Self-Quarantine Mini Reviews Volley 4

In this ongoing series, we will be sharing brief micro-reviews of all the films i’ve been watching/re-watching since the country went full clusterfuck. Because aside from staving away weight increase, and cabin fever, what else is a die hard film geek to do?

ON WITH THE SHOW!

Adore (dir, Anne Fontaine 2013) Clearly a piece of work that sounded much better on paper, only to endlessly trip over itself upon release to a moviegoing public. Anne Fontaine’s often listless exploration of the complicated lifelong friendship between two women (Naomi Watts & Robin Wright), tries desperately to visualize Doris Lessing’s The Grandmothers, and only ends up muddying waters at every opportunity. The tale of these mothers, now reaching middle age complete with marital blanding, attempt the unthinkable and reach for one another’s attractive sons (played here with occasional skill by Xavier Samuel, and James Frencheville) as the four spend their days near the lakes and oceans of New South Wales. And while the source material apparently goes a long way toward exploring the connections between the two childhood friends, the film never figures its way out of the sheer icky surface of what’s really happening. Fontaine never seems to find the propulsive power necessary for us to better understand, even as the inevitable consequences begin landing like emotional bombs. And as a result, the final product is a pair of truly good performances by Watts & Wright, but no real pull beyond the melodramatic. And we’re talking the kind that borders on turning this meditation into nothing more than a travelogue with a daytime soap hitched onto it. There’s definitely an intent for more to be exposed, but the film only just occasionally rises above its tawdry premise. And no amount of the always fun Ben Mendelsohn can save it.

The Right Stuff (dir, Phil Kaufman 1983) Not sure if one would call this a grief watch, or perhaps a simple need to be reminded of a time when our differences were a strength. And with this Reagan-era piece of heartfelt nostalgia for the early days of the U.S.’s space program and the subsequent Mercury missions, we not only get that reminder, we are also presented with a level of romance and lack of flattery we often forget was possible in cinema circa the early 1980s. Written and directed by the often overlooked Philip Kaufman after hiring William Goldman, and deciding he had to go it alone. It remains something of a jaw dropping epic that spans the late 1940s through the early 1960s, the men who flew those world shifting missions, and the people on the ground, often unsure how far was ever too far. The sheer murderer’s row of talent to come out of this (Sam Shepard, Ed Harris, Fred Ward, Dennis Quaid, Scott Glenn, Barbara Hershey, Veronica Cartwright, Pamela Reed, Lance Henriksen, Jeff Goldblum, Harry Shearer) alone speaks to the magnitude of ambition that continues to radiate.  Fantastic performances complimented by all the still awe inspiring miniature and special effects work culminating in what great cinema does best; transports us. 

Sing Street (dir, John Carney 2016) A musical coming of age story set in mid-1980s Dublin doesn’t seem to be at the offset to be the kind of energizing charmer it ends up becoming. When Conor’s pop decides to move him to a cheaper Catholic school, his troubles seem to only be growing as his family’s stresses have begun to mount. But upon arriving, it isn’t long before Conor finds himself ready to take his passions to another level, by starting a band in hopes of impressing the girl of his dreams. In less skilled hands, such a premise might have made for something a bit more sleight, but what Carney does here with his cast, is create a genuine community of outcasts who are ready to represent a new and changing face of not only rock n’ roll, but of their own community. There is a sincerity about breaking beyond your elders, and defining the kind of adult on your own that is super welcome. Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, is an immediately relatable lead, and Lucy Boynton is incredibly charming. Hell, the entire cast is game for what is far more about what fuels art, and what makes it all so important. Oh, and the songs are terrific. What more could one want from the mastermind behind 2007’s Once?

Murder Party (dir, Jeremy Saulnier 2007) There’s something so liberating about making your debut feature on our own terms where you can take such bally potshots at the life you’ve chosen, only to come out the other end..well..moderately successful! Jeremy Saulnier’s 2007 Slamdance winner, is on one hand hopelessly no-budgeted, resembling the shot on video antics of one Red Letter Media. While the other half is pure Saulnier, which means stories that are perpetually concerned about genre mechanisms, only to run them through terribly flawed, hopelessly real creatures. Plans are made, but we cannot help but do ourselves in. Especially when confronted by dumb, seemingly random, silly chance. A lonely regular guy, finds an invitation to what he thinks is a Halloween party taking place in a funky part of town, only to realize that he’s be tricked into his own murder as art project at the hands of a group of desperate students. Self financed at a price tag of a little under 300,000 dollars, this messy comic horror farce, for all its resourcefulness, pretty much tells us everything we need to know about the lifelong team of Saulnier, his wife Skei, and Macon Blair, who have gained traction and acclaim for exploring the universe’s complete disinterest in human pose. And here, it’s equal parts horrifying and hysterical.

Portrait Of A Lady On Fire (dir, Celine Sciamma 2019) There are moments when watching something for the first time, and it hits you on a molecular level. To the point that like a live dance performance, there are moments that a part of your mind anticipates, only to witness the filmmaker/storyteller hit those same beats straight from your thoughts. Fused with your DNA. That’s the rare feeling I get when cinema truly connects on an almost heart to heart level. Celine Sciamma’s latest is that very rare moment for me. Set in late 18th century France, Portrait tells the tale of painter Marianne, who was once tasked with capturing the image of a woman who is soon to be married to a nobleman from Milan. Working near an isolated beach where only nature’s light, coupled by the sounds of wind and waves, creates a wholly immersive landscape where Marianne, over the course of her time working with subject, Heliose, begins to realize a great deal more about herself than she perhaps thought possible. In fact, both do as they bond over Orpheus, and push back and forth regarding the reality of the way we perceive ourselves and each other - best illustrated by the moment that inspires the final painting. The entire film is a sensuous, sensitive, and almost overwhelmingly powerful experience that succeeds in letting nature be that force. Sciamma’s faith in the very real circumstances of the time, along with some of the most painfully beautiful cinematography imaginable courtesy of Claire Mathon, spins a story that both could only have been fashioned in its time, and yet told right this very moment. Stars, Merlant and Haenel help create something here that again makes me forget that there’s a camera, a director, or a crew. You aren’t simply watching a film, you’re bearing witness.