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.
A remarkable, riveting portrait of New York City in the ’70s as a set for the young Donald Trump and his mentor, Roy Cohn. The acting by Jeremy Strong and Sebastian Stan was a step beyond perfect, and the way they portrayed the rise of Trump and fall of Cohn as intersecting axes was breathtaking. Some of the story, such as Cohn’s adoption of Trump and his bumbling business efforts, would have seemed implausible if we didn’t know they actually happened. The seeds of Trump today were all planted in director Ali Abbasi’s young Trump, but it wasn’t the scary foreshadowing that made the movie or remained in the mind’s eye. It was the face of Jeremy Strong.
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 culturally rich police procedural that gives a glimpse of everything you might want to know, or not know, about India for the common man. Director Sandhya Suri comes from documentaries and it shows in the realism of the people, places and events. The story plays like one of the better TV series we watch–e.g., The Tower– but it’s India, with constant reminders of caste, misogyny, poverty and disregard for human life.
Beautifully framed and film story of a large family in a remote village in the Italian Alps toward the end of WWII. Except for the presence of a paterfamilias who looked like Sam Elliot, everything could have come from an Italian movie of the 1950s or ’60s. Its lack of originality produced a lack of interest in this viewer, and its slow pace made the ending seem long in coming.
Less a documentary than an Impressionist, or more accurately Cubist, study of colonialism, with the (Belgian) Congo as its subject and American racism in the wings. Snippets of Black jazz greats, bold headlines and memorable archival footage, especially of the U.N., paint a rather condemnatory portrait of big power politics, business interests and Cold War frenzy trampling any concern for rights or humanity. Even accepting the obvious political viewpoint, there are too many problems with the film to list, but chief among them are a disregard for narrative arc, a failure to sufficiently connect the jazz interludes with the events in Africa and a meandering length that led me to walk out about five minutes from the end.
An audacious petit-opera from director Jacques Audiard, with four leading ladies, engaging singing and a message about human potential. All this in a setting reminiscent of Narcos. Zoe Saldana is winning awards, Selena Gomez is terrific, but it is Karla Sofia Gascon that does the real acting. The story has improbabilities, like every opera, but the musical numbers locate us in the realm of magic realism. As I say, an audacious film that is gentle, sweet, violent and thought-provoking, all at once.
There is more nicotine than subtlety in this retrospective recounting of Lee Miller’s career as a wartime photographer. When every scene is high drama, none are. Kate Winslet trundles from one confrontation to another with enough overacting expressiveness to make Ralph Fiennes in Conclave seem restrained. But worst, probably, is that her character is neither sympathetic nor convincing.
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.
Steve McQueen is an admirable writer-director of historical race-based dramas, and this film. is no exception. Unfortunately, it is easier to admire than to connect with, as bland characters and an unfocused story don’t measure up to the special effects and crowd scenes of London in the blitz. Young George reenacts “Lassie Come Home,” but his increasingly improbable exploits sap emotion from his eventual reunion with Saoirse Ronan, whose side-story of official insensitivity or incompetence under wartime stress goes nowhere.
© Copyright 2019 Robert Marshall | All Rights Reserved.