Stunning photography, both above and underwater, made this a pleasure to watch, and the novelty of an octupus’s life, up-close and personal, made it fascinating. Like almost all nature docs, there was a fair amount of anthropomorphism: I submit that the title character was acting on (animal) instinct, not employing “intelligence” to teach his human visitor. Craig Foster’s disdain for Scuba gear was a bafflement: how could he be so patient in observing an octopus in its den when he must regularly and repeatedly resurface for air? Presumably whoever was filming him–another mystery–had an air tank, making possible the shots of pajama sharks swimming around. The overlay of Foster’s finding himself added little, but the brief lifespan of the octopus was enough.
Pure catnip: an Aaron Sorkin drama with pithy dialogue, clearly drawn characters, a hopefully moral universe and a healthy dose of politics, past and present. Being in my personal revisit-Vietnam moment helped. Having just watched Platoon, the Ken Burns 10-part documentary, Da 5 Bloods and having read Oliver Stone’s and Randy Hobler’s memoirs, this moment of history didn’t seem so distant. The all-star cast was just that: all-star. Sacha Baron Cohen and Jeremy Strong were brilliant, and great fun, as Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin. The one weak link was Eddie Redmayne, an Englishman miscast as Tom Hayden. Conversely, the most brilliant performance was by another Brit: Mark Rylance’s performance as William Kunstler. The echoes with 2020–street protests and a repressive government–made the story all the more compelling.
If nothing else, this film immersed me in an unfamiliar world, Black life in Louisiana. Maybe there was nothing else. The story covered 20 years between Sibil and Robert’s failed bank robbery and Robert’s long-awaited release from jail. Without any other facts, though, no points were made about the justice or incarceration systems. Most remarkable were the outcomes for the couples’s four sons, although again we weren’t shown how that happened. Sibil was an appealing and impressive central character, but all we saw her do was talk. The story line was a bit hard to follow, as it jumped around in time: confusion was a substitute for profundity.
A charmingly unprofessional six-parter set in post-invasion Iraq, with political and ideological overtones overlaying the conflicts: Arab-Western, British-American, Arab-Arab. Waleed Zuaiter excels as the unflappable former Iraqi inspector who navigates the political shoals while trying to find one rebel daughter and get medical help for the other. (Rather like the hero in Trapped.) Corey Stoll got to play the good American–the villain, surprisingly, is British in a British-made show. We knew the ending would be happy–exactly what I wanted–but it was a pleasure to see it unwind. Also fun was hearing Arabic, although Dari (!) and English were also spoken.
A worthy 10-episode drama for its Icelandic scenery alone, but the characters made returning to it night-after-night as welcome as the hearth in a storm. Best of all was Olafur Darri Olafsson as the bear of an unflappable small-town police chief, but the rest of his team, Hinrika and Asgeir, were also notable for their plain humanity. No Hollywood here. Andri’s wife Agnes had the kind of beauty that grew from inside, rather than hitting you on the head. The villains were clearly delineated as such by looks and manner, which helped keep things straight while the plot packed a half dozen separate crimes into this small coastal village where nothing ever happens.
What’s the problem with social media? This film cites two, without particularly differentiating them. 1) It’s an addiction that is consuming the time and minds of the younger generation, especially. 2) It’s driving the polarization of our society, as “likes” determine what information people receive. The first appears soluble, as several of the expert talking heads reveal at film’s end, by limiting, or even banning, their children’s exposure. The second is more accurately an accelerator, albeit on steroids, rather than an inherent problem. Polarization, and the universe of alternate facts, were being driven by Fox News and talk radio before we had Twitter. The problem is people’s willingness to accept false facts, not to mention disseminate them. Social media is just the messenger, and history shows that killing the messenger is never the answer.
A thoroughly enjoyable musical biography of Gordon Lightfoot, with a Canadian viewpoint and tone. The title song alone was achievement enough for a lifetime, but Lightfoot’s career extended through two eras – the folk rock of the ’60s and singer-songwriter era of the ’70s – both fertile periods with wonderful memories to revive. Practically every recognizable Canadian folk or rock singer opined or appeared (plus, inexplicably, Alec Baldwin), which balanced the autobiographical comments of Gord himself, looking much older than 80. I liked his music when it appeared; I guess I didn’t realize, however, just how good it was.
A scary and depressing documentary about the annual American Legion-sponsored gathering of 17-year-olds, in which 1,200 boys divide into two parties and spend a week forming a government, this one from 2018 in Austin, Texas. Scary and depressing because even at that idealistic age, politics is seen as a cynical exercise and abortion and gun control are the defining issues, neither in a good way. The documentarians do a good job of creating a story with a rooting interest, given they didn’t know the outcome when they started. It’s only too bad they couldn’t manufacture a more inspiriting process or a happy ending.
A limp excuse for an unnecessary second season about a crime that was handled quite well in season one. There was no character development and the story consisted of a subplot that was hard to follow and harder to accept and a court proceeding that, week in and week out, made no sense at least to us American lawyers. Charlotte Rampling’s character was particularly inexplicable, and her opponent was insufferable.
It is a pleasure to enter the lush world of the French Riviera, albeit on the small TV screen, and to return to the world of French (Belgian) cinema, where the “action” is a series of conversations, with some (large) bare breasts thrown in. I was somehow reminded of Proust by this story of an innocent 16-year-old, a summer at the beach, observing and learning about sex and society. We get to know four people, and that’s enough.
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