A remarkable challenge to Iran’s theocracy, this Cannes Award-winning film not surprising earned director Mohammad Rasoulof an eight-year prison sentence. The first half was a compelling political drama, intertwined with family dynamics and believable characters. The second half went off the rails, so much so that streaming it on two separate nights we felt we were watching different films.
Unremitting footage of Israeli bulldozers knocking down Palestinian homes made a depressing, discouraging point if not compelling cinema. All honor to the Palestinian-Israeli filmmakers who bravely documented the cruel destruction of a defenseless West Bank village, humanizing the Palestinians with their goats and chickens and dehumanizing the Israeli soldiers with their uniforms and tanks. Rather than offer even a sliver of hope, the movie left us with our knowledge of how much worse the Palestinians’ plight has since become.
A parade of moral dilemmas kept us hanging and thinking until the end, and beyond, as the Clint Eastwood film held off providing any answers at all. As in almost every courtroom drama, this realism-loving ex-lawyer found many “I-don’t-think-so’s” as the action proceeded, but the essential question of how to get to “justice” came through. And the interplay among 12 very human jurors struck a chord from my own limited experience.
This decidedly naturalistic film went off the rails near the end, and I’m not sure what track it was on before that. It seemed to raise a dozen issues about city life, health care, women’s roles, religions, corporate bullying, sisterhood, love, Indian culture in general, but none went anywhere, nor were the characters particularly interesting. The pace and mundanity reminded me of classic Satyajit Ray films of the ’50s, which meant very slow for 2024. And very unusual, I didn’t like the score.
A meditation/symposium on the subject of art repatriation, in this case from France’s Musee du Quai Branly to the Republic of Benin, not to be confused with the Kingdom of Benin from which the British looted art in 1897, five years after the French appropriated the objects at issue here from the Kingdom of Dahomey (renamed “Benin” in 1975). Director Mati Diop gives a voice to Object 26 then raises multiple issues through a discussion of university students. She offers no answers but expands our understanding with sympathetic portrayals of the Beninese people.
Writer/director/actor Jesse Eisenberg has crafted a charming short story of two cousins on a Holocaust tour of Poland, not a minute too long or too short. Unfortunately for one’s viewing pleasure, Kieran Culkin’s neurotic, or “unfiltered,” character is a real pain, albeit not the one alluded to in the film’s title (or is it?). Hearing Eisenberg interviewed by Roger Durling gave me additional appreciation for Eisenberg’s restraint in filming a concentration camp, his use of Chopin for the soundtrack, and his carefully calibrated mix of humor and anguish. This very “indie” film reinforced my theory that the film industry can survive, and thrive, with a new economic model. And blessedly, no one smoked a cigarette in the movie, just a little weed.
Visually sumptuous–those cardinals’ robes plus the Sistine Chapel!–but the story and characters never grabbed me. Ralph Fiennes was all anguish and emotion, making me long for Anthony Hopkins. John Lithgow, Stanley Tucci and comparable Italian and African(?) stars just made me wonder what they were doing at the Vatican. The plot, too, was cardboard thin, drama I couldn’t care about and an ending that was fun, but not particularly deserved. The idea that the cardinals were “sequestered” seemed to mean that Fiennes could look for the outside information he wanted, but not the rest.
Unfortunately, I’m a little Glen Powelled out after Anyone But You, hot on the heels of his flyboy roles in Top Gun: Maverick and Devotion. The various disguises he put on for his hit man job didn’t hide the pretty-boy charm that seemed his main contribution. Adria Arjona was new and good, and the supporting cast was fine. The truth-is-stranger-than-fiction plot was a stretch: even if there were that many losers in one city looking for a hit man to solve their problems, what are the odds they’d all find the cops? And missing the film’s first five minutes, I never understood how Gary Johnson, an intellectual college professor, wound up with this side job.
And one more thing: the plot didn’t lead to a happy ending, but the filmmakers tacked one on, knowing that people aren’t watching movies to get more depressed. This is even truer for The Idea of You, which tacked on an unlikely and gratuitous “five years later” coda to warm our hearts.
A paean to French cuisine, featuring a cast straight out of 19th-century paintings by Fantin-Latour, Manet, Caillebotte, Cezanne, Monet, Toulouse-Lautrec (you get the picture). Unfortunately, it is as devoid of plot as any film I can remember. Identifying ingredients and cooking methods can only go so far, and when another meal starts it’s time to look at your watch.
An artwork by master director Wim Wenders about the unique and overwhelming art of Anselm Kiefer, for my money the greatest living artist. The 3-D projection floats us into the world of Kiefer’s sculpture, architecture and deeply perspective paintings. We see hints of his artmaking technique: slabbing on paint (or tar?), pouring lead, blowtorching vegetal matter. There is little information about how he can produce so much large art: a library of lead books, an acre of leaning towers, enormous paintings that fill the walls of the Doge’s Palace, etc., etc. Through recreations and archival footage we see the younger Kiefer challenging Germany’s WWII amnesia. Best of all, we see Kiefer in the long halls, the stubbled fields and the sunflower patches that become subjects of his art. The camera never moves outside his art. It rests when Kiefer does. This is a definitive, even essential, document.
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