|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Jun 4, 2022 5:42:46 GMT
I viewed The Northman back on April 21 (in XD, no less) and found it "mediocre" and (thankfully) forgettable for the most part. My main problem with the film is that it tries to force its ideas and tone, relying too much on brawn than finesse (rather like its characters, I suppose). There is not enough nuance, not enough character development, and not enough focus on theme. Rather early, one can tell that The Northman is sort of a blend of Ben-Hur and Oedipus Rex, but when Nicole Kidman's mother character deliberately makes out with her returning adult son in some sort of attempt to reestablish her authority or intimidate him or whatever, the film effectively becomes a highly bizarre horror movie, at least for the moment. Either way, that whole scene proved way too freaky and repellent for me, to the point where I would never want to view The Northman again. And unfortunately, that scene is the only memorable one in the movie. There are some dynamic tracking shots early on (for instance, when the king returns home), and the early sequence in the forest where the marauders kill the king and the young prince manages to scamper off and escape is eerily well-realized—tautly shot and edited in the mist. Overall, technical aspects such as cinematography and editing constitute The Northman's strengths, but they stand out more because the storytelling and character development are so lackluster in comparison. The cinematography and editing are not, in my view, Oscar-worthy, although I take the original poster's point about the Icelandic locations (I mean, they are better than CGI virtual mimicry). The movie's technical attributes, while better than the rest, sometimes call too much attention to themselves. Overall, the film is sort of a pastiche of traditional epic, action, horror, and mystical fantasy. Indeed, the movie's final portion cycles through a variety of potential endings, almost as if the filmmakers could not decide how exactly to conclude The Northman and kept extending the story instead. Had I seen it twenty-five years ago, when I was in high school, I might have liked the movie better, but in that case, that Nicole Kidman scene might have freaked me out even more. As for writer-director Robert Eggers, I liked The Lighthouse better—I viewed it twice in the theater in the fall of 2019, and it was more artistic and eccentric. Some of the shots and incidents in that black-and-white movie prove truly memorable. Even there, though, I only found The Lighthouse to be "decent/pretty good," meaning slightly above-average, because the style called too much attention to itself and inhibited deeper immersion in the story. Also, while the boozy dialogue often proved rich, the overall attempts at humor were arguably overwrought. The result was an intriguing black comedy yet one that felt too much like a museum piece to be observed rather than a movie to be felt. The Northman, conversely, lacks that artistic quality in its cinematography and material, and the film is too numb to be felt. I appreciate the different opinions, though.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 27, 2022 11:20:29 GMT
earlier than that. 2 scenes before that. he strokes himself gently, sniffs the hankie and puts his hand in his pants with the hankie and moves it...while moaning.. Damn it, I missed that. I’ll rewatch later. I ended up viewing the film twice in the theater in mid-February and still cannot quite recall this particular scene. I do recognize the scene that you mentioned earlier, with Phil distantly gazing at his fellow shirtless cowboys as he floats on his back in the water. As Nora indicated, I do not believe that he was masturbating there, but one can sense his amorous thoughts. After a second viewing (and a first in the theater), I again deemed The Power of the Dog "good/very good." I appreciated and admired it more, both in terms of the cinematography and the story, but I did feel that some of the techniques—camera movements, shot selection, montage editing—proved a tad too self-conscious, especially later in the film. But after seeing the movie for a third time (again in the theater), I elevated my judgment to "very good"—certainly one of the year's best. The sheer skill of the filmmaking, power of the imagery, and atmospheric nature of The Power of the Dog overwhelmed my previous reservations about potentially excessive self-consciousness. Indeed, the film is especially distinctive for its shots—often panning and/or tracking—from inside dark, unlit interiors that look out through windows or doors at sun-splashed exteriors. The contrasts are both striking and slightly eerie, and the movie's cinematography, editing, and sound mixing are all excellent, as are the performances—especially Cumberbatch's, as you indicated. He generates considerable power while finding suppressed sensitivity and humanity within his character. He effectively expresses Phil's internal torment and inner conflicts without devolving into sentimentality, and Cumberbatch is credible both as a rough-hewn "alpha" cowboy and as a gay man sifting through the severe ironies of his existence. I have not seen The Tragedy of Macbeth, but I would certainly award Cumberbatch the Best Actor Oscar over the other nominated performances (even if Will Smith is quite memorable and effective in King Richard). His performance as Phil Burbank succeeds both in terms of realism and stylization, very much in the tradition of Lee Marvin, whom Cumberbatch seems to be channeling in swagger and especially voice while still making the character his own. Back to the overall movie, after my second viewing (and first in the theater), I also felt that The Power of the Dog did not quite achieve poignancy. But after my third screening (and second in the theater), I did feel that the final stages of the film—and especially Phil's relationship with Peter—capture enough humanism to deliver dry poignancy. I also appreciate how The Power of the Dog manages to be discreet and ambiguous: for instance, do Peter and Phil have sex on Phil's final night on earth? The movie forces the viewer to think for him or herself, relying on symbolism and imagery that can be interpreted differently by different people. In this regard, it harkens back to an earlier era of classic filmmaking, cultivating atmosphere and blending the Western genre with edgier and more modernist psychological sensibilities —again like a Western directed by Anthony Mann in the 1950s. Yes, there are hints of melodrama and self-consciousness here, but again, the eeriness and edginess win out. And although the New Zealand shooting locations barely pass for Montana—one misses the greater ruggedness and starkness of Montana, especially the Rocky Mountains—there are just so many attractive shots for the eyes to feast upon. I am not necessarily sure that The Power of the Dog is the best feature film of 2021, but I am not sure that it is necessarily second to any rival. For the first time since 2012, when I started cataloguing theatrical releases in this way, I did not find any movie that I saw to be "great" this year, but there are quite a few "very good" entries and The Power of the Dog is one of them. Among the Best Picture nominees, I might give a slight nod to Nightmare Alley, which I saw four times in the theater, twice in color and twice in black-and-white. I also deem Belfast and Licorice Pizza "very good," but I would opt for Nightmare Alley or The Power of the Dog for the award. (I have not seen Dune or Drive My Car; I consider West Side Story, King Richard, and Don't Look Up to be "good," and CODA to be "pretty good/good.")
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Jan 3, 2022 10:31:50 GMT
yeah, everybody talks about the tension somehow that escaped me. the masturbation scene was oddly cringy and i wouldnt believe myself to feel this way about anything cumberbatch does but yeah, this was it AA in thix context is Academy Award (although Alcoholic Anonymous may perhaps also fit the bill . ... which scene was that, exactly?
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Jan 3, 2022 10:30:06 GMT
I like the unspoken tension throughout the movie. It kept me interested in what was going to happen next. The ending had a nice surprise twist too. The movie reminded me a little of The Piano (same director) and There Will Be Blood. yes on Piano. For There will be blood for me there was not enough tension or stakes in. TWBB was so intense it was almost unbearable. Painful and beautiful at the same time. This movie made me feel nothing except a mild rooting for Phill. Odd. I understand I am in the minority here. I wonder if my experience is tainted by having seen it at home instead of the big screen where it belongs. I also (just) viewed The Power of the Dog at home, on Netflix, as it did not come to my (second-level) city. Has anyone here viewed it in the theater? I found the film quite effective, quite engrossing—"good/very good." Based on an initial viewing, the movie would not make my top-five list for 2021, but it would probably make my top ten. It is a bit slow at times, but as indicated by earlier posters, The Power of the Dog fosters tension, and the film is atmospheric and—in keeping with the better traditions of the Western genre—somewhat spooky. The subject matter is socially relevant in the "woke" era, but writer-director-producer Jane Campion also maintains ambiguity. Additionally, the film offers compelling cinematography, not just with some remarkable long shots (with New Zealand effectively standing in for Montana) and closeups, but also by comfortably inhabiting middle distances. There seems to be a lot of visual coverage, and the result is free-and-easy visual construction. The mise en scène and editing both involve the viewer and turn space and time into mesmerizing factors of their own, although as you sort of suggest in your first post in this thread, Nora, the filmmaking does not create a spontaneous effect, either. Then again, the intention seems to be more stylization than spontaneity. (If you can create a sense of both, as in the Westerns of John Ford, Howard Hawks, Sam Peckinpah, Sergio Leone, and Clint Eastwood, then you probably have a classic.) In both the movie's textured, rather mercurial look and its sense of barely submerged anxiety, The Power of the Dog reminds me of iconic director Anthony Mann's famous Westerns from the 1950s, primarily starring Jimmy Stewart. Those movies, such as the unforgettable Winchester '73 (1950), are more dynamic and feature greater action, but there is a similar sense of atmosphere and psychological edginess. I also feel that not only Benedict Cumberbatch as Phil Burbank, but also Kodi Smit-McPhee as Peter Gordon, Kirsten Dunst as Rose Gordon, and Jesse Plemons as George Burbank offer intriguing characters and nuanced portrayals. (Speaking of Cumberbatch, he seemed to be channeling Lee Marvin in his accent and intonation, and like Marvin in his younger days, Cumberbatch is playing an edgy, menacing Western figure. Unlike Marvin, of course, there are sexual and psychological layers to Cumberbatch's characterization in this film.) Unlike some posters, I did not find the tension in The Power of the Dog to be overwhelming or unbearable, like in the most tense movies that I have viewed this year, the "good" Titane (a French film that primarily generates tension through extreme sadomasochism) and the "very good" Red Rocket, currently in theaters and easily the best film that I have seen since October. (It is a black comedy so wild and raucously risqué that it becomes remarkably tense.) In The Power of the Dog, the tension is more curious, more calculated, more in the vein of eerie intrigue. Regardless, the movie offers a nice entry in the Western genre (or the post-Western subgenre).
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Nov 8, 2021 7:37:01 GMT
... yeah, too "modest," and too little-seen. It lasted one week in one theater in my (second-level) city. But it is indeed worth seeing if one has the chance.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Nov 8, 2021 7:35:21 GMT
I liked A Mouthful of Air, too—I found it "good." The film is sentimental, and for most of the movie, it seems that—while engrossing—the sentimentality will blunt the edginess lurking in the material. But a minimalistic flash-forwarding device periodically recurs, creating unease and ultimately quite an impact (as the film flashes back to its climax). In other words, while A Mouthful of Air is sentimental, it does not run from its fatalism.
Additionally, A Mouthful of Air forces the viewer to think and imagine by never fully revealing the visual details of its most upsetting scenes. In that sense, there is an old-timey sense of discretion that really works. And while there is not that much to the movie in terms of visual composition, that is acceptable here because A Mouthful of Air is largely psychological and about the protagonist's internal life. And although composition is not a strength, A Mouthful of Air does not use closeups oppressively, like the otherwise commendable Southside with You (2016), about the Obamas' "first date." And the mise en scène in this movie is impressive due its use of color and artwork—the painted walls of a corridor, the painting on that corridor, the children's drawings that the main character (played by Amanda Seyfried) illustrates.
What makes the film, perhaps, is the fact that Amy Koppelman both wrote the script and produced and directed the movie (her first as a producer and director). She realized her own vision, and that sense of clarity and surefootedness comes through. The movie is gentle and sentimental, but indeed, it makes an undeniable impact.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 10, 2021 7:44:21 GMT
The years and years we suffered being forced to watch that damn "Annie" movie in School. 🙄 Oh and I do like "My Fair Lady". I'm an Audrey Hepburn fan. It's a good movie. I concur. I did not care for it when I first viewed it in the theater, in November 2015, but I enjoyed My Fair Lady much better when I saw it again in the theater, in February 2019. I suppose that with a second screening, I received a better feel for the film's essentially comic nature and thus the coda no longer seemed like a copout. And of course, the costuming and set designs are gorgeous. In addition to the musicals that I cited earlier, I would also mention An American in Paris (Vincente Minnelli, 1951), which I viewed in the theater in January 2020, as a "good/very good" film. It combines some memorable supplementary location shooting in Paris with stunningly colorful and intricate song-and-dance sequences. The editing, set design, costuming, and cinematography are excellent, the film is full of rambunctious, humorous energy, and Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron both deliver winning performances.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 3, 2021 7:22:24 GMT
I'm probably gonna see it soon. It sounds like it's absolutely insane. Does Clint fuck at all in this one? Him having a threesome in 'The Mule' made me laugh out loud in the theater. There is a gentle romance, but no sex scenes.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 3, 2021 7:11:27 GMT
I was not going to see it, and then I thought that I would—until I learned that Dear Evan Hansen is a musical. So now I am again not planning to see it ... What's wrong with musicals?. ... nothing, and there are some terrific classic musicals that I have seen in the theater in recent years, such as The Sound of Music (Robert Wise, 1965), West Side Story (Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise, 1961), South Pacific (Joshua Logan, 1958), Irving Berlin's White Christmas (Michael Curtiz, 1954), and Singin' in the Rain (Stanely Donen and Gene Kelly, 1952). (I have actually seen each at least twice in the theater since December 2014.) And in terms of contemporary musicals, I found La La Land (Damien Chazelle, 2016) to be "good" (if problematic and overrated) and The Greatest Showman (Michael Gracey, 2017) to be better. But musicals do not constitute my favorite genre, either. I was not terribly attracted to the material in Dear Evan Hansen, but as a straight drama, it held some intrigue. As a musical, it holds less. I would not rule out seeing it, but doing so is not a priority. Have you viewed the film, or do you plan to? Ironically, I have seen the theatrical trailer a couple of times, and there is no overt indication in the trailer that the movie is a musical. Either the studios involved wanted to hide that fact or, more likely, they supposed that the intended audience already knew that it would be a musical.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 2, 2021 9:20:56 GMT
I was not going to see it, and then I thought that I would—until I learned that Dear Evan Hansen is a musical.
So now I am again not planning to see it ...
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 1, 2021 8:44:49 GMT
Here is what I wrote to a relative a few days ago: Cry Macho is a "very good" film—highly engrossing, attractively photographed, and fluidly edited. The movie is at once minimalist and sumptuously atmospheric. It represents a revival of classicism in more ways than one (including the idea of Mexico and what it may suggest in the Western experience), along with a further critique of masculinity from Eastwood.I concur that Eduardo Minett's performance as Rafo, the thirteen-year old boy, is not the best and will not be cited among the dozens—if not hundreds—of outstanding performances that Eastwood has elicited in his fifty years of directing films. I enjoyed Eastwood's performance, though. First, there is a certain cinematic pleasure that comes just from watching Clint Eastwood walking around in a flat-brimmed Western hat, especially on the big screen. Second, he shows the character's vulnerabilities—he plays his age, never tries to fight through matters, observes and calculates, relies on his quiet cunning, walks stiffly like a man who has suffered a broken back in his past. In other words, the character is supposed to be limited, supposed to be elderly (at least as interpreted for and by the star), and Eastwood plays that figure true to form. (Incidentally, as Nora indicates, just the fact that Clint Eastwood is starring in a theatrical film in his nineties is incredible. John Wayne, who possessed great longevity in his day, never made it to seventy on the screen. Meanwhile, contemporaries of Eastwood's such as Gene Hackman and Jack Nicholson have not been seen on the screen in years.) I did not find Cry Macho to be "great" and arguably the best movie of the year like several recent Eastwood films ( American Sniper, Sully, The Mule, Richard Jewell), nor is it elegantly experimental like The 15:17 to Paris. But I found it charming, pleasurable. Eastwood's ultimate characterization of machismo in Cry Macho is quite profound, thoughtful, and intelligent, and also something of a revision to Western culture, which still celebrates what his character comes to deplore. And as I indicated earlier, the film's treatment of Mexico and what the country potentially means in Western culture harkens back to a much earlier era, providing a potent contrast not only to the politics of our current time but also to cinematic representations of the land dating back nearly sixty years. In that reversion to classicism, there is refreshing irony. Similarly, I enjoyed the classical way in which the film was shot. For instance, there is one scene in a roadside diner (the one where Rafo attempts to order tequila, only to be rebuffed by Eastwood's Mike Milo) where Eastwood—the director—keeps coming back to a medium-range still shot with his character on the left of the table and Rafo on the right. It is a wonderful, archetypal shot, especially with Eastwood in that flat-brimmed hat, and the filmmaker keeps returning to it, allowing the composition to soak in like an iconic Western painting in an art museum. Classic Western directors such as John Ford and Budd Boetticher might have been proud. Ironically, in some ways I analogize Cry Macho to the films of another famous Western director, Sam Peckinpah. The material, setting, and landscapes here have a lot in common with Peckinpah's interests, and as in so many Peckinpah movies, Eastwood takes Cry Macho into something of a detour, amiably transcending narrative convention to search for something deeper, something more meaningful. The difference is that Peckinpah, of course, was also preoccupied with bloody displays of violence, whereas Eastwood in Cry Macho is not, so the diversions in this film are smoother, seamless. I agree with this review from New York Times critic A.O. Scott (although I totally disagree with Scott's political characterizations of The Mule and Richard Jewell, which I find to be woeful, deductive misinterpretations): ‘Cry Macho’ Review: The Good, the Bad and the Poultry. Ultimately, the material for another powerful masterwork did not exist here, but I still enjoy and appreciate what Eastwood made of it.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 1, 2021 7:50:54 GMT
Aside from Rocky, which somehow did not receive a fortieth-anniversary re-release or classic series offering in 2016, I have seen each of those titles multiple times in the theater since 2013, in most cases three or four times. Classics series can sometimes emerge and then disappear, but there is still currently the TCM (Turner Classic Movies) Big Screen Classics at Cinemark and Regal theaters, which offers something about once a month. I have not seen one since I started viewing movies in theaters again in late July, because the screenings tend to be well-attended and I have been picking out only sparsely attended shows, but the series continues: TCM BIG SCREEN CLASSICS
I did see Blade Runner (final cut believe it or not) in theatres in one of those revivals. Glad to do so too. Yeah, I viewed Blade Runner in the theater in January 2016 and again in January 2020—that final cut that you speak of (in 2020, at least). I enjoyed it much more the second time: the film is striking visually (I love some of the contrasts and compositions, especially in that rooftop chase sequence) and prescient socially.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Sept 18, 2021 9:37:19 GMT
2001 A Space Odyssey
The Godfather
The Godfather Part 2
Apocalypse Now
Rocky (1st)
Alien
Full Metal Jacket
Planes, Trains and AutomobilesGodzilla vs Kong (LOL! But really!) Aside from Rocky, which somehow did not receive a fortieth-anniversary re-release or classic series offering in 2016, I have seen each of those titles multiple times in the theater since 2013, in most cases three or four times. Classics series can sometimes emerge and then disappear, but there is still currently the TCM (Turner Classic Movies) Big Screen Classics at Cinemark and Regal theaters, which offers something about once a month. I have not seen one since I started viewing movies in theaters again in late July, because the screenings tend to be well-attended and I have been picking out only sparsely attended shows, but the series continues: TCM BIG SCREEN CLASSICS
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Sept 18, 2021 9:20:37 GMT
Lawrence of Arabia The Sound of Music 2001: A Space Odyssey Jaws E.T.: the Extraterrestrial Alien Aliens The Abyss Cliffhanger Face/Off Total Recall (1990) Fight Club The Social Network Avatar-3D Life of Pi-3D The Dark Knight I have actually seen each of those first six movies multiple times in the theater since 2013. I loved Live of Pi (it was one of my top two movies among 2012 releases, along with Django Unchained), but I did not know that there was a 3-D release.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Sept 18, 2021 8:55:31 GMT
Blue Bayou—written, directed by, and starring Justin Chon, and co-starring the much-better known Alicia Vikander—reconnects viewers to the most basic pleasures of movie watching. The film transports the spectator to another realm, another place, while at the same time offering universal resonance that speaks to people's fears and frustrations, their sympathies and uncertainties. Much like the famous song from which the movie takes its title, Blue Bayou—set and shot in New Orleans—represents a haunting, bittersweet experience, at once lyrical and troubled. Like 2016's Moonlight, another film set and shot in the South, Blue Bayou is a story about people living tenuously and the way that life can prove paradoxically eerie, at once hopeful and dreary. Like Moonlight, Blue Bayou is an obviously artistic film whose surrealism manages to seem organic and to enhance the film's soulfulness, rather than detracting from it. But make no mistake, Blue Bayou is its own movie with its own distinct look—a sort of gauzy grittiness or gritty gauziness, depending upon one's perspective. It seems to use filters to bathe the colors of the bayou in pale luminosity, as if the movie is reflecting some kind of realistic netherworld. Indeed, the film's technical distinction can ultimately be found less in composition and more in lighting and editing. A lush, neo-noir-style, New Orleans-inspired jazz score plays evocatively yet sparingly, adding to the ironic tension. And the acting, assured in its ability to convey hesitation and doubt, is uniformly outstanding, especially Vikander, Chon, Linh Dam Pham, Mark O'Brien, and the youngster Sydney Kowalske.
Vikander seems to shine most of all. Instead of serving as a sort of pretty prop, as in some of her past roles, she comes across here as a fully dimensional mother and wife, at once young and tempered by life. She also conveys the intricacies of a New Orleans accent remarkably well, as stated here by nola.com writer Mike Scott:
In other words, if the locals can note your imperfections yet still laud your overall achievement, you excelled.
One can tell from the first scene that Blue Bayou is something remarkable. Chon's Anthony LeBlanc, accompanied by his young stepdaughter, Jessie (played by Kowalske), interviews for a job, the camera trained entirely on them in one shot (a medium closeup) lasting a few minutes. Off camera, a skeptical, unsympathetic boss—who we never see—questions LeBlanc about his origins and his troubled past. The next few scenes shift through a kaleidoscope of moods and events, establishing the elliptical, sometimes non-linear style of the movie. For awhile, one wonders what it will add up to, but then come a couple of powerhouse scenes involving violence and domestic turmoil, assuring the viewer that the film is as secure in its vision as it is artsy in its style.
Blue Bayou definitely carries a socio-political agenda, one confirmed just after the end of the film proper and before the closing credits. But just as the movie largely mutes its lurking sentimentality, it does the same with that agenda, so that the film never feels preachy or instructive. Instead, Blue Bayou focuses on the humanity at the heart of the matter, and on the existentialism and fatalism befitting the multicultural-yet-swampy setting. And in the end, only the most non-compassionate ideologues could not be troubled and moved by what they see and by what the movie ultimately, factually reveals.
After an initial screening, I would deem Blue Bayou "very good." I saw Moonlight four times in the theater in early 2017, considering it "very good" after the first two occasions and "great" following the last two. Blue Bayou may not linger in theaters long enough for four screenings, but I plan to see it at least once more.
|
|
|
Coda
Sept 17, 2021 5:52:53 GMT
Nora likes this
Post by joekiddlouischama on Sept 17, 2021 5:52:53 GMT
I viewed CODA in the theater in August and consider it "pretty good/good," meaning close to a full-fledged "good" film, but with some reservations. I hesitated originally about whether to see it; the subject matter intrigued me, but I thought that it could be a Lifetime-type movie. Ultimately, I decided to view CODA based on its success at the Sundance Film Festival.
In the end, the narrative does evolve in the sentimental, feel-good manner of a Lifetime flick or some other made-for-TV movie. That arc is not bad, but it does limit the film's power. So what elevates CODA nonetheless and makes it something more than just a mediocre movie? To me, there are four factors.
First, although the film is not remarkable visually, the location shooting makes a difference, adding an element of authenticity. The movie is both set in Massachusetts and shot there, and that helps—it just makes the film feel real.
Second, the acting is consistently solid and realistic, with nothing soap opera-oriented about it.
Third, Emilia Jones sings gorgeously.
Fourth, although the sentimental, feel-good narrative development ultimately blunts some of the movie's potential for emotional power, CODA does a nice job of revealing some of the ironies and challenges that deaf folks have to deal with and that people with normal hearing would never think about—stuff beyond sign language and the like. For instance, the middle-aged white father enjoys blasting rap music that he cannot hear—because he can feel the vibrations. And deaf folks cannot hear their vocal sounds when engaged in sexual intercourse, which can make for some situations that are are both comic and embarrassing. And if attending a concert, deaf people have to gauge their clapping and their sense of appreciation by the people around them—some subjective shots, nicely edited, effectively place those of us with normal hearing in their shoes, revealing an awkward, confusing mix of excitement and detachment.
Overall, details like that help. For another example, when the adolescent Jones character finds that singing face-to-face with her male counterpart induces too much anxiety, they decide to practice their duet in a "back-to-back" pose, and one can tell from the quality acting that the "safe" physical contact nonetheless is both romantically stimulating and anxiety-inducing, given that the characters are teenagers. This kind of nuance tends to be lost in movies, which generally eschew the subtlety of touch and look in favor of too-sudden overt sexual miming.
In short, CODA has its limitations, and I would be curious to see the French original upon which this remake is based. But the film's sense of authenticity and detail make it something more than the mushy throwaway that it could have been. It is not a wrenching movie, but it settles for a respectable blend of empathy, humor, and spirt.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Aug 15, 2021 9:35:26 GMT
Although I feel that Damon's protagonist is much more apolitical than this review suggests (and that Damon's own comments about his character suggest), this reviewer (Graeme Tuckett) is basically in sync with my analysis in this thread:
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Aug 14, 2021 8:55:03 GMT
Yeah, I enjoyed Spotlight and apparently McCarthy wrote two Disney films I really enjoyed: Million Dollar Arm and Christopher Robin. *reads further* And apparently he helped write Up as well. I really enjoyed Million Dollar Arm (2014) as well, and Spotlight constituted one of 2015's best movies.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Aug 14, 2021 8:45:24 GMT
I viewed Stillwater on Wednesday evening and deemed it enjoyable and engrossing—a "very good" film. The movie effectively mixes a more American-style, action-in-space mystery with a more European-style, unfolding-of-time, phenomenological treatment of life and character. Indeed, I found this mix more effective than that of a recent, notable European movie, 2016's A Bigger Splash, which fascinatingly, and atmospherically, eschewed melodrama and narrative convention for the longest time before ultimately succumbing to fairly typical dramatic tropes. The performances in Stillwater—most notably those of co-stars Matt Damon and Camille Cottin—are uniformly humanistic and authentic, sensitive and strong. The film is well-edited, well-paced, and vividly shot on location in Oklahoma and (for the most part) Marseille, France. A couple of the plot points are fairly predictable, but not overly so or quickly so— Stillwater manages to be highly involving over a two-hour, nineteen-minute running time. The focus on human beings and location shooting, along with the film's hard, unglamorous lighting and tastefully somber soundtrack, almost give it a seventies-movie feel. The picture transcends genre and becomes a testimony to the foibles and quiet struggles of human beings. What is best about Stillwater is that it does not compromise: it poses difficult, morally ambiguous quandaries and provides answers that are not entirely satisfying. The material easily could have been sentimentalized, but writer-producer-director Tom McCarthy avoids such an approach. The writing shows excellent attention to detail, and the direction is firm, steady, and coolly observant in reflecting human warmth and sensitivity. And the coda, with Damon and Abigail Breslin, is terrific, speaking to the movie's insistence on avoiding cliché, on resisting false platitudes. Indeed, the coda is somewhat reminiscent of the coda between Clint Eastwood and Laura Dern in A Perfect World (Eastwood, 1993), one of the best films of the nineties. YOU’RE UNFORGIVEN FOR MISSING CLINT EASTWOOD’S A PERFECT WORLD And Damon's Oklahoma oil driller, with all his baggage, is somewhat similar to Kevin Costner's protagonist in A Perfect World. Ultimately, Stillwater is not on that level—it is not as edgy, or poignant, or sweeping, or magisterial, or effortlessly naturalistic. In short, it is not virtually perfect. But few films are, and Stillwater is ambiguous and poignant and naturalistic in its own right. The film's choices, and those of its characters, are not easy. There are no cute packages, no bow ties, and in that sense, it is a movie that keeps you thinking. What I do not understand is why Focus Features decided to dump Stillwater into theaters in the middle of the summer. I suppose that the studio perceived the movie as counterprogramming to the usual summer fare, but it is the kind of film that would have benefitted from at least being discussed as an awards contender. Releasing it now, conversely, more or less ensures that it will not figure as a contender, or as a movie that adults will focus upon. And, to me, that is a shame. I look forward to seeing it again.
|
|
|
Post by joekiddlouischama on Jul 28, 2021 8:11:48 GMT
Just got back from this. Not perfect, but man oh man is it fun. The best thing about both of these movies isn’t acting, directing, or writing—it’s set design. All the escape-room sets, and especially the bank and beach ones, are beautifully designed and packed with detail. The movie is, no kidding, a feast for the eyes. While this sequel isn’t as good as the first one—it repeats some things, takes too many easy-to-guess twists on which the original passed, and lacks a satisfying ending—it’s consistently entertaining (and short, thank God). Also, Taylor Russell, who plays the lead, is a real find. She’s charming and very pretty, and she somehow acts circles around the entire rest of the cast while underplaying the part. This gal’s going places. Anyone else seen this? I appreciate this analysis. Personally, I do not plan on seeing the sequel because I found the original "lousy," back when I viewed it in the theater in February 2019. The characters in the original constitute cringe-worthy clichés (down to the ethnic identities) and the plotting seems too desperate and—soon enough—utterly unrealistic. The pacing is very rushed, the tone is cheaply pretentious, and everything about the venture is superficial, flimsy, forced, and substance-free. Worst of all, the filmmakers take a beautiful pop song (Petula Clark's layered and soaring mid-sixties hit "Downtown") and sully it, turning the song into an annoying vehicle for alienating the viewer. I suppose that such manipulation represents some sort of dystopian accomplishment. In short, the original Escape Room strikes me as a joke told by people with no sense of humor. If there was something to appreciate about the sets, as you suggest, all the other elements caused me to miss it. That said, I trust that you have a point.
|
|