A well made movie about the awkward moments of ninth grade from the perspective of a first-generation Chinese immigrant. Unfortunately, the ninth grader at the center of everything, a surrogate for the director Sean Wang, is neither charming nor interesting, so the viewer emotional involvement is missing. And ninth grade, after all, holds only so much interest.
As with her (much better) plays, Annie Baker’s film debut consists of people talking, and figuring themselves out. Unfortunately, all they talk about is their relationships, none of which are that interesting. This is sort of an Inside Out 2 but with sort of grownups.
Our 7-year-old granddaughter said she enjoyed it, although the jokes were coming faster than we could easily catch. I think I liked the first film better, but that may be because the early teenage years just aren’t fun for anyone.
A lovely, gentle romance between a charming and gorgeous Icelandic man and a lovely and demure Japanese woman, told through flashbacks to 1969 London from a 2020 present. Besides whetting my appetite for Japanese cuisine, the film almost made me nostalgic for the days of Covid lockdown.
If you’re going to have an affair, it’s probably better not to have it with your teenage stepson. That seemed to be the message of this very French film: lots of relatable characters, long takes, sex and bad decisions. It would have been easier to take if Theo, the 16-year-old bundle of animal magnetism, had been either more attractive or more pleasant, but he was a convincingly unhappy, irresponsible teen. The film belongs to Lea Drucker, who wore her emotions on her face a bit too plainly and never quite convinced us of her actions.
A disjointed melange of mostly still photos for a documentary that purported a big story–scandal at the Venice Biennale–that never showed up. What was Leo Castelli’s involvement? Who was Rauschenberg’s competition? Wasn’t he the “best painter” there? What did his later ventures–e.g., ROCI–have to do with anything? Why talking heads who arrived on the scene more than 40 years later, including a young art historian from Tokyo? It was fun to see Rauschenberg’s works, often over and over, but I missed discussion of their artistic merit, or the art of the other impressive American representatives. I felt continually short-changed.
A sober and sobering account of a Syrian refugee family’s attempt to reach Sweden via Belarus and Poland, two countries that kicked them around, and worse, like political footballs. Agnieszka Holland crafts her film, shot in black-and-white after an opening view of, presumably, the green border, in chapters told from the perspectives of 1. the family, 2. humanitarian activists, 3. one member of the border patrol, and 4. an attractive psychologist who responds, and is transformed, by 1, 2 and 3. Every character, and there are many, is compelling. The plight of the refugees is hard to watch but harder to turn away from. While the film’s message is a plea for humanity, you can’t but feel, as with last year’s Io Capitano, that you don’t want to be a refugee.
A movie based on a book of photographs is a novel concept (if you pardon the anti-pun). Accordingly, it describes a place and time and a particular subset of people: bikeriders. Enough happens to keep the story moving, but without the dramatic tension of a plot-driven film. It’s watching people. And what people! Jodi Comer is Oscar-worthy as Kathy: she creates a character you believe in, and with her supple, subtle face nails every emotion, every reaction. Almost as magnetic is Tom Hardy as Johnny, the gang leader, who mumbles to make Marlon Brando proud. Austin Butler falls between Brad Pitt and James Dean but is much better than he was as Elvis. The supporting cast is stellar (who recognized Michael Shannon?) and the soundtrack, led by the Shangri-las, is an evocative joy. And every so often the camera frames a scene that you know must have been a Danny Lyon photo.
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 love poem to Anne Hathaway, by Anne Hathaway, but what’s wrong with that? There’s a serious subtext of gender-based hypocrisy: society (i.e., social media) wouldn’t shame a 40-year-old man for an affair with a 24-year-old woman as they attack Hathaway’s character. But if the man has a 16-year-old daughter it gets a little trickier. I liked August Moon.
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