A good film to discover, unheralded, at a small film festival – not something to be seen at CityCinema3 in Manhattan. The amateur acting is remarkably good, but occasionally painful; the shots of horses are welcome, except when the horse is literally shot; and the scenes of the West are surprisingly plain. The story, as one reviewer noted, is “how we deal with the hand we are dealt.” It’s a quiet movie, with a lot of longeurs.
Is it okay to say you liked this movie because it gave such good roles to such talented and beautiful black actors, while whites were assigned the roles of bad guy and token helper? Breaking another stereotype, the women were strong and smart, more convincing than in Wonder Woman. The message was uplifting, cinematography gorgeous and costumes provided a mini-course in African art. On the minus side, the action scenes went on too long for me, and the story had major improbabilities, such as the planet’s most technologically advanced society choosing its ruler based on hand-to-hand combat. When all was done, I felt good, as well as entertained.
Tremendously appealing actors – Justin Bateman and Rachel McAdams – star in a game of a movie full of twists and turns that make for a fun evening.
A worthy sequel to Rivers and Tides, although its novelty and relative innocence made that one more memorable. Andy Goldsworthy’s art subverts nature as much as celebrates it, but when he connects it’s a home run. I would have appreciated more art and fewer extended close-ups of the artist; the appearance of his attractive daughter was a relief. Despite all the talking, I don’t really feel that I got inside the artist or his art.
An Absurdist take on Soviet history that left us wondering, Is this the worst movie we will see this year? We expected funny, but it never showed up. Steve Buscemi as Khrushchev was absurd, of course, but to what point? Making a farce out of executions in a police state makes for queasy viewing, and the uninteresting, unpleasant characters hardly helped.
What a nice companion to Dunkirk and The Crown, a view behind the scenes of what Churchill was going through in the days between his ascension to Prime Minister and the desperate evacuation of British troops from France. The portrait of Churchill doesn’t comport with the public view we’ve been given: here is generally disheveled, occasionally absentminded and generally out-of-touch with everyone around him. We are made to think that it was only through bucking-up by his wife, King George and his secretary (a wonderful Lily James) that he was able to find the resolution to lead his country – a not-quite-exhilarating take from a dramatic viewpoint. Nevertheless, it was hard not to shed tears when Churchill finds himself amid the common man on the tube and they show their English spirit. Best of all was the cynical look at the political process, something in too short supply, for me, in season 2 of The Crown.
After 25 minutes (!) of previews for movies we will never see, involving sci-fi or cartoon creatures and lots of noise and violence, we returned to the galaxy far, far away for a very tired story featuring very tired actors – e.g., Carrie Fisher and Mark Hammill – and the new generation, all of whom were apparently told to look earnest. An hour was all we could take. Intergalactic battle followed battle, none of which made any sense; the story lacked all novelty; and the acting, across the board, was embarrassing – even by Laura Dern, normally a favorite. The typical conflict involved scores, if not hundreds or thousands, of people dying, yet our stars inexplicably weren’t damaged. Or if they were, they quickly reattached their heads. I think you had to be part of the cult to follow, let alone enjoy, this film.
Martin McDonagh channels the Coen Brothers at their best – think Fargo and No Country for Old Men – in this small-town dramedy where the stakes are small but emotions are large. Every line of dialogue is fraught and measured, delivered to perfection by Frances McDormand, Sam Rockwell, Woody Harrelson and an equally adept supporting cast. I was smiling throughout in this movie about a teenage girl who was set on fire and raped, and the juxtaposition never seemed awkward. Similarly, McDormand’s character was sympathetic and unforgivable at almost one and the same time. Like No Country, we aren’t told how the story ends, which also seems fine. There is a puzzle, though: how come the figure who must have been the rapist is cleared by the DNA evidence? If he’s not the rapist, the coincidences are just too great. McDormand, of course, is great and deserves an Oscar nod: she captures the screen just by thinking.
Although this film takes place in Baltimore, it might as well be another country, so foreign to my personal experience is the world it shows, starting with sport? competition? of “step,” which is sort of like synchronized swimmng on land. This is one of those heartwarming documentaries that gets lucky, as we follow a group of high-school steppers from the start of their senior year all the way to their first-ever win at the year-end regional contest. And the individuals singled out for attention get into colleges of their choice. My only reservation was that the “star” of the team and film, a beautiful Michael Jackson lookalike, knew she was pretty and showed it a bit much. The story of underprivileged underdogs overcoming obstacles and winning was totally formulaic, but hey, it’s a good formula.
A formulaic comedy about four old friends reuniting for a weekend on the town – in this case, EssenceFest in New Orleans – made fresh by starring four black women in an almost all-black setting, with one goofy and one out-of-it white woman as comic relief. Regina Hall was engaging as the woman who has it all, loses it all, then finds her true strength, bringing tears to my eyes, as the formula dictates. It was also refreshing – liberating? – to hear uber-bawdy lines from women, for a change.
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