Love Lies Bleeding: A Sexy, Disgusting Farce That Will Leave You Reeling—In A Good Way

Love Lies Bleeding is one of those movie-movies that makes me remember why I love cinema. From the very first shot, the stark, stunning cinematography and frenzied soundtrack grips you in a chokehold, and doesn’t let go until you snap your jaw shut as the credits roll an hour and 44 minutes later.

A24

Set in New Mexico in the 1980s, it’s the story of Lou (Kristen Stewart), a lonely gym manager who falls hard for newcomer Jackie (Katy O'Brian), a bodybuilder gearing up for a big competition in Las Vegas. From there begins a frantic exploration of what it means to love when you’re exposed to the darkest depths of your lover, as Lou discovers the lengths Jackie will go to to get what she wants, and Jackie gets mixed up in the violence of Lou’s family secrets.

Love Lies Bleeding is profound in the questions it asks, but it’s also a deeply absurd film that revels in disgusting gore for its own sake, in erotica, and in provoking a hearty nervous laugh or a dozen. It’s also—and this I was expecting, because, well, Kristen Stewart—just very sexy. Stewart’s awkwardness, the same quality that was so brutally ridiculed in her Twilight days, is precisely what makes her so appealing in this role. She supplements it to portray Lou with rakish charm, confidence in her abilities, and something adjacent to a moral compass. I was less convinced by O’Brian’s performance, which I suspect will have been selected in part because of her muscularity and background in martial arts. Also, some shots of her muscles flexing were a bit much for me and took me out of the story.

Still, plain and simple, this film is a romp—a crime thriller with none of the vapidity, a love story with none of the mawkishness, and my favorite in a long while.

10/10

4th of July Weekend Double Feature: ‘Queen & Slim’ and ‘Lingua Franca’

Let’s go with an understatement: America was not worth celebrating this past weekend. Instead of getting blackout drunk, I found myself back in the cinema, the way it should be: alone, with no more than 10 other people in the room. I didn’t do it on purpose, but my self-fashioned double feature celebrated another America, the one built by Black Americans and immigrants, while critiquing the perpetual violence that both groups face in the Land of the Not-So-Free.

Universal Pictures

On Saturday, I saw Queen & Slim, a rainbow explosion of a film, directed by Melina Matsoukas of “Formation” fame, and co-written by Lena Waithe of Master of None fame. The neat soundbite “the Black Bonnie and Clyde” is annoyingly descriptive, but doesn’t do full justice to what is a heart-pumping, graceful, furious revolution. “Queen” (Jodie Turner-Smith) and “Slim” (Daniel Kaluuya) — some interesting background on the choice and meaning of their names here — go on a Tinder date, only to get apprehended by a (white) policeman as he drives her home. As soon as you hear the siren on screen, you’re thinking “fuck” right with the characters. This won’t end well. And it doesn’t, of course; the situation escalates fast, the policeman shoots Queen in the leg, and Slim shoots the cop dead before he can realise what he’s doing. Ensues a wild chase à la Bonnie and Clyde across the country from Ohio to Louisiana to Florida. But what their white counterparts had in fun, in choice of the runaway life, Queen and Slim have in desperate racing for their survival, as the window of their chances for freedom closes in on them.

The message is clear: you are not free when you’re Black in America. You are guilty until proven innocent, and you will never be proven innocent, because you are Black. You are stripped of your humanity. Queen & Slim takes that stolen humanity back. It allows these two full human beings to be more than a hashtag for 2 hours and 12 minutes. It lends them a taste of freedom and grants them eternal life, and that’s without even touching on the soundtrack, which moves like waves through soul, country, indie, hip-hop, funk, jazz, R&B, disco, electronic. It’s without touching on the editing, which juxtaposes love and death, ugliness and beauty, kindness and cruelty, like the most natural thing in the world. It’s without touching on the performances. We all know Kaluuya can act, but here he lets himself be led by the heavyweight that is Turner-Smith. It’s her precise, deliberate manner that calls the shots, and will stick with you long after the credits roll.

Queen & Slim - In Theaters November https://www.queenandslim.com/ Listen to the Queen & Slim playlist on Spotify: https://queenandslim.lnk.to/playlist From t...

On Sunday, I saw Lingua Franca, directed by and starring Isabel Sandoval. I don’t know how to say that this is a smaller and less ambitious film than Queen & Slim without it sounding like an insult. All I mean is that it’s narrower, quieter, simpler. It’s no less impactful. Olivia (portrayed by Sandoval) is an undocumented Filipino trans woman who works as a caregiver for an elderly Jewish Russian woman, Olga, in Brooklyn. Olivia is paying an American man to marry her for a Green Card when her life becomes entwined with that of Olga’s grandson, Alex (Eamon Farren). As they fall in love, Olivia slowly reveals the constant fear she lives in, of getting arrested and deported, as she turns a street corner, as she leaves Olga’s apartment, as she tries to build a decent life for herself. She has to withstand this threat alongside anti-trans rhetoric and the extra complication of her documentation not matching her gender identity.

JHR Films

Alex vows to protect Olivia, but she tells him that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He has problems of his own: his family, including his uncle and employer, don’t trust him because of his ongoing struggle with alcohol. Olivia loves Alex, but she doesn’t want him to save her. Only she can save herself. This is another reflection on who gets to be treated like a human being in the United States, and who has to watch their every step. Sandoval’s sensitive portrayal of undocumented life in America is also an exercise in reclaiming a stolen humanity, and it is stunning in its words and its imagery. I can’t wait to see what she does next.

Both 10/10

If you’re able, please consider donating to UK Black Pride, Stonewall UK or Mermaids in the UK, and Black Lives Matter or the ACLU in the US.

Synopsis : In this beguiling drama, an undocumented Filipina immigrant paranoid about deportation works as a caregiver to a Russian-Jewish grandmother in Bri...

'Sorry We Missed You' (& Made You Weep Like a Baby)

Jesus F. Christ. I don’t know if this is a Ken Loach *thing*, but as far as socio-political commentary film tactics go, I’d say shaking you to your core then sticking you with the shortest end credits in the history of cinema — so that you absolutely cannot recover, and also fuck you — is fairly effective. I… Yeah, I mean it works. Not that I’m going to do it, but I’ve definitely considered cancelling my Amazon Prime subscription over Sorry We Missed You. Or at the very least begun to conjecture what a world would look like where I couldn’t order pink boxing gloves and essential oil diffusers for next-day delivery. The answer is: probably a whole lot better, to be honest. Like, maybe more people would be able to — oh, I don’t know — take a piss on the job and, like, feed their families.

BBC Films

Anyway, deep breaths. Sorry We Missed You tells the story of a family of four in Newcastle, who are hit hard by austerity. It starts when dad Ricky (Kris Hitchen) becomes “self-employed” as a delivery driver, working long hours to pay off debt and eventually buy a house. Mum Abbie (Debbie Honeywood) works as a carer, ferrying from house to house for 12 or 14 hours a day to scramble eggs and wipe faeces. Meanwhile, daughter Lisa Jane (Katie Proctor) struggles with insomnia, and son Seb (Rhys Stone) skips school with his friends to make (very good) graffiti with sometimes shoplifted paint cans. Spread increasingly thin, the typically strong family unit threatens to snap, again and again and again.

The acting is so good it barely reads like acting at all, so you may be a spectator, but you might as well be getting yelled at by a dystopic capitalist boss yourself, or having the food you prepared chucked on the floor. In short, if you’re looking for escapism, this ain’t it, fam. The film is pretty difficult to watch, as it keeps getting worse every time you think it can’t possibly, as you feel so viscerally for every member of the family that you feel almost guilty for your voyeurism. Someone told me the other day that they found Loach’s work almost too political, but that’s the point, isn’t it? Sure, Sorry We Missed You is worst-case scenario and fairly one-sided, but isn’t that how it feels when the system is consistently stacked against you? Sometimes fiction is the closest we can get to understanding a situation, and perhaps eventually doing something about it. (Oh, and in case you’re interested, I’m voting Labour.)

10/10

‘Rocketman’ Is Utterly & Absolutely Blooming Marvellous

OK so can we all agree I do a lot of pontificating on here? That’s right, I’m talking to you, Noëmie. And like maybe Mum? Hi Mum. I do so much pontificating in fact that I sometimes forget to notice how a film, like, makes me feel. No chance of that with Rocketman because it, ahem, blasted in my face. I’m so, so sorry, but you know I had to. For two hours and one minute’s worth of screen time — and when I wasn’t bawling my eyes out — I had the world’s dumbest grin plastered on my face. My head bobbed among the other bobbing heads in the Camden Town Odeon. (Poetry.)

Marv

I don’t even know where to start. It’s absolutely clear that the director, the writer and, dare I say the entire team, adore Elton John. They just love the guy, and this fantasy biopic/musical hybrid exudes that energy, purest joy tainted only by the more tragic aspects of Elton’s life (a shameful excuse for parents, crippling self-doubt, the struggle with his homosexuality, a slew of addictions, suicidality). For a long time, the global phenomenon Elton John felt alone in the world. How could he thrive when he hadn’t had the love to do so? It’s like the film is saying, “we love you, Elton, we all love you so frickin’ much.” I say this, I knew very little about the singer beyond the signature look, that one concert for Lady Di, and the legendary parties he threw for Bill Nighy in Love Actually, but I, my friends, am a late convert.

Taron Egerton (gross comments aside) is. Stunning. Perfect. Resplendent. Any other cunty word suggestions, DM me. He lives and breathes Elton John, the awkwardness, the rage, the star power… and. The. Singing. The singing! If you’re not dancing in your seat and on the street on your way out, you and I are two peas in a haystack (mismatched, out of place, you get it, shhh). Jamie Bell (my love, my darling) as Elton’s faithful friend and lyricist Bernie, and Bryce Dallas Howard as his foul mother, are brilliant too. Rocketman is a parade of camp, absurd, wonderful costumes courtesy of Julian Day, of glitter and colour, of music as magic and alchemy, of heart and intelligence in spades and buckets. My only regret is that it didn’t last longer.

10/10

‘Long Shot’ Is a Pleasant Surprise

Mainstream Hollywood is nursing a decade-long hangover from the noughties and the whole industry is fumbling to get back up on its hind legs in the era of #MeToo and extreme political polarisation. That is, on the one hand, big-budget, wide-appeal features are still deeply rooted in tried-and-tested tropes somewhere along the superhero-franchise/crass-drug-and-sex-humour axis, and on the other there is an undeniable Netflix-induced drive to perhaps patronise the audience less as well as appeal to their political sensibilities, whether in earnest or in a purely bottom line-driven effort. In other words, we’re stuck in limbo between the insultingly formulaic Jurassic World and the razor-sharp execution of Someone Great. You might have guessed where I’m going with this: it’s also where Long Shot lives, a smart departure from pure Superbad-era Rogen, but not an unadulterated success either.

Lionsgate

Long Shot stars Charlize Theron as U.S. Secretary of State Charlotte Field, a presidential hopeful, and Seth Rogen as leftist Brooklynite journalist Fred Flarsky, who quits his job at an independent publication after it is acquired by a dirtbag media mogul. They meet by coincidence at a party years after Charlotte used to babysit Fred, and she soon hires him as one of her speech writers. They bone. I hear you groaning at the synopsis, but humour me for a quick sec. This film takes the premise of Knocked Up and effectively turns it on its head. Where Katherine Heigl was painted as a shrill, humourless shrew whose job it was to elevate a weed-smoking man-child Rogen into responsible fatherhood, Long Shot critiques the patriarchal structure that pressures women into this kind of emotional labour, in addition to the pressures of pregnancy and regardless of their professional status (Heigl played a TV producer while Rogen was blissfully unemployed — that they ended up together is frankly depressing).

Theron is the true star of Long Shot; Rogen is her jester and most faithful supporter. Field is a humane representation of a female presidential candidate, competent, intelligent, real, funny, yet spread thin by the endless, impossible demands of being a woman in the political space and the public arena more generally. On the other hand, Rogen’s Flarsky may be a loud, inappropriate stoner with the dress sense of a 14-year-old, but he is also a kind man and fearless journalist who refuses to let Charlotte compromise on her values for the sake of playing the game. As such, for the majority of this movie you can feel damn good about rooting for its protagonists as they find their way to each other reverse Pretty Woman-style. It’s satisfyingly feminist and genuinely funny, but for me it falls short on two counts. Firstly, and although we are meant to understand Charlotte as relatively liberal, the script stays purposefully vague on her concrete political leaning, and even includes an incomprehensible scene meant to challenge Fred to “see both sides.” This seems like ridiculous pandering, considering conservatives would already be decidedly pissed off by this stage, so like, can we very much not? Secondly, after maybe an hour of Good Jokes, the writers just couldn’t help but fall back into precisely the aggressive Superbad-era toilet humour I’ve been decrying — not offensive, but just not that funny. Despite all this, Long Shot remains thoroughly enjoyable and I think you should see it.

8/10

‘On the Basis of Sex’ Does Its Job Nicely

What do we incorrigible basics want from On the Basis of Sex? Glad you asked. We want Friday night entertainment, Hollywood feel-good for modern times, libero-feminist conscience-clearing (I made “libero-feminist” up, do you like it?) and the mama-birding of a complicated court case into palatable background for why we, collective pronoun, revere Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg as an earthly god, beyond her immutable status as a “bad bitch.” And, reader, we get just that. We don’t get much else, but we do get that. Ask and ye shall receive, as it were.

Focus Features

Now pardon me as I dismount my high horse. This film is every bit the excitingly fast-paced flick I would have expected. It knows its mission and accomplishes it gladly, in what amounts to a lovely and optimistic biopic that makes rooting for Ruth and her dismal odds in the battle for constitutional gender equality an effortless task. Felicity Jones makes a competent, if somewhat flat, RBG, and Armie Hammer is fine (by all definitions). Soundtrack and cinematography are nothing to write home about and overall On the Basis of Sex is by no means earth-shaking art, but it does manage to wax simultaneously escapist and current, two significant accolades in my book.

As for its educational value, I would argue it alone makes the film worth a watch. The narrative follows a young Mrs. Ginsburg as she pursues her Harvard law degree and is forced into a teaching job, ostensibly due to her gender (her Judaism makes it a double whammy). She gets her big break in the form of a tax case, wherein a man is legally discriminated against on the grounds of gender. For Ruth to win this case would set the precedent for the U.S. Supreme Court to declare discrimination on the basis of sex unconstitutional (legal experts, do correct me if I got any of that wrong, but anyway you all get the gist). I don’t know how much of this is included in American school curricula, but I for one had no familiarity with the specifics of Justice Ginsburg’s background and influence. Where I had affection for her famously liberal (but, in my mind, immaterial) rulings, and gratitude for her balancing seat on a parasite-infested legal body, I now have informed admiration and legitimised fangirling. I ain’t mad.

8/10

‘If Beale Street Could Talk’ Is Nothing Short of Perfect Cinema

Moonlight director Barry Jenkins’s latest film is a perfectionist achievement. From the very first image, of the leading couple walking through the park dressed in carefully coordinated yellows and blues, to the last, it’s glaringly obvious that Jenkins knows exactly what he’s doing. If Beale Street Could Talk runs rampant with cinematic history — from whiffs of Citizen Kane and West Side Story to hints of Do the Right Thing — but manifested with profound originality and so much feeling. The film manages the elusive feat of merging acerbic socio-political commentary with art in its purest form. It is certainly magic, but borne of staggering skill and deep commitment to cinema.

Annapurna Pictures

Beale Street (a street in New Orleans), per James Baldwin who wrote the original novel, is the story of Black America. Beale Street (the movie) therefore serves as a parable of the larger story, of the dangerously, life-threateningly racist social, political and judicial institutions in the U.S.A., in the 1970s when the book was written, sure, but endlessly translatable to today’s world, when we’re still a bit on the fence about whether black lives really do matter after all. It is the story of Tish, a 19-year-old black woman who lives in Harlem with her parents and sister, and whose childhood best friend-turned-lover, 22-year-old Fonny, is imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, just as Tish finds out she is having his child. The film follows Tish and her family as they do everything in their power to get Fonny acquitted, this agonisingly unjust process interspersed with flashbacks of the young couple’s ever-growing love for each other.

No detail is left up to chance, from the faultless casting (Regina King who plays Tish’s mother is especially outstanding, hence her Academy Award nomination for best actress in a supporting role) to the dance of light and colour and music that carries each shot artfully to the next. If I was appalled by the Oscar nominations before, I am now enraged that Beale Street was snubbed for best director and costume design. What a fucking joke. But archaic and insular recognition aside, If Beale Street Could Talk is a thing of rare beauty and an indisputable must-see.

10/10

‘Boy Erased’ Is No ‘Beautiful Boy,’ TBQH

I spent the latter part of 2018 alternately looking forward to the UK release of Boy Erased and Beautiful Boy, and getting them hopelessly mixed up. They were both released in the run-up to the Oscars (though by some Hollywood-insular fuckery neither was nominated for a single Academy award), both star a teen heartthrob and former Oscars golden boy (Lucas Hedges and Timothée Chalamet, respectively), and both are true stories of a deep family crisis involving the son, which crisis puts his relationship with his father on the line. But as far as caliber is concerned, I found Boy Erased to be no match for Beautiful Boy, and Hedges no match for Chalamet.

Focus Features

Boy Erased — the story of Jared, a preacher’s son who is sent to a hyper-Christian gay conversion therapy programme — is proficient, but God, surely nobody would want their film to be called that? It is shocking in all the right places, yes, and you’ll surely buy the story (after all, it actually did happen), but it also lacks the sensitivity and artistry of Beautiful Boy. Nicole Kidman as Jared’s mother carries one particularly stunning scene in a restaurant, but the rest of the offering narrowly misses the mark with its often dry acting, banal cinematography and pleasant enough soundtrack. It has all the affective potential of a news cast, which is to say not none, except I don’t know about you, but I don’t go to the cinema to feel the same way I would if I turned on the BBC.

Interestingly, critics seem to fundamentally disagree with me, with Boy Erased at 81% on Rotten Tomatoes at time of writing and Beautiful Boy at 69 (nice). I haven’t read any reviews so as not to taint this one, but I have a couple of theories as to why this might be. Firstly, sensitivity isn’t typically valued among movie crowds, who often conflate it with excess sentimentality (incidentally, I take no issue with this particular shortcoming) and perhaps the extreme consequences of toxic masculinity and violent homophobia generated by religious fundamentalism in Boy Erased hit home harder for the majority male critique establishment than the love, care and understanding that underpin Beautiful Boy. Secondly, it is possible that anti-queer violence is considered a more mainstream and topical matter among liberal circles than is the reality of narcotic addiction, which remains a dirty and underrepresented subject. There is an urgent need for both of these conversations, as both are endemic societal problems that must be addressed, and I perhaps naively believe the depth of human compassion can extend to both. Then again, maybe they just didn’t like the movie. I’ll show myself out.

7/10

‘Beautiful Boy’: We Collectively Do Not Deserve Timothée Chalamet

CW: addiction, mental health, suicide

Beautiful Boy is flawed. It’s clumsy and naive at times, but — and you know there’s a “but” — it is wonderful. Full of love. Human. I already want to see it again. It explores the confines of narcotic addiction, not shying away from the mechanics, the root causes, the inevitability of death (by overdose, suicide or general wearing down of the body and mind) in untreated addicts, the ease for even the most devoted of family and friends to turn their backs on the addict, the inadequacy of treatment, the dissolution of trust, the guilt and desperation and torture (psychological and physiological, for the addict and for their loved ones). This adaptation of two memoirs by father and son David and Nic Sheff is hard to watch, but necessary, a first step towards the awareness and de-stigmatisation of addiction that will lead to better research, better treatment and better prevention. For more literature, see: Lady Sings the Blues by Billie Holiday and Chase the Rainbow by Poorna Bell.

Amazon Studios

The entire casting is very good, including Steve Carell as David, but Timothée Chalamet is beyond words — though “superb” comes to mind. I wasn’t going to write this review, but his acting has haunted me in the last three days since I watched the film and I found I had no choice but to give him credit for that. It helps that his character is every bit the “darling” his mother professes him to be, a kind, astute and generous man, son and brother, but Chalamet’s portrayal brings Nic to life with such power and grace that I wouldn’t complain if he were cast in every demographically appropriate role for the rest of eternity.

Beautiful Boy is a story about love, and how addiction is often stronger than love, how it takes over everything. The film feels bourne of love, too, an ode to this father and son and their family who overcame a gut-wrenching tragedy, set to perfect scenery and a haunting soundtrack. It’s beautiful. Too easy? Ah, piss off.

9/10

Is ‘Twilight’… Good?

Is it a stretch to say that Twilight is technically perfect, according to the diktats of its genre? I don’t think so. I rewatched it this weekend as the series has been added to UK Netflix and I needed something inconsequential to play in the background, and was suitably impressed. It is a very well constructed story that makes you “aw” and gasp and smirk in all the right places, expertly utilising tension to keep you engaged. It features a very solid soundtrack (Muse, Iron & Wine) and some actually funny moments. The acting is a lot better than it got credit for at the time and the protagonists are decent/interesting enough to justify our rooting for them.

Summit Entertainment

And let’s talk about why your gut reaction to any posit that Twilight might actually constitute a valuable piece of culture is to dismiss it as “trash for teen girls.” Shall we unpack that together or would you prefer to K-Stew (sorry) in those hangups for a while longer? Is your argument that it is superficial, commercial entertainment? Then would you reserve the same harshness of judgement for, say, The Avengers? Part of internalised sexism is the pervasive mechanism whereby interests typically thought of as feminine are systematically diminished in the wider cultural landscape. It is the mechanism whereby fashion and makeup are frivolous, but sports and cars are not. It is the mechanism whereby women preface any expression of these interests with an apology or a self-deprecating joke. See also: women’s magazines, romantic films and novels, pop music. The ubiquitous dismissal of Twilight as culturally inferior is by nature gendered and ageist, and in many cases it is also classist, but on the most basic level: who in the fuck do you think you are to shrug off a filmic adaptation that resonated with so many people it entered our generation’s collective cultural heritage?

Of course, that Twilight makes for reliable entertainment doesn’t render it any less problematic, especially as apprehended by teens as a viable model for relationships. The values unironically put forth in Edward and Bella’s love story are of crippling codependency, excitement in the potential for harm, voyeurism and saviour syndrome. Coupled with excess sentimentality and an unequivocal “happy ending” as necessary denouement, these values are bolstered and upheld as morally sound and aspirational. This type of message is never innocuous, certainly not for teenagers whose only frame of reference for romantic relationships are the media they consume. I do think adolescent viewing should be discretionary and/or accompanied by adequate disclaimers, but if you’re able to look past that, then by all means.

While you’re here, I’d love if you would consider donating a few $$$ to help victims of domestic violence at Refuge if you’re in the UK and the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence if you’re in the U.S.

Turn to ‘Fantastic Beasts’ for Benign Entertainment, If Nothing Else

I am aware that The Crimes of Grindelwald draw a parallel to the rise of authoritarianism in no uncertain terms — a charismatic leader rises to power by appealing to people’s deepest fears and desires through rhetoric, propaganda and scapegoating. I see this and it is good and important, especially in today’s climate. But also this second instalment of Fantastic Beasts is a bit boring, isn’t it? I even dozed off, like straight-up blacked out during a crucial scene. This could just be me and my erratic sleep schedule of late, but it doesn’t seem like an unequivocal endorsement either, does it?

Don’t get me wrong, this film is perfectly palatable. It has all the funny little quips you’d expect from the franchise (I am Jacob Kowalski’s biggest fan) and some jaw-dropping twists that mean I will absolutely watch the next film. It also does comparatively well diversity-wise, though there is some controversy around the portrayal of Dumbledore as straight-passing despite JK Rowling having confirmed that he is gay and the fact that we are clearly meant to understand Grindelwald as Dumbledore’s lost love (“more than a brother”). I also couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling after Grindelwald’s grand address that we — that I — could easily come out of the movie sympathising with his fascist ideology, as it is not subsequently countered nearly as explicitly as it should be. Not to mention the role could have gone to a queer actor who, you know, hasn’t abused anyone.

Shit, now I’m reconsidering whether I should in fact see the next instalment, as it appears there are grounds for boycott. So anyway, this is a mixed review. I won’t tell you what to do, but if nothing else, go for the jubilant joy of hearing the Harry Potter theme on the big screen again. I did a happy dance. It was mildly embarrassing.

6/10

'Wildlife' Is a Rare & Incisive Wonder

Let me tell you a story as old as time. A story where being a man means to have power and money and, where power and money lacks, to ask pride, anger and violence for answers to one’s existential emptiness. A story where being a woman means understanding one’s sexuality as her most valuable commodity and, where that fails, raking the Earth to remedy the sadness that ensues. A story where our parents weren’t always our parents, which sets us free from the need to emulate their human failings. A story where our duties and impulses sometimes merge, sometimes collide and explode. It’s a wild life.

IFC Films

Paul Dano and Zoe Kazan’s film is worthy of all the nonsensical adjectives typically affixed to a movie’s tagline, “dazzling,” “spectacular,” “masterful,” with cinematography so wonderful it could almost hold its own were you to cut the dialogue altogether. Although you wouldn’t want to do that because every word is measured to perfection, touching on some profound human truth, yet somehow unassuming. Just, wow.

If cinema is where escapism meets art, then Wildlife is cinema par excellence (hey look I’m French, I get to be pedantic). A world of its own where 105 minutes feel like the year they depict, and that manages to be a good thing, the film is slow and probably divisive, but God I loved it. Carey Mulligan and Jake Gyllenhaal play Jeanette and Jerry, a couple who move to Montana from Idaho in 1960 with their 14-year-old son Joe, portrayed by Ed Oxenbould. When Jerry is fired from his job at a golf course, he signs up to help combat the wildfire that is spreading across the area, a decision which escalates Jean’s unhappiness and alters her irrevocably.

From the start, we see that Jean and Jerry speak to Joe like an equal, rather than a child, and his sweet, mild, intelligent manner of observing the world acts as a buffer to their emotional upheaval. They love him and he loves them and that’s almost all that matters. Frequent close-ups of the three protagonists carry the film better than any run-of-the-mill action scene could. Mulligan, Gyllenhaal and Oxenbould’s acting is gorgeous and breathtaking amid the gorgeous and breathtaking setting, the town, the mountains, the interiors, the supermarket. The fire spreading like poison to the nuclear family, who are at once animal and desperately human.

10/10

Look, What Did You Expect From ‘Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again?’

There’s a scene in Friends With Benefits where Justin Timberlake decries the “ambiguously upbeat pop song” they stick at the end of rom-coms to “try to convince you that you had a great time.” That’s exactly how I feel about this second instalment of Mamma Mia! Listen to me, you could throw ABBA’s greatest hits on top of Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom’s nonsense plot and The Room’s acting, and it would still be a perfectly adequate film. ABBA is a gift to the world, you can @ me at leisure. Here is my Twitter — go on, then.

For this reason, the plot for this sequel/prequel — 10 years later, protagonist Sophie's hotel opening party, 30 years prior, protagonist Donna’s purpose-searching — is very much an afterthought on the producers’ part. It is weak, but that’s beside the point, which was to whip out a feel-good summer movie that would make a bunch of money and provide a wholesome dose of escapism. And it does just that. You can go to the cinema and feel quite sure you will come out with a smile on your face and a tune stuck in your head. If that’s all you’re going for, knock yourself out, my dude.

Universal

At the risk of using my brain too much in this particular instance, I could quote Meg Shields of Film School Rejects and suggest we “take the media we consume seriously” instead. I know from both communications and gender studies courses just how much impact media can have on their audiences, especially wide-release blockbusters like this one. That’s why several things bothered me. Firstly, plots are kind of important, aren’t they? I mean, right? Unless you’re Ingmar blooming Bergman, I’d like to see your story hold together for a quick sec. Secondly, I would very much like to be spared trite observations like “there are two types of men,” blah, blah, blah. Either make a dumb movie or philosophise, but don’t try to do both, please. Lastly, and most gratingly, poor Lily James is cast into the well-worn “I never do this!” chick flick heroine trope, because God forbid women display sexual agency and freedom!!!!!

But if — unlike me, evidently — you are capable of removing the stick from up your backside for 90 minutes, Here We Go Again is a good time. It’s cute, it’s touching, James is lovely as a young Donna, and Cher is in it, which I'm told is a big deal. Yep.

7/10

‘Mary Shelley’: Just Ignore Rotten Tomatoes This One Time, OK?

As I write, I left the cinema 90 minutes ago, have since visited three bookshops, and now find myself the proud owner of a second-hand copy of Frankenstein, an anthology of Percy Shelley’s poetry and a joint biography of Mary Shelley and her mother Mary Wollstonecraft. For Mary Shelley, I vow to rebel ardently against bleak Rotten Tomatoes ratings in future. That particular shoal of white men got this film very wrong.

That these same white men, for whom Paul Thomas Anderson and his brutality can’t put a foot wrong, were oblivious to the impact of this film — directed by the first Saudi female director and written by women — elucidates the feedback loop that keeps Hollywood male-dominated and largely insensitive to women’s struggles. This can have serious consequences on young girls and women, whose on-screen representatives are often impossibly beautiful, male-dependent rag dolls. Not so with Mary Shelley. Granted, I know very little about the writer’s history, and it is possible that this biopic doesn’t do her life justice, as some critics have suggested. However, Al-Mansour’s work sends strong and necessary messages, and is absolutely exhilarating. Who the fuck called it boring? Me and the edge of my seat just want a quick chat, Barbara.

IFC Films

Of course, reviewing this film knowing very little about Mary Shelley puts me in a much easier position to critique it somewhat independently of its subject matter, but I just think it holds together brilliantly. Elle Fanning is MAGNIFICENT as the movie’s eponym, spirited and steadfast and honest, burning with desire for acceptance but never willing to sacrifice her soul to get it. Percy Shelley (Douglas Booth) is touching in his frailty and in his kind intentions, wherein he contrasts Lord Byron’s (Tom Sturridge) piercing cruelty.

Mary Shelley follows its namesake from her teenagehood until she meets and runs away with her husband-to-be, poet Percy Shelley, up until she receives public recognition for Frankenstein. Giving screen time to female historical figures is crucial in and of itself, but this film makes Mary (née Wollstonecraft Godwin) out to be especially fascinating. To have the courage to defy the precepts of respectable society, not because she doesn’t know any better but precisely because she does, is perfectly exceptional and delectably scandalous. Mary understands the consequences of her decisions and has expectations of nobody but herself. She is not a child who was too easily swayed, but a woman who has learned the tools to survive from her extensive readership and, particularly, from her mother’s writings. The abuse she suffers at the hands of the patriarchy and her biting retorts give the film its extraordinary power.

Mary Shelley certainly packs on the melodrama, but this doesn’t take away from its strength — firstly, this potential shortcoming is balanced out by all the film’s qualities, and secondly, escapism is a good thing. Extreme realism in cinema often proves tedious (*cough* Boyhood and its 97% rating *cough cough*), while entertainment constitutes not only an end in itself, but also a means through which crucial messages can be successfully communicated. And Mary Shelley is just that: an entertaining historical drama with some salient points to make.

Lastly, the passion between Mary and Percy is thrilling, a highly satisfying romance among other love stories — between sisters, friends, parents, children. Perhaps this sensitivity displeased the critique establishment, but I’ll defend Mary Shelley to the death. What a great use of two hours.

9/10

‘Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom’ Is So F*cking Stupid, But Like You Might As Well Watch It Anyway

Here’s a fictionalised account of a conversation between the writers for Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom:

Derek: Lollll, can you really make that major character say that with a straight face??
Colin: Dude, this movie is going to gross billions regardless of what lines we feed the actors.
Derek: Hmm, yeah no you right. Make her say, “it’s, like, a miracle.”
Colin: Haha love it, and that line there, make it, “Welcome. To Jurassic World,” but like super emphatic.
Derek: LMAO, you’re so bad.

That was verbatim, clearly. Point is, the script really fucking sucks. All the lines are terrible, except maybe a couple of Chris Pratt’s jokes, and there are so many plot holes it’s kind of hilarious. Actually really hilarious; I had to snigger into my jacket, but I think most people in the room agreed with me so like it wasn’t that obnoxious. And this is coming from me, a self-proclaimed good audience, for whom anything flies as long it’s entertaining or thought-provoking. Guys, I’ve never picked up on a plot hole in my life. So yeah no, this is not a good movie.

Universal Pictures

The characters are almost all laughable caricatures — the heartless animal traffickers, the wise-beyond-her-years little girl, the cowardly nerd — and most of the acting is so bad you can hardly believe it. I mean, didn’t this movie have like a ginormous budget? You couldn’t have hired a better casting director? IDFK, these are hard times, I guess. Thankfully, Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard are both very good actors and they pretty much pull off their dumb lines and carry the whole movie between them. Daniella Pineda as Zia Rodriguez deserves a special mention as a badass queer (although it’s never mentioned because Hollywood sucks) “paleo-veterinarian” (“it’s a real thing!” she cries) and I guess I was a bit mean about that cowardly nerd and Justice Smith does an honourable job as Franklin Webb.

Now for a bit of nuance: I enjoyed Fallen Kingdom. It’s lots of fun. Things happen a lot even if they make no sense, and there are lots of loud noises. Chris Pratt has to do a lot of pull-ups to save his life and to be honest that’s really all I needed out of this film. Chris and Bryce are real cute and banter-y, too, so that’s extra “aw” points for the whole thing. That and puppy-dog dinos who love Chris as much as we do and need saving from an island that’s about to explode! So my take is this: go see Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom for the thrills and the (unintended) LOLs. Just try not to think too hard about being a pawn in the capitalist machine when you buy your ticket. (:

4/10

Cancel Your Spin Class, Watching ‘Hereditary’ Is Basically Cardio

Do you feel like you haven’t been under enough stress lately? Has the soft lull of caffeine-fueled metropolitan living become underwhelming? Well luckily for you, Hereditary is here to make getting down to inbox zero feel like Sunday morning yoga (aka 21st century church). The tension is fucking insane. That’s 127 minutes of nearly shitting yourself, folks, if you’ll pardon my French — and I’m honestly not that easy to scare. Essentially if it’s a fright you’re looking for, Hereditary will give you a run for your money.

A24

Toni Collette delivers a spellbinding performance (OMG do I sound like a critic yet???) as Annie, a mother of two whose own mother’s death catalyses a bunch of fuckery. Her flaws and vulnerability lend the film a depth beyond just the tropes of the genre, i.e. spirits, possession, apparitions and gore, flying it high into psychological horror territory. Annie’s shortcomings as a mother are increasingly emphasised until she loses her husband’s and her children’s trust in her, as well as her own. And if you’ve seen any kind of horror movie before, you know that when the main characters are insecure and divided, shit’s about to hit the fan. Like the stuff that happens in this movie is so horrifying you probably wouldn’t even wish it on, like, Donald Trump. Although please do note the emphasis on “probably” because at this point that piece of shit kind of deserves it.

Despite the relative unpredictability that adds to its horror, Hereditary does resort to a host of clichés and the ending perhaps isn’t as satisfying as it could be, but overall it’s a solid use of your time. If you’ve got a masochistic streak, obvs.

8/10

‘Tully’ Is Too Slow to Function

LOL so full disclosure? There’s a huge twist in Tully and it went completely over my head. I don’t know if I zoned out or if I’m just a little stupid (most likely a bit of both), but the truth is finding out about it after the fact hasn’t changed my experience of the film, which I found confused and underwhelming. Boring, even. I mean, it was so slow that I managed to miss the very element that was supposed to knock my socks off. The film is certainly not all bad, but its slew of decidedly three-dimensional characters, each acutely recognisable as symptomatic of the suburban strata (I wanted to use this word and I refuse to use the singular “stratum,” which reads like “scrotum,” so pardon me) doesn’t do enough to carry the narrative. Sociological critique of middle-class America and tragicomic representation of motherhood and aging intersect to produce a film that speaks to truths and psychoses, but does so in a subtle whisper — blink and you’ll miss it, as it were.

Universal Pictures

Marlo, expertly portrayed by Charlize Theron, has just gone on maternity leave to have her third child as the movie begins, and is already dealing with a lot from the onset. When the baby is born, it gets progressively harder for her to cope and her husband does little to help, so she finally gives into her brother’s offer to hire a night nanny, Tully (Mackenzie Davis), for her. Tully is a free-spirited 20-something with an opinion on everything, who takes a massive weight off Marlo’s chest as the two women become close (and arguably co-dependent).

I know that Tully has moved many people who share Marlo’s experiences of being stretched so thin that you snap, especially as a wife and mother. As with Lady Bird, my impression was that this process of identification only works for a certain subset of the audience, where a more powerful offering would engage the whole bunch. That said, the unwitting punches various characters aim at Marlo are crafty, frustrating and very funny, from her sister-in-law’s (paraphrased) “oh yes, the ninth month is tough… I remember I could barely make it to the gym” to her daughter’s gut-wrenching “Mom! What’s wrong with your body?” Marlo herself is so witty and touching, but, look, you can’t make a whole feature ride on the strength of one character and her hip sidekick.

6/10

‘Deadpool 2’ Delivers on Its Promises

Having never so much as owned a Marvel or DC comic book, I don’t typically feel like I have a right to opine on their filmic adaptations. The Deadpool franchise however, by virtue of being the Deadpool franchise, at least gives me some stuff my self-important yet (I think?) sensitive-to-humour ass (arse? Nope, still too weird) can work with. This second attempt at breathing fresh anti-hero air into the otherwise overwhelmingly moralistic superhero landscape is successful on all counts and is just SO MUCH FUN.

20th Century Fox/Marvel

Sure, Deadpool 2 is trying sooo hard to be subversive, piling on the crude jokes ad infinitum, but if you’re there for a good time and don’t take yourself too seriously, you can expect a healthy belly laugh every few minutes — more than most recent Hollywood comedies can boast by a landslide. The jokes are crude, yes, but they are also brave, tackling tricky topics with minimal offense caused. Above all, there are still surprises to be found in this particular Marvel movie, both within the dialogue and within the plot. In the battle for most pleasantly shocking superhero flick, Deadpool 2 is a strong contender alongside Infinity War’s rather radical narrative choices, Black Panther’s progressiveness and Wonder Woman’s female (!!!!!!!!!!) protagonist.

Deadpool’s signature self-awareness and breaking of the fourth wall add densely layered interest to a film so intent on not being “just another superhero movie.” It may roll some eyes, but overall its satisfying balance of action, humour and Hollywoodian schmaltz make for solid blockbusting entertainment. The diversity in casting isn’t bad either despite being headed by a white man (is anyone really objecting to Ryan Reynolds, though?). That said, I think I speak for all of us when I say the people want, nay, demand a Domino spin-off starring Zazie Beetz. @ producers?

8/10

'On Chesil Beach' Somehow Actually Holds Up

On Chesil Beach is an unusual story and, judging by the disbelieving chuckles in the audience (though sparse and immature), not one to convince the masses. Nevertheless, for a story to feel unusual and, further, unpredictable is a great feat; it is what makes the film so gripping. In essence, nothing much happens during the 110-minute runtime. The basic premise and narrative could so easily be boring, but the mystery of it, each scene carried by diegetic and non-diegetic (are you impressed with my knowledge!!!!) classical music, will leave you gawping at the screen. Your eyes will fix on those most English of settings — the countryside, Oxford, Henley, Dorset, London — and the costume design, distinctive of each era without succumbing to caricature. The ending is, however, more pathetic than tragic, and really rather anticlimactic.

BBC Films

Based on the novel by Ian McEwan (which I have not read), On Chesil Beach is the story of a wedding night in 1962. No, really, that’s the whole plot. The action takes place the evening after Florence (Saoirse Ronan) and Edward (Billy Howle) are married, in a seaside hotel room on Chesil Beach, on the Southwestern coast of England. Scenes from the night are interspersed with contextualising flashbacks and subsequent time hops, so you don’t have to stare at the awkwardest of sex scenes for going on two hours. Both newlyweds are, ostensibly, virgins and both lean heavily into hyper-gendered expectations of consummation (good Lord), epitomising the worst of what the Judeo-Christian regulation of sexuality can do to young and impressionable people. And that’s it. That’s the crux of the drama. But for several reasons and to a certain extent, the narrative works.

First of all, Saoirse Ronan takes a really difficult role and runs with it, all while putting on a spotless British accent. Second of all, and although it’s somewhat unclear what conclusions on sexual freedom and gendered sexuality the film ultimately draws, it does lend screen time to some complex issues that still pervade our contemporary culture, namely systemic male entitlement and gendered double standards — both of which are too toxic to bear.

There is a particularly poignant scene where Florence laments Edward’s “demands,” which she says she’s “no good at,” to which his horrifying knee-jerk response is to assume she means money (she comes from a richer family). He has this response although there was very little previous indication that money might be a problem, and although the only truly undeniable problem is and remains sex. Edward's reaction points to a deep-rooted belief that Florence’s body belongs to him already (he reminds her of her vow, “with my body I thee worship”), that her body has nothing left to “give” him and therefore she must mean she is no good at giving other material things.

Finally, there are several ways to interpret Florence’s reluctance to engage in intercourse. The question of asexuality arises, but is tangibly brushed off by subsequent events — although, did Florence fit on the asexual spectrum, she wouldn’t have come across the term until much later, and even then it more than likely would have been used as a pathologising insult. The interpretation we are more plausibly nudged towards is the God-fearing maiden trope. TBQH, if the only access you had to information on sex was your vicar and a vile sex manual from the library that is both graphic and judgemental, placing intrinsic moral value on intercourse, you would be scared too. Now let’s all give thanks for the internet and the various women’s movements of the past centuries, amen.

7/10

Hold Your Breath for 'Beast'

I generally dislike thrillers and, as such, have only ever seen a handful of them (Gone Girl comes to mind, hated it at the time). Beast, however, arguably toes the line between thriller and horror, a genre I very much enjoy and which is proving particularly fruitful this season (A Quiet Place, Ghost Stories, Wildling and Hereditary promise to keep me pretty busy in the coming weeks). This crossover is far from being Beast’s only redeeming quality: an art film that neglects neither plot nor character study, Michael Pearce’s latest is an atmospheric achievement as well as an exercise in apnea.

Moll is a 27-year-old living with her family in Jersey (an island! No escape! Haha I see what you did there, filmmakers!), who shows signs of distress from the onset, before we even learn about a recent string of murders. Moll has a defective relationship with her entire family; her mother in particular routinely infantilises and humiliates her. This systematic rejection — from relatives, but also from peers and acquaintances — takes a psychological toll on the protagonist, whom it’s important to note is not defined by her violent inclinations, but rather resorts to them as the only possible coping mechanism. Her unlikely strength of character in the face of constant debilitation (as she repeats “there’s nothing wrong with me” to anyone who suggests otherwise) is struck down time and time again, until she has no tangible choice left.

Agile Films

The film assumes Moll’s point of view, which leaves us to identify with her character and invokes frustration with others’ treatment of her, while her penchant for violence both disturbs our notion of right and wrong and problematises self-victimisation as a justification for self-harm and harm to others. It spotlights the animal nature of humanity, posing beastliness as superior to socialisation — that is, beastliness in appearance, primal instincts and violence as a means of survival. From Moll’s unreliable perspective (she is prone to dreams, hallucinations and psychoses), everyone around her is duplicitous and self-serving, except the man she meets as the narrative takes shape, Pascal, a kindred spirit and a chief suspect in the murder case.

Moll and Pascal enter into an exultant romance, their Bonnie and Clyde-style us-against-the-world relationship as enthralling as it is insular and dangerous. For anyone, but especially for someone as actively diminished as Moll has been, the pull of unconditional love and acceptance can be nothing other than frenzying. Love is stronger than death, isn’t that right? As an aside, a hasty google taught me that this melodramatic idea takes its roots in the Bible, which is pretty cool — I really must get around to reading that book, and also to reassessing my idea of “cool.”

Colour, sound and rhythm collide to create a beguiling experience, whereby the audience dreams Moll’s dreams and feels her heart beat in their eardrums. I hung onto a pillow for dear life, held my breath throughout and damn near dislocated my jaw gasping, but I’m a really good audience — my blessing and my curse — so don’t take my word for it and go see Beast for yourself.

9/10