of structure we’ve always adhered to. I’m not saying I agree with this, but I am saying I recognize the truth of the statement as suggested in the film. Of course, change is scary for most, but this is how “American Fiction” challenges a viewer of my persuasion as it asks the question, “What has shaped my perspective of black individuals and culture?” Do I take what I have been fed at face value or do I know my truth via the work I have put into growing real relationships? Monk likes to think he understands people well enough to know how to lie to them convincingly – or at least avoid them in the case of his family, but through his actions under the pseudonym of Stagg R. Leigh he comes to realize he doesn't have to try and convince people of anything as they are more than happy to buy whatever bullshit he comes up with and more, treat it as exceptional simply because it reflects badly on them if they don’t and therefore their endorsement of such absolves them from the sins of their ancestors. We don't want to be lied to, not really, but we'll sit in it forever if it's a comfier chair. How Jefferson exposes this ugly truth through the power and prominence a reductive, flat picture of black people's lives in America gains versus the kind of inherent rejection of the idea a black person’s life can be hard for reasons outside of gangs, drugs, single parenting, and/or slave trauma is both an indictment of the systems that set-up the linking of fear and criminals with race as well as asking the audience why it was set-up that way in the first place? To who’s ultimate benefit, is it? In a scene featuring Monk and his literary agent (John Ortiz) discussing the release strategy of his joke of a book via conference call, Monk tests just how far he can push the publishers (with what is one of the funniest line deliveries of the year, I might add) before they attempt to exert some kind of restraint or power over him. He’s more looking for someone to call him out on the bullshit he believes he’s pedaling, but once the lightbulb of realization goes off that what is so terrifying to these white people he’s speaking with is not the change or progress that they once feared (at least not these kind of white people), but more as being seen as gatekeepers for such things is when Monk realizes the extent of the power he has because he is now perceived as a man owed something rather than simply being deserving of it. Power is the root of all racial conflict and tension since the beginning of slavery after all, so while this probably pisses Monk off further, he doesn’t have any real interest in flexing his muscle for the sake of it. Rather, this scene and the provocation of this idea that an inherent hierarchy still exists despite how far we’ve come only for that hierarchy to now almost exclusively push a specific kind of black story and the ramifications of as much are key to understanding the root of the many ideas at the center of "American Fiction." In another scene, earlier in the film, where Monk begins writing his derivative, shallow parody of a “black” book we see iterations of his characters appear in front of Monk’s desk (including Keith David!) as they act out what is being typed on Monk’s laptop – revisions and all. It’s a fun piece of filmmaking flair that unfortunately the rest of the film is lacking. This being Jefferson’s debut feature it’s easy to understand why the clarity with which the big ideas are expressed is of the utmost importance justifying why he doesn’t push things too much in terms of execution, but a little more energy to try and match the vigor of the sharpness through which the ideas are written would seem to only elevate them further. Still, beyond the big topics and biting satire there is plenty to enjoy here from both an aesthetic and entertainment perspective. Seeing Wright in this mode couldn’t feel like a better pairing of actor and role. Erika Alexander as Monk’s new love interest gives the film a spark outside all of its heady conversations while Sterling K. Brown absolutely crushes every time he enters the frame. The score by Laura Karpman plays nicely into both the personal narrative as well as the more comedic moments of the script while the tranquil setting of Monk’s family’s beach house, the many conversations on the porch, and the investment in so many of these characters that transcend the genre only work in Jefferson’s favor to prove that people are oftentimes much more than the stereotype they’ve been reduced to. That said, it is rather upsetting they landed on “Philip” as what is apparently the douchiest white guy name they could come up with; I’ll try not to take it personally though.
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by Philip Price Director: Emerald Fennell Starring: Barry Keoghan, Richard E. Grant & Rosamund Pike Rated: R (strong sexual content, graphic nudity, language, some disturbing violent content and drug use) Runtime: 2 hours & 11 minutes This is not necessarily what I expected from director Emerald Fennell's ‘Lady Bird’ and my feelings as well as the film itself are at such odds with one another it's difficult to say whether “Saltburn” is subverting or misunderstanding what it wants to discuss, but either way - it's fascinating. Fennell and Linus Sandgren's visual tendencies and surplus of style are enchanting and the multiple motifs it scratches are at least vaguely interesting yet at times this also felt like the equivalent of a feature-length Fall Out Boy video. I like Fall Out Boy, don't get me wrong, but they have a very specific tone and given the time period of their prominence compared with the setting of this film it almost feels intentional if not strictly appropriate. The flair, the sophistication and the elegance of the whole aesthetic are truly to be commended though, from the sky in the shot of Barry Keoghan's Oliver Quick laying at the foot of a grave (how long did they wait around for that exact right moment?) to how it takes advantage of its grandiose location, each composition is just that with Fennell layering in a strong string of soundtrack selections that only heighten the scale and emotion of the picture. Perks of this rollercoaster of an experience include Richard E. Grant laughing at “Superbad” (despite the timeline of this not adding up) which is worth the price of admission alone. Furthermore, the combination of Grant and Rosamund Pike doing their absurdist take on a dysfunctional (but wealthy) family who sweep all their conflict and complicated emotions under the rug for fear of the facade not remaining intact and their fairy tale of existence becoming the inverse is arguably the best executed and most interesting aspect of the entire film. As fun as theorizing about ‘Harry Potter’ threesomes while lounging by the pool and watching “The Ring” all summer sounds, Fennell's attempts at convincing herself that to pick apart the fact “Saltburn” is more style than substance is lazy are eventually drawn moot by her film's alleviation of any semblance of real substance leaving nothing for anything but the eyes to enjoy. Which, in this instance, isn't necessarily a bad bargain all things considered. Chief among the main ideas the film attempts to investigate is a dissection of the rich and their need to rescue and liberate up to the point those they've helped feel a sense of comfort - cured even - at which point they suddenly become an imposter. A stranger. I told you, it's broad and a movie made as specifically as “Saltburn” in every other facet needs a main idea that is just as so. I say this, of course, and then Fennell hits you with a line like, "You don't pick a child's name thinking about what it will one day look like on a headstone." and pulls you right back in to consider things further. Great clothes though and bonus points for featuring a Crunchie. Love those. Speaking of candy, how do we never see any of the pretty people working out? The devil is indeed in the details, but unfortunately for Fennell and her characters here, the details aren't as complicated or as scandalous as she'd like them to be. by Philip Price Director: Alexander Payne Starring: Paul Giamatti, Dominic Sessa & Da'Vine Joy Randolph Rated: R (language, some drug use & brief sexual material) Runtime: 2 hours & 13 minutes As someone born in the late ‘80s and raised as a pure product of the ‘90s, I didn’t expect a ‘70s throwback piece to hit me as hard as director Alexander Payne’s latest. What’s interesting is, as a millennial and someone who relates more to the first two decades above and who hasn’t seen enough “New American Cinema” born of the ‘70s to recognize the qualifiers, it’s hard to know whether or not “The Holdovers” is a movie akin to those made in the ‘70s or if it is simply a homage to what we now think of when we say “a ‘70s movie”. Payne, who is now 62, has made films in the vein of ‘70s movies before - movies that center on multi-faceted characters with relatively small and always personal problems - but he’s never seemingly made a movie so overtly mimicking so much of what he draws inspiration from. I say all of this as something of a qualifier in and of itself for, while I understand “The Holdovers” might be more provoking of the look and feel than invoking of the actual spirit of ‘70s cinema, as someone of my age and viewing history it left me feeling as if it had done both. Furthermore, I understand why those who might have a deeper pool of knowledge and sense of connection to movies of the ‘70s and their unshaven realism might find “The Holdovers” more of a copy of what once was rather than the authentic journey I experienced while watching the film, but the fact of the matter is: I found this far more enjoyable than expected given my aforementioned disposition, but more than that - I found this deeply affecting and honest. While it might be aping certain ‘70s visual cues very intently, it also manages a perfect balance of melancholy and comedy that elicits heavy truths while equally highlighting the gleefully effervescent moments of life (and how they weave our days and time together). To this extent, “The Holdovers” has a lot going on in it and just as much on its mind, but we never feel pushed to be persuaded by anything. Instead, while the film purports to be heavily focused on entitlement, honor and the upholding of certain standards and traditions that make someone who they are and of a certain class, it is naturally, actually about Paul Giamatti's Paul Hunham coming to an epiphany after so many years of trying to hold himself to these standards and present such a specific version of himself that none of it is worth it if you're still making kids suffer for your enjoyment. Hunham, a history teacher at an all-boys prep school, finds joy in the condescension and criticism he can dole out toward his students who he knows are inferior (at least intellectually) as well as with his co-workers who we can assume he also feels superior to if not also because of his IQ but because he has "foregone sensual pleasures for spiritual endeavors," meaning he is single and socially awkward and has fully dedicated himself to this institution for which he attended and now works. This mentality is also what gets Hunham holed up on campus over the holidays with Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa), a smart if not troubled student, who also has no place to go. The film plays the card of these two at first vehemently opposed people teaching each other a few things about life in the process of beginning to like one another, but while this is kind of the structure upon which it hangs its hat what is most interesting is how it compounds its many ideas via this method into a rather breezy execution. Hunham assumed Tully was another in a long line of the entitled pricks he's accustomed to teaching - and to a certain extent is - but it's clear Tully has an intelligence behind his quips and whining which is possibly why Hunham feels slightly threatened by him even if it's not enough for him to let it show. Both are a couple of neurotic messes, but the addition of Da'Vine Joy Randolph's Mary Lamb, a cook at the school who has also elected to stay on campus over the holidays, brings levity to this group of people who were all left behind in one way or another. Though Hunham and Tully each have histories that have led them to this point in life, Mary has the most apparent and valid reasons for behaving the way these men do (wounded) even if she doesn't, really. Randolph's Mary being a black woman in 1969/1970 is not lost on the audience either as she must harbor her pain and regret rather than air it out freely to feel some type of affirmation. The volumes this speaks does a fair amount of narrative work for Payne and screenwriter David Hemingson, but Randolph plays the part with such humanity and realism that her abbreviated appearance and transparency of her function disappear. Hunham is at least understanding and sympathetic to Mary's plight as well, befriending her, standing up for her, and never making her feel excluded, but were the starting gates of life aligned equally it is clear Mary would have never needed Hunham's sympathies. There is a small, rather short scene featuring Randolph though that absolutely broke me and was also the moment the movie transcended its invoking nature and became a genuinely provoking piece of storytelling. Much like its themes and ideas, there are multiple things at play in “The Holdovers” that make it endearing and indelible, whether it be Giamatti's run, Giamatti trying to throw a football or Giamatti having to crawl through the passenger side of his car; each of which is (hilariously) entertaining. Joking aside, what stands to make this film lasting and unforgettable is how it captures the nature of this journey, this trip with these characters from one point in their lives to the next. Giamatti utilizes just enough of what he did with Payne previously in “Sideways” while deviating from the character just enough to make Hunham maybe not as unhinged, but more sorrowful (he also just looks like complete shit, which is appreciated as well) whereas Sessa (who I had not seen in anything previously) does well to show Tully's anger over his vulnerabilities in an understandable rather than cloying fashion. I also just loved the set and production design throughout, how all the floors at the prep school would creak, how all the rooms were filled with smoke all the time, and such details as the cars and the interior of the Chateau in Boston gave no false notes. Also, some pitch-perfect casting in Tully's mom and stepdad. Really special stuff all around. I mean, "penis cancer in human form," has to be one of the greatest insults ever put to film. by Philip Price Director: Chris Buck & Fawn Veerasunthorn Starring: Ariana DeBose, Chris Pine & Alan Tudyk Rated: PG (thematic elements & mild action) Runtime: 1 hour & 35 minutes This is the one you guys decided to have it out with, huh? The completely inoffensive, abundantly charming homage to Disney Animation Studios’ 100 year history that also means to continue to push the boundaries of what constitutes a Disney princess further? I'm convinced there is a small (yet loud) and clearly influential sect of the internet whose entire purpose is to get as ahead of the narrative as possible and establish whatever direction they'd like to sway public opinion toward just to see if it sticks. For some reason, “Wish” was immediately dubbed lazy and unoriginal by hordes of people on TikTok (a format for micro shorts and ads) who picked apart the first clips of songs released from the film for no other reason than to say they supposedly weren't as good as songs from two years ago made for movies with different tones and objectives than this one. So, first, in the context of the film each and every song here works as intended which is to say, really well, with "Knowing What I Know Now" being a certified banger in the vein of classics such as "I'll Make a Man Out of You" and "I've Got a Dream". Further, the titular track of "This Wish" would be a standard Disney classic circa any other time in history. It, along with the whole of the story that doesn't stray far from your standard fairy tale pillars (young girl experiences longing and/or ambition and, in a manner of speaking, absolves the kingdom in which she lives from an evil sorcerer), are majestically rendered through a combination of the animation style and the style of that aforementioned music. The animation is in and of itself a combination of 2D watercolor background paintings (a homage to classic films dating all the way back to “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”) and cutting-edge CG that emphasizes the hand drawn look that ultimately creates both a very modern and very retro aesthetic simultaneously. I guess if you didn't know going in that this was intended to be a self-conscious kind of reflection on the Disney legacy with easter eggs abounding referencing where we've been while looking forward to where things can go, this might feel a little regressive, but the level at which the homage is executed is so masterful and core idea still solid enough that absolutely none of the vitriol this thing has encountered is actually, at any level, warranted. Beyond the standard Disney princess archetypes, the film is clever in its phrasing of how we - especially the intended audience for the film - shouldn't allow people to control our hopes and ambitions. Ariana DeBose's Asha immediately recognizes the insidious nature of Chris Pine's Magnifico and how he is using suppression through the guise of protection to serve his own purposes. She's young and inexperienced and self-aware enough to know as much, but she also knows in her gut that the way in which Magnifico has secretly been running his kingdom is inherently wrong and that she must do something about it. Compelling! A perfectly respectable, even honorable message as conveyed through a pastel-tinged palette and committed performances from both DeBose and Pine plus Alan Tudyk as a scene-stealing talking goat named Valentino? Like, what more do you want from a Disney holiday treat? I don't even know that I necessarily loved the film and this reaction is no doubt exactly that as I allowed the bad word of mouth and poor box office performance to taint my expectations yet found myself completely wrapped up in the story, enjoying the songs and appreciating the smiles, laughs, and covered eyes of my children as they encountered all the sweet, funny and tense moments the movie had to offer. No, it's not top of the line Disney, but it certainly isn't the burning pile of trash so many have implied. Find some fucking nuance, you bike handles. by Philip Price Director: Ridley Scott Starring: Joaquin Phoenix & Vanessa Kirby Rated: R (strong violence, some grisly images, sexual content & brief language) Runtime: 2 hours & 38 minutes There is something very 2004 about Ridley Scott's “Napoleon” in that it is first and foremost a large historical epic that one might have expected Scott to cash in his “Gladiator” chips on (it's also he and Joaquin Phoenix's first collaboration since), but more so because it shows no obvious signs of CGI saturation (aside from a few extras in a single battle sequence and a horse carcass) and when combined with Scott's wiggle room to get a little weird here and there it felt at times as if I were back in high school seeing a movie my dad would have been excited for on Thanksgiving break rather than the Apple Studios produced, long in gestation project it became that at times seemed unattainable and unfortunately sometimes still feels as much throughout its execution. The context with which one views “Napoleon” might be more critical to its reception (as is true with most expectations) than in most cases; the point in this instance is that there are multiple options for which to go into this. Knowing a little or a lot is always available, but knowing Scott has already discussed a lengthier version of the film immediately implies this is something of a CliffsNotes version of what he intended to make. Granted, the life of Napoleon Bonaparte is something one either takes at wholesale or investigates individually given the breadth of history the man was directly involved in and responsible for shaping, but Scott tries to have his cake and eat it too resulting in what is currently a nearly three-hour experience that still feels abbreviated. There is a quote from David Fincher from when he was making “Gone Girl” that I go back to often. Fincher said: “The book is many things. You have to choose which aspect you want to make a movie from." With “Napoleon” and David Scarpa's screenplay in particular, Scott's instinct seems to have latched onto Bonaparte's relationship with Vanessa Kirby's Empress Joséphine. This is the aspect he genuinely wants to make a film about, but of course, if a movie about this grand historical figure doesn't feature the grand historical battles of Waterloo and Austerlitz the movie doesn't exist at all. Scott understands this probably more than anyone else working in Hollywood today and thus is the reason that aspect he was so keen to latch onto would seemingly have a stronger correlation to these battles than is presented in the movie. This is a movie that features a scene in which Kirby's Joséphine warns Bonaparte that should he glance upon her unmentionables he will find a surprise and that once he sees it, he will always want it. It has a kinky little attitude for sure, but the point is whatever control and/or influence Joséphine held over her husband Scott and Scarpa's thesis around how this impotence in their marriage translated to one of the more feared megalomaniacs in the history and strategy of warfare is never made clear. There is certainly something more to this dynamic if not for Joséphine's own words, but for how we see the titular character return to her time and time again despite her unfaithfulness and despite her inability to bear him an heir (as well as the added caveat that she seems genuinely repulsed by him). There are naturally moments throughout the film that suggest the type of fulfillment a woman like Joséphine might bring to a man with Napoleon's need for reassurance and praise (the “most important thing in the world” bit is a great character moment though), but the psychology of how this symbiotic relationship works is so clearly what is intended that its almost complete absence from the proceedings leaves the film with a hollow center. Of course, at the center of the film is Phoenix who doesn't even attempt a French accent and who could seemingly give as much of a shit about not attempting one as Scott does the historical accuracy of his picture. That said, the film overall tends to fail its protagonist in terms of getting inside his head and rationalizing the decisions he made because the film itself feels so preoccupied with simply making sure it hits all the events and notable moments it can cram into a theatrically releasable runtime. There is no driving narrative force, no adversary with whom Napoleon has a longstanding rivalry that builds to a crescendo, or even a goal that rests idly inside him that is out of reach during his rise to power that we are made aware of early on and that we know must be accomplished for him to feel some type of satisfaction. Thus, the movie feels like a series of strung together – albeit beautifully rendered - action sequences with interstitials featuring this guy's Rolodex of weird arousals. This is the long way of expressing that for a film with an initial runtime of two hours and 38 minutes with a reported four-hour version in the kitchen, I don't know that length is as much the issue as it is the editing or rather the lack of harmony in what was shot to effectively shape a stronger, more compelling narrative. Should the extended cut be able to equate his ruthlessness on the battlefield to his feebleness in the bedroom or more so, why it would seem Joséphine is nothing without him yet – at least in Napoleon’s mind – it is truly the other way around then more power to editors Sam Restivo and Claire Simpson as they are doing their best to whittle down a multitude of movies into a single conversation. What Phoenix’s performance does relay is a kind of restrained, stoic façade that doesn’t tend to break for many. At the beginning of this film, Napoleon is in his mid-twenties and Phoenix plays him every step of the way up until he died in 1861 at the age of 53. Throughout all Napoleon’s experiences though, the most telling moments are the smallest; whether that be in Napoleon taking away a man’s dessert for informing him of his wife’s infidelities or placing his hat upon the top of an Egyptian sarcophagus there is a depth the performance hints at that the movie never fulfills. While Scarpa’s script knows it’s too broad to get into too much detail about all the people surrounding Napoleon and propping up his rise (despite plastering many names on screen) we are also kept at a distance by Phoenix himself, that is, until Kirby shows up. That the movie makes no excuses for and more or less supports Joséphine’s willingness and ability to do whatever (and whoever) it takes to survive at a certain status level is appreciated, but somehow it never feels there is enough scenery for Kirby to chew. While Phoenix’s choice to play this more internally keeps us guessing at his motivations and reasonings (the same way the film in general does around its larger conflicts due to its brisk tour through history) there is an inherent connection and understanding in Kirby’s depiction of this woman who lost her first husband during the Reign of Terror and was imprisoned until five days after his execution. Her motivations and reasonings couldn’t be clearer and we all know Kirby has true screen presence, but it is again the inability of the piece to draw out the provocateur of these actions and how it relates to the larger imprint on history that makes it all feel a little empty. That isn’t to say what Scott has put on screen isn’t effective as many of the individual shots in many of the battle sequences are as gorgeous as they are grotesque, context or not. The amount of work and preparation that goes into shooting something like the battle of Waterloo for the limited amount of screentime it ultimately takes up would likely be unbearable to hear and no one’s effort in that regard should be discredited; it’s impressive, grand-scale stuff. Touches such as frequent fades to a blistering white and the inclusion of certain lines of dialogue and those smaller moments lend intentionality to the piece. The slightly farcical nature of how the film handles the formalities of the period paired with the edge the movie is lent by Joséphine’s infidelities and Napoleon’s insecurities that give way to the inner workings of their relationship is oftentimes fascinating. The film frequently feels more like more of a burden, an endeavor to trudge through than it does an adventure to experience. While this is due largely to the pacing, Scott doesn’t care what people think about his storytelling these days and while this can be a disservice in many regards it is also undoubtedly what leads to some of the film’s greatest strengths. So, here’s hoping the extended version we’ve been promised isn’t simply an extension of scenes, but Scott leaning further into the themes of the story that attracted him to it in the first place: destiny … and probably lamb chops as well. by Philip Price Director: Taika Waititi Starring: Michael Fassbender, Kaimana & Oscar Kightley Rated: PG-13 (language & crude material) Runtime: 1 hour & 44 minutes There's a running joke in director Taika Waititi's latest, “Next Goal Wins,” where Michael Fassbender's Thomas Rongen utilizes famous movie speeches - whether it be from “Taken” or “Any Given Sunday” - and tries to apply them to his own life as a professional soccer coach. Sometimes it works and other times he gets called out on it. Unironically (which is ironic considering Waititi's tone), this is pretty much how “Next Goal Wins” works as well. Lifting from any number of inspirational sports movies, “Next Goal Wins” is an uplifting true story that hits all the expected beats and, as it is a Waititi production, comments on how aware it is of such. While I have understood Waititi's quirky appeal in the past and his penchant for irreverence has worked for me more than it hasn't the writer/director/actor has certainly made the most of his time in the spotlight and seemingly burned a little too bright, too quickly. Needless to say, a little Waititi goes a long way. I was hopeful he wouldn't insert himself too much into this latest endeavor (he doesn't), but rather that he would focus on putting his specific filmmaking stamp on this familiar story (he doesn't). “Next Goal Wins” is an effortlessly charming experience largely due to the focus it puts on the American Samoa people and culture exemplified through their contrast with the new, European soccer coach that has come to lead their failing program - the aforementioned Rongen. When the film rests on the shoulders of their exceptional positivity and optimism it is as pleasant as the people on screen. Unfortunately, Waititi and co-writer Iain Morris are beholden to making Rongen not necessarily the hero of the film, but more its primary focus. There is nothing explicitly wrong with this (like I said, Waititi acknowledges the whole white savior aspect) as Rongen (at least initially) couldn't care less about being admired by or helping the American Samoa people. Rongen is serving no cause by taking on this role other than keeping his mind off the troubles of his personal life while remaining attached to the one thing he believes still brings him joy even if it has become completely joyless. As Rongen, Fassbender serves this redemption arc well enough, but as the film tracks his story using the American Samoan team only as a supporting ensemble, we don't get to know this cast of characters as well as we should or, frankly, as well as we'd like to. One notable aspect that does distinguish “Next Goal Wins” from other sports movies of the same ilk is that it features the first out transgender woman to compete in a World Cup qualifier. Jaiyah Saelua (who is played by Kaimana who is non-binary) is the player who is afforded the most character development both emphasizing the importance of inclusion and acceptance while also showing the reality of the situation and the many questions and quibbles that surround it. As this is Kaimana's first acting gig there are some shortcomings in the performance, but how the film deals with and the ideas that come out of what it refers to as fa'afafine (a third gender that is widely accepted in Samoan culture) are reason enough for this charming sports comedy (that is a remake of a 2014 documentary of the same name) to exist in the first place. A harmless and well-intentioned underdog story, “Next Goal Wins” will seemingly find an audience eventually and have a moment as it hits the sports movie beats with enough gumption, sincerity and of course - comedy, to leave the average moviegoer (or casual streamer) who has no idea who Taika Waititi is and doesn't care about his online reputation more than happy they spent an hour and a half with this little known, low stakes sports story while also learning something about the state of happiness. by Philip Price Director: David Fincher Starring: Michael Fassbender & Tilda Swinton Rated: R (strong violence & language) Runtime: 1 hour & 58 minutes There is little room for elaboration in David Fincher's latest in which he both does what we (and he) knows he does best while simultaneously subverting what we thought he might do with a project called “The Killer.” Though unfamiliar with Alexis 'Matz' Nolent's 2018 graphic novel I couldn't help but wonder if what attracted Fincher and “Se7en” screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker to the project was how it played with the mundanities of what is imagined to be a high-stakes, high-tension line of work or if the novel played it more straight allowing the writer/director duo the opportunity to latch onto this aspect and run with it. Either way, Fincher and Walker have leaned into the absurdities of what being a hit man entails, specifically in the 21st century ("Who needs a Trojan horse when you have postmates?") and are able to walk a satirical line with the material that might not be as serious or earnest as some expect but is just as interesting if not more fascinating. Not knowing what tone or variety of ideas the novel brings to the table, it's interesting to see what the film version latches onto given from moment one we are dropped into the mind of Michael Fassbender's titular character who is preparing for a hit in Paris. This and each of the subsequent chapters detail both the precision and meticulous nature this guy demonstrates when it comes to his job as contrasted by the glib way in which he thinks about and comments on it. The majority of the film is interior monologue and it is from Fassbender's musings and thoughts on his line of work, how it has changed over time, and how he believes he handles/is handling what is required of him that Fincher highlights the ridiculous situations and behavior this character must resort to in order to keep his own life secure while recognizing how much this seems to mirror his own process and tendencies. It's not a one to one comparison, but the high level at which both the film and its main character execute their given tasks coupled with its examination of where we find pleasure in life and how we continue to peruse those highs even if that means putting ourselves through hell in order to obtain them make this what is possibly Fincher's most personal film to date and likely the closest thing to an autobiography we'll ever see from him. by Philip Price Director: Eli Roth Starring: Nell Verlaque, Jalen Thomas Brooks & Milo Manheim Rated: R (strong bloody horror violence & gore, language & some sexual material) Runtime: 1 hour & 46 minutes For a movie largely intended as a joke someone took this assignment seriously. Whether that be writer/director Eli Roth or his co-writer and childhood friend Jeff Rendell or both, this tight, symmetrical script that pays off each of its set-ups, introduces just the right number of red herrings while having actual, creative fun with its premise along the way. As far as slasher flicks go, it doesn't get much better than this in terms of execution that elevates the original blueprint. Roth is a veteran of the genre, but up to this point has not made a true-blue slasher film yet apparently should have been making them all along. Spawned from the trailer he made for Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez's “Grindhouse” feature in 2007, I do wish Roth had held on more to that aesthetic rather than the clean, digital sheen of this final product, but aside from this complaint “Thanksgiving” delivers a satisfying, full course meal. A real highlight of the film is how it utilizes all the hallmarks of the holiday from the opening Black Friday massacre to a Thanksgiving parade as its central set piece, and then of course the climactic meal itself - all of which are cheesily rendered into perfect camp with some of them not lingering quite long enough, leaving us wanting more. Arguably, a good Thanksgiving meal should instead leave you stuffed rather than clamoring for more, but in this case, it works to Roth's advantage. Speaking to tone specifically, Roth manages his film’s ability to lean into the camp in terms of the performances while maintaining the credibility of the gross-out gore and actual tension of the scenario when necessary. As always, balance is key, and when a movie like “Thanksgiving” - a movie where you watch it because you know what you want out of it - is as gory as it is hilarious, that's a win. Further holiday hallmarks include the use of the name John Carver (an early governor of Plymouth Colony) as the main baddie of the film while a band in the parade named "Plymouth Rocks!" only emphasizes further the (again, equal) amount of fun and creativity that went into each decision. In invoking the spirit of a classic slasher while attempting to up the stakes, one must have the key ingredient of - if not necessarily relatable – at least memorable teenagers looking to evade their seemingly impending doom. In this case, we have what are essentially a trio of couples who are inadvertently looped into the opening chaos of a Black Friday that ultimately turns red. Nell Verlaque is Jessica AKA the final girl who is dating a college ball player (Jalen Thomas Brooks) but has always had the affection of Milo Manheim's character, Ryan, which is just a mega savvy move considering this guy led a horror-themed Disney trilogy of original movies that began only five years ago. Tween fans of that series have officially found their gateway into real horror. There's also Evan (Tomaso Sanelli) and Gabby (Addison Rae) and Scuba (Gabriel Davenport) and Yulia (Jenna Warren) each of whom could blend in and out of one another if we're arguing about it, but as a unit, they take enough advantage of the archetypes to realize that fine line of freaky yet endearing. It goes back to tone, but the character interplay and authenticity have a lot to do with the comforting, almost inviting quality of the film despite the danger at hand and this group accomplishes such. Bonus points to Sanelli for being hilarious throughout as the dim jock though; the bit about him playing football by himself is killer (yes, pun intended). Given it has been 16-plus years since the fake trailer first premiered and likely even longer since Roth and Rendell first had the idea for this film one of the aspects that was immediately concerning was the pivotal role technology might play as the aforementioned grindhouse aesthetic was pushed out for a John Carver who livestreams his kills. Fortunately, the campy tone is elicited in these choices as well a la Evan posting his video of the Black Friday trampling to his YouTube channel and then slapping a "RIP to the victims" message at the end as an airhorn sounds. It's perfect in its lampooning yet effective in its construction. It doesn't necessarily make me consider the hierarchy of the social ladder and how the poor, despite working the hardest day in and day out, also must work the hardest to enjoy the simple pleasures of something like a waffle iron, but it's there if you desire to read more into things or is just as easily left at amounting to little more than a lack of subtlety. Speaking of subtlety, every time I thought there might be a hint of a bad performance I had to remind myself it was all intentional because that moment of doubt would immediately be followed with something like a kid making an emotional speech in class about his defiance of celebrating Thanksgiving while being immediately proceeded by him lifting up his shirt to wipe away tears revealing a perfect set of abs as he is immediately flanked by (emotionally supportive) female classmates. Then there's the involvement of the guy who graduated a few too many years ago to still be hanging around high schoolers but does it anyway, McCarty (Joe Delfin), who ends up supplying our heroes with their weapons to fight back against Mr. Carver. From the numerous, random places in which he hides these weapons to the posters on his wall and of course his "I Love to Fart" coffee mug, everything down to the smallest of details in “Thanksgiving” evokes a reaction. It is that classic, horror flick response of being frightened and then moments later laughing at how frightened you were to again watching the movie through your fingers moments later; such a reaction is key to the success of such a film and a real credit to the filmmaking. Roth knows what he’s doing, and he knows he’s good at it, but he also really needed a Sabbath song on his end credits to top it off perfectly. Oh well, there’s always next year… by Philip Price Trolls Band Together As a massive, irony-free *NSYNC fan I would have loved to have seen the press tour for this sans strike as the film itself feels slight in comparison to the previous two installments. The boy band references and musical medleys are all on point as are the Justin Timberlake-produced originals, but the narrative leaves behind too many key memorable characters to make room for new ones critical to the great idea of a premise that somehow lacks in the quirky execution the first two films had in spades. This franchise has always largely been about the colors and the music and while “Trolls: Band Together” still has plenty to offer as it expands this ever-expanding world I do wish it would have made more of an effort to weave together the old and the new with more awareness of balance. Weaving the past into the present is the main idea after all. Still, it’s hard to be mad at a franchise this zany and consistently creative (and funny) as this one continues to be. Plus … freakin’ *NSYNC! That said, I’m sure this will grow on me and become more endearing upon the inevitable, innumerable repeat viewings my kids will request. If it says anything about how much adult opinion matters to a film like this, my 4-year-old was ready to watch this again immediately as soon as the credits rolled. That this also serves as something of a bridge to listening to and discussing some of my favorite songs/musical styles with my children is just icing on the cake. Seriously though, the soundtrack may get more spins than the movie. "Trolls Band Together" is currently in theaters. Rustin How such an important (if not forgotten) figure at the heart of such vital subject matter can somehow yield a mediocre film will always puzzle. The story is already there and in the case of “Rustin,” so is the cast, yet somehow George C. Wolfe (“Ma Rainey's Black Bottom”) has managed to create a flavorless, flat and sometimes outright ugly film that is both disappointing and oddly fascinating. Unfortunately, despite Colman Domingo giving it his all in the titular role, this broad and by-the-numbers biopic about Bayard Rustin is ultimately fascinating for all the wrong reasons. "Rustin" is streaming on Netflix. Please Don't Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain I like these guys even if The Lonely Island are forever my generational brothers. Naturally, ‘The Treasure of Foggy Mountain’ conjures comparisons to “Hot Rod,” but the main difference between these two trios of awkward white guys is that Please Don't Destroy seemingly have no pre-determined roles each is destined to fill. In Lonely Island, Akiva Schaffer was the visionary, the filmmaker whose contributions arguably made their productions stand out as much as they did. Andy Samberg was obviously the star whereas Jorma Taccone was kind of the secret weapon in that he was quiet and flew under the radar but could secretly do it all when called upon (the dude directed “MacGruber” AND played Samberg's punching bag as funnily as one can); he was reliable. The point being, thus far, the Please Don't Destroy guys haven't found their roles, their differentiators. Ben Marshall, Martin Herlihy, and John Higgins feel as interchangeable as those generic white boy names and they know this, they are self-deprecating to the max. That isn't to say they don't have their own style; the editing in their “Saturday Night Live” shorts is impeccable and informs so much of how their jokes and delivery play, but with their first feature it seems they haven't adjusted for sustainability. They should have been aiming more for their own version of “Hot Rod,” but what we got feels like they watched “Without a Paddle” one too many times and all of them decided to play a variation on Seth Green (with John showing hints of Dax Shepard). Ideal? No. Still funny? Just enough. "The Treasure of Foggy Mountain" is streaming on Peacock. American Symphony There is a moment about 45 minutes in where director Matthew Heineman intercuts Jon Batiste traveling around and performing with phone calls back home to his wife, Suleika Jaouad, as she deals with her second round of leukemia treatment. Heineman eventually merges the two, placing the audio of these phone calls where Jaouad relays her latest symptoms and sources of pain to her husband with Batiste grasping for every genuine, encouraging phrase he can turn. As we hear these conversations, we see images of Batiste on stage and composing, moments of pure joy. The contrast of these two extremes existing within the same reality for this couple really hits home. Batiste has everything he could have ever dreamed of in terms of finding fulfillment in his musical endeavors yet now, because of this pain and life-threatening illness the person he loves is suffering from, none of it is as meaningful. Not that the music and rush of performing aren't therapeutic or don't carry any value, but more if Suleika is not there for him to talk to once he exits those stages, what is the point of it all? A terrible conundrum, but thankfully - a beautiful story about a beautiful pair of souls. "American Symphony" is streaming on Netflix. |
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