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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jul 28, 2023 2:52:45 GMT
Regardless of age - can you imagine a comedy about parents who hire a man to "date" their shy daughter who's a virgin and doesn't like partying?
It's a double standard, but not one that particularly bothers me.
exactly, total double standard.
(but i will watch it and probably like it)Did anyone see Red Rocket from 2021? I viewed it twice in the theater and found it "very good," about as good as any other movie from that year. Indeed, it offers an extremely raunchy, daring situation that would place any "controversial" aspect from No Hard Feelings to shame. (And of course, Red Rocket did not receive any Oscar or Golden Globe nominations, although it did fare well among critics societies and on the film festival circuit.) But, yes, there is certainly a double standard at play, as also seen in Licorice Pizza (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2021). That film also proved "very good" and received three major Oscar nominations (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Original Screenplay), which Red Rocket certainly did not. The discrepancy cannot entirely be attributed to the gendered double standard, as the Academy makes all kinds of dubious decisions for all sorts of reasons, and Red Rocket is probably just too raw and darkly comedic for Oscar voters anyway. But, yes, Red Rocket is politically incorrect in a way that No Hard Feelings and the much better Licorice Pizza are not (incongruously enough).
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jul 14, 2023 3:47:46 GMT
politicidal made me aware of this, Richard Kimble , which may make a difference, hope to God. I can't imagine a world without TCM as we know it. "TCM layoffs lead protest by Hollywood's top filmmakers -- Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, and Paul Thomas Anderson have organized an emergency call to David Zaslav that will take place today to advocate for the network amidst major layoffs among its leadership."Article here: Indie Wire ... good to read. This Zaslav guy is great at generating corporate mergers, but I am concerned about his commitment to artistic values and the integrity of programming. Plus, he already fumbled matters at CNN, hiring Chris Licht to run the network and then firing him just a year later after Licht's leadership and approach proved inept. CNN Chairman and CEO Chris Licht is out after a brief and tumultuous tenure
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jul 14, 2023 3:25:58 GMT
Cool point about Shaft. I actually enjoyed that movie a lot, very funny with some good action sequences. I think it's even kind of underrated. Would not be opposed to a sequel but know it underperformed and didn't find an audience on streaming. But I enjoy it a lot more than Shaft 2000. Yeah, the 2019 version of Shaft worked well enough, especially as an action-comedy that contrasted "today's" type of masculinity (quirky, metrosexual, tech-oriented) with the hard-edged, acerbic Samuel L. Jackson version and the cool machismo of the Richard Roundtree original. And the film did not deplore the contemporary concept—it just found the humor and irony in the contrast, in the sense of changing generations, changing paradigms. And, yes, the climactic action proved well-staged, well-edited. I remember the 2000 version coming out, but I never saw it—hopefully I will at some point.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jun 30, 2023 5:32:30 GMT
I saw The Blackening yesterday and deemed it "mediocre." There is a fair amount of wit and social intelligence to the enterprise, and the film certainly serves the traditional role of comedy by providing a humorous outlet through which to release social anxieties. The occasional joke (NAACP possibly referring to Negroes at Applebee's Cook Pasta , the correct answer to a question about Friends being that Black people instead watched Living Single) sticks. Overall, though, the quality of the writing and the acting strikes me as inconsistent, and I actually thought that Jermaine Fowler's performance was the weakest of the bunch, leaning into caricature too heavily. Indeed, his attempt at creepiness seems forced and thus unconvincing. The worst aspect is The Blackening's editing. The movie's construction, shot-to-shot and scene-to-scene, seemed disjointed and limp from the beginning, and given the film's tepid nature, I had time during the viewing to ponder the problem and try to figure it out. I came to the conclusion that the editing is constantly a beat too quick, almost as if director Tim Story (who perhaps fared slightly better with the latest edition of Shaft, four years ago) and editor Peter S. Elliot ( Shaft, Baywatch) were trying to force a sense of suspense and shock, while also enhancing the flippant nature of the comedy. Whether this effect proved intentional or not, it backfires: The Blackening is hardly scary or spooky, and the attempts at humor seem a tad insecure. The rushed editing creates the feeling of a cinematic meal taken out of the oven too soon, without enjoying the time to bake and firm. For a movie to be genuinely scary and spooky, it needs to create a sense of atmosphere and suspense enveloping the action and violence, meaning that the editing cannot constantly be quick. Indeed, the filmmakers could have learned from a couple of famous musicians in this regard. (Alternatively, the filmmakers could have reviewed Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.) Granted, The Blackening is more comedy than horror flick, but the potential to fuse the two genres in a dark and dynamic manner—as in last fall's Barbarian—fizzles, largely because of the editing. And again, the perpetual fraction-too-fast editing makes the comedy seem less confident. Additionally, the movie—even at just ninety-seven minutes—becomes overlong. The final act could have been trimmed, so that even with slightly longer shots throughout, the film could have come out at about ninety minutes instead. The concept is attractive and worthwhile, which is why I went to see it. But the execution, especially in the editing, makes for a half-baked experiment. By the way, can anyone summarize what exactly Clifton is complaining about regarding his old, traumatic experience with these "friends"? It involves game-playing, of course, but he repeatedly gripes about "when you said that." What exactly was it? If The Blackening had played for another week in my area, I may have seen it once more just to try and pick that up—preferably on the Discount Day, as the dozen-plus dollars that I spent on it last night was already too much for a movie of this caliber.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jun 8, 2023 22:56:47 GMT
I enjoyed Somewhere in Queens as well and found it "good." Writer-director-star Ray Romano—making his directorial debut—knows the material well and achieves something of a black comedy. Indeed, the film's title could have actually been "Only in Queens." One recognizes the movie's TV sitcom roots, but Romano uses the greater time and continuity of the cinematic format to create layers of ambiguity, irony, and depth that a television comedy would never allow for.
Somewhere in Queens is amusing yet also discomfiting. None of the characters are villainous, yet none are easily embraceable, and the acting is excellent—especially Romano, Laurie Metcalf as his wife, and Jennifer Esposito as an attractive and empathetic client of the Romano character. The various characters—most notably Romano's and the high school senior played by Sadie Stanley—have understandable reasons for their dubious moral choices and earthy behavior, but their actions are not entirely defensible, either. Indeed, you have a lot of competing agendas and conflicted feelings, leading to questionable compromises and curious alliances. And the best part is that all of this nuance feels organic rather than contrived.
One might wish that Romano had made more visually of the Queens locations—the only grittily memorable shots come during the opening sequence and sometime later when his character is stumbling home drunk following a celebration-turned-disaster at a restaurant. But unlike on a TV sitcom, at least he features real locations, giving the movie an authentically lived-in feel. And Somewhere in Queens raises real issues—and real ironies—about whether certain means justify certain desirable ends. Part of what makes the film work is that those problematic means are not obviously bad—there is nothing illegal or flagrantly immoral here—but they are uncomfortable nonetheless. So the material is richly comedic in a deeper, darker way than the typical romantic or screwball comedy. Some of the film's authenticity comes in how one could imagine most anyone bumbling through these dilemmas in a similar manner, only not with the humor that comes with Ray Romano's feel for Queens.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jun 4, 2023 5:10:04 GMT
I viewed Fast X on Tuesday—only because the seating for the movie that I was planning to see was less than ideal for me (even fully vaccinated and double-boosted, I want to maintain my distance for now). So I saw Fast X instead—it was only my second Fast & Furious movie, the first being the original, which I actually viewed in the theater not when it came out in 2001, but fifteen years later in 2016. I found that film "good," but this one "mediocre." That was as much as I could have hoped for—that it was watchable, not terrible—and at least it passed that bar. But at two hours and twenty-one minutes, it is way too long given the slight subject matter. (Consider that the original The Fast and the Furious sported a running length of one hour and forty-six minutes.) Fast X should have been half an hour shorter, and the bloated running time suggests that the budget encouraged needless indulgence. Overall, the film represents typical formula—mild sentimentality, an over-the-top villain, a constant (and slightly amusing) parade of stars that includes Rita Moreno, Helen Mirren, Charlize Theron, and Brie Larson, a blaring soundtrack, and nearly nonstop edits and closeups. One wishes that there could have been more in the way of longer, sustained shots. For instance, during one car chase early in the movie, the audience is treated to a compelling, subjective (point of view) shot as the car (the Vin Diesel character's, I guess) approaches a cascade of converging cop cars. The shot and moment prove suspenseful, even thrilling, and I was intrigued to see how it would have played out from a sustained POV, to place the viewer in the character's position more fully. But alas, there is another quick cut, and we will never know. I am reminded of an anecdote from the shooting of Magnum Force, the first Dirty Harry sequel, which came out fifty years ago this December. The film's climax begins in a car where Clint Eastwood's notorious San Francisco homicide inspector, Harry Callahan, engages in what amounts to a philosophical debate with his bureaucratic nemesis- turned-archvillain, Lieutenant Briggs, played by the late Hal Holbrook. With just a soundman crouching in the backseat and no room for director Ted Post, Eastwood had to direct the scene, in addition to engaging with Holbrook in memorable dialogue, in addition to navigating actual freeway traffic. According to Holbrook, as quoted in Richard Schickel's Clint Eastwood: A Biography (1996), page 303, Eastwood would sometimes stop in the middle of his speech, distracted by the high-speed traffic and not liking how he was delivering his lines. But eventually, they got it down, and the rhetorical clash segues into a famous car chase up and down the hilly streets of San Francisco—and clearly, again, it is Eastwood driving the car, much as Steve McQueen had in Bullitt five years earlier. That was a different era. Now it is all about special effects, with realism a quaint nonconcern. That said, I actually enjoyed the climactic stunt in Fast X, where Diesel's Dominic Toretto and his young son (supposedly) drive vertically down Hoover Dam before flying safely into the water. Indeed, the concept is creative and makes one wonder whether such a stunt could actually be done. But then one returns to reality.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Jun 4, 2023 4:14:19 GMT
Based on a remarkable historical story, Chevalier constitutes a "good" film, seamlessly blending sociopolitical allegory with forbidden romance. Without straining for relevance, it offers contemporary resonance, exploring the stirrings of modernity in the period of the French Revolution. The crux of this admixture, of course, is the "mulatto" complexion of the film's protagonist, Joseph Bologne (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), the son of a French slaver and an African mother transported to Guadeloupe. Recognizing his son's precocious nature, his father removes him from Caribbean slavery and takes him to France to grow and live as a free citizen—but also rips young Joseph from his mother, who remains stuck in slavery (for the time being). This development foreshadows the conflicted nature of some of the film's thematic and emotional explorations. Joseph indeed becomes a man of charm, creativity, and athletic talent—and, most notably, a virtuoso violinist whose skill rivals the best of European societies. He develops a friendship with Queen Marie Antoinette (Lucy Boynton), a relationship that becomes complicated by issues of racism, revolution, republicanism, and democracy. More perilous is his relationship with another woman, the deft and beautiful singer Marie-Josephine (Samara Weaving), an involvement that raises matters of patriarchy and nascent feminism, as well as race. Smartly, Chevalier (written by Stefani Robinson and directed by Stephen Williams) suggests that matters of race and class are not always one in the same—this movie is not Titanic adapted for the violin and a Black man. But the film also indicates, of course, that race can implicitly confer an inescapable second-class status, even in the midst of transcendent talent. Thankfully, Chevalier offers no exposition in these regards, allowing the viewer to reflect on such nuances after the film has done playing. Visually, Chevalier's strength is not composition, but a coolly gliding camera and fluid montage, elements that enhance the movie's sense of beguilement. They combine with exquisite classical music—scored by the Contemporary London Orchestra—to make the film stylish and mildly stylized, and they come together in an expertly staged climax that elevates Chevalier and emphasizes its sense of allegory. The gliding camerawork, and fluid string music, and the way that they seem to mirror one another, suggest a sense of historical dreaminess that can verge toward nightmarishness, thus achieving the paradoxical temptation that the film seeks to suggest. This movie is not the gritty, darkly driven film that it could have been, instead relying upon broad strokes and doses of style. Or, to put it another way, Chevalier is not that ambitious. But it is not unambitious, either, and it is effective. In short, if you are looking to see a stylish film that smoothly blends mature enchantment with murky currents, one that is engrossing while offering some historical revelation and social significance, Chevalier fits the bill. I didnt read what you wrote here other than the first sentence or two because I havent seen it yet but I would love to know if you recommend one goes sees this at the cinemas? Nora, I should have returned sooner. I am guessing that Chevalier is no longer playing in any theaters, but in case it might be, yes, I would recommend seeing it in the theater, mainly because of the cinematic skill involved in the climactic montage. The combination of staging, editing, and music makes for a memorable impact, one that amounts to an implicit metaphor. Additionally, the quality of the music is worth hearing in the theatrical format.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 24, 2023 9:11:15 GMT
Based on a remarkable historical story, Chevalier constitutes a "good" film, seamlessly blending sociopolitical allegory with forbidden romance. Without straining for relevance, it offers contemporary resonance, exploring the stirrings of modernity in the period of the French Revolution. The crux of this admixture, of course, is the "mulatto" complexion of the film's protagonist, Joseph Bologne (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), the son of a French slaver and an African mother transported to Guadeloupe. Recognizing his son's precocious nature, his father removes him from Caribbean slavery and takes him to France to grow and live as a free citizen—but also rips young Joseph from his mother, who remains stuck in slavery (for the time being). This development foreshadows the conflicted nature of some of the film's thematic and emotional explorations.
Joseph indeed becomes a man of charm, creativity, and athletic talent—and, most notably, a virtuoso violinist whose skill rivals the best of European societies. He develops a friendship with Queen Marie Antoinette (Lucy Boynton), a relationship that becomes complicated by issues of racism, revolution, republicanism, and democracy. More perilous is his relationship with another woman, the deft and beautiful singer Marie-Josephine (Samara Weaving), an involvement that raises matters of patriarchy and nascent feminism, as well as race. Smartly, Chevalier (written by Stefani Robinson and directed by Stephen Williams) suggests that matters of race and class are not always one in the same—this movie is not Titanic adapted for the violin and a Black man. But the film also indicates, of course, that race can implicitly confer an inescapable second-class status, even in the midst of transcendent talent. Thankfully, Chevalier offers no exposition in these regards, allowing the viewer to reflect on such nuances after the film has done playing.
Visually, Chevalier's strength is not composition, but a coolly gliding camera and fluid montage, elements that enhance the movie's sense of beguilement. They combine with exquisite classical music—scored by the Contemporary London Orchestra—to make the film stylish and mildly stylized, and they come together in an expertly staged climax that elevates Chevalier and emphasizes its sense of allegory. The gliding camerawork, and fluid string music, and the way that they seem to mirror one another, suggest a sense of historical dreaminess that can verge toward nightmarishness, thus achieving the paradoxical temptation that the film seeks to suggest.
This movie is not the gritty, darkly driven film that it could have been, instead relying upon broad strokes and doses of style. Or, to put it another way, Chevalier is not that ambitious. But it is not unambitious, either, and it is effective. In short, if you are looking to see a stylish film that smoothly blends mature enchantment with murky currents, one that is engrossing while offering some historical revelation and social significance, Chevalier fits the bill.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Feb 20, 2023 6:20:16 GMT
I'll see it at some point. And I'll be ready to dodge an oncoming slap through the TV screen. Alas ... see my experience.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Feb 20, 2023 6:19:32 GMT
anybody give that a watch at all. I viewed Emancipation in the theater in mid-December and found it "good/very good"—one of the better films of the year, actually, and one that deserved an Academy Award nomination for Best Cinematography. Director Antoine Fuqua and cinematographer Robert Richardson provide some memorably stylized imagery—plenty of hard, stark, haunting contrasts in an essentially black-and-white movie (with occasional sepia tones or allowing the vegetation to adopt some of its green at times, in a way that might seem distracting on paper yet works in the film). The movie effectively blends abstract and naturalistic styles to create a dystopian yet historically credible portrait, and the editing of veteran Conrad Buff is in accord with that ambition and perhaps deserved an Oscar nomination as well. Emancipation is a real "man's" movie (and I do not mean that women cannot appreciate the film as well). It is unsentimental, unsparing, and gritty, with a great sense of natural terrain, environmental geography, and the spatial-temporal dynamics of a slave escape and subsequent chase. Indeed, the movie is quite atmospheric, reminiscent in that regard of the classic black-and-white chain-gang escape film The Defiant Ones (Stanley Kramer, 1958). By providing a large range of shots, Emancipation captures a sense of outdoor peril and unpredictability. Will Smith is effective in a tense portrayal of the protagonist, "Peter," whose eventual photograph helps to define our understanding of slavery's wickedness and malevolence. In keeping with the movie's overall manner, Smith's characterization is at once stylized and humanistic. He is, perhaps, inherently stiff as a dramatic actor—his generation's version of Charlton Heston, if that analogy makes any sense—but Smith is better and sharper here than in his Best Actor turn in King Richard.Either way, Smith is now deservedly toxic, a status that surely dimmed Emancipation's critical and commercial chances. (I would have liked to have seen it a second time, but it only lasted one week in two theaters in my area.) Early in the film, I briefly became distracted as my mind wandered back to his violent outburst at last year's Oscars, and that is the peril of what he did. But even with the toxic asset that is Will Smith, the man, Emancipation is lean, Gothic, and quite haunting, especially from a visual perspective.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Feb 20, 2023 5:29:00 GMT
... planning to, probably next weekend.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 21, 2022 8:25:01 GMT
I have seen Empire of Light twice—on Monday night and then again on Tuesday night, since Tuesday was the last day that it showed in my city. (The film reached one theater in my city, and for all of four-and-a-half-days.) I appreciated it very much the first time ("very good"), and I loved it even more the second. Indeed, along with The Outfit and The Banshees of Inisherin, I would consider Empire of Light one of the three "great" films from 2022 that I have viewed thus far. I liked Sam Mandes' 1917 quite a bit ("good/very good"), but this film is really much better. Mendes' writing and directing are both superb, and he elicits excellent performances from his cast, not just from Olivia Colman and Colin Firth, but also Micheal Ward as the young male lead ("Stephen") and a host of supporting players, including Tanya Moodie as Stephen's Senegalese mother.
Empire of Light serves as a brilliant metaphor illuminating the relationship between movies and life. It does so unpretentiously, and the visual style is impressive yet also unpretentious. Indeed, whereas Mendes' visual manner in 1917 sometimes called too much attention to itself, here he is pitch-perfect, and one might say that everything about this film is pitch-perfect. It seamlessly blends comedy and tragedy while ultimately transcending both categories. The editing is fluid yet patient, the running length just right, the film totally realistic in tone yet subtly—even latently—dreamy, playing rather like a memory, or a movie. Whereas The Fablemans is a film about a young filmmaker, Empire of Light is about the experience of going to the movies, working at a movie theater, and what movies mean relative to life and the life of the mind—and all done, again, with earnestness and humility and without a hint of self-importance or pretentiousness. It is also a film about race and patriarchy and misogyny and community—large and small—and mismatched people, misfits, taboos.
The dialogue is simple yet elegant, the literary sources and diegetic musical choices outstanding, the subtle piano score used judiciously and effectively. The cinematography is luminous yet never grandiose, with beautiful contrasts that nonetheless are not overly sharp or too stylized for the material and the tone. Empire of Light mixes still shots and graceful, gliding camera movements (one brief, subjective tracking shot is especially memorable while remaining perfectly integrated into the overall visual style), with ample reverse-angle coverage and a great feel for medium-range shots, which can constitute a lost art in contemporary cinema. Again, Mendes suggests how a realistic experience can nonetheless seem surreal, and he does so with tremendous subtlety, with no stylistic hysteria or needless exposition.
The Fablemans is a "good" film (in large part) about the love of cinema, and because Steven Spielberg is its director, it received Golden Globe nominations for Best Picture and Best Director and Best Original Score, whereas Empire of Light received nothing aside from a Best Actress nomination for Colman (Michelle Williams also garnered a nomination, deservedly, for The Fablemans). The same pattern may hold with the Oscars. But whereas The Fablemans hints at poignancy and pathos and fatalism or destiny, Empire of Light actually achieves those qualities and does so with quiet transcendence. It is a powerful movie with the grace of a floating feather.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 3, 2022 7:12:02 GMT
Even if this film does not constitute a remake per se, are we witnessing Spielberg's new vein, given last year's West Side Story?
Personally, I would prefer that Spielberg just leave Bullitt alone. Cooper is one of the best contemporary stars going and could play a disillusioned cop, but making that cop "Frank Bullitt" just invites unnecessary comparisons to Steve McQueen in the original and probably does a disservice to both Cooper and McQueen. Indeed, no younger actor could play Bullitt with the singularity, hardness, and inimitable cool of McQueen—different men, different times.
Of course Spielberg might make a fine film—I found his West Side Story "good/very good," if not quite as good as the original—but why not just create some new material rather than treading on the iconic past?
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 3, 2022 6:45:44 GMT
Wow I laughed out at leat 10 times. The satisfaction one can get from watching a film that carefully and intelligently tears down, tears open, and skewers rich people is incomparable!For that, I would instead recommend Triangle of Sadness, which I saw twice in the theater in November and which I deem "very good," one of the best movies of 2022. It, too, skewers luxury and wealth, but it does so in a way that interweaves race, gender, ideology, imperialism, fashion, and who knows what else—and is deliciously wicked, brilliantly intelligent, and mesmerizing. Its open-ended conclusion is riveting, and the movie is also much more impressive visually than The Menu. In short, Triangle of Sadness is a black comedy and an allegory that actually works and is much more risqué. (That said, I appreciate the fact that our divergent responses to The Menu show that comedy or satire will work differently for different people.)
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 3, 2022 6:32:53 GMT
Just saw it (AMC $5 Tuesdays) It was good. I think I liked Amsterdam more. But this was subtle. Some of the audience clapped at the end. Were it real life, that angel would have been Elon. I did, too, although I found Amsterdam just "decent/pretty good," meaning barely above-average, mainly because of its visual beauty (fluid tracking shots, charcoal tones and dusty lighting, all in perfect sync with the film's satirical tone—which, unfortunately, cannot be said of the stilted, robotically parodic acting, save for Robert DeNiro and perhaps Chris Rock).
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 3, 2022 6:28:45 GMT
Personally, I found The Menu to be "lousy"—one of the two worst movies that I have seen this year, along with this summer's Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris. While The Menu hints at being amusing here and there, especially early on, I almost never found it funny. Meanwhile, its attempts to shock and horrify the audience are way too obvious and contrived, and consequently, so is some of the acting, even from Ralph Fiennes in a central part that ultimately feels superficial. Anya Taylor-Joy does better with this desultory film, but even she is not immune from occasional overacting, induced by the utterly unsubtle material (and perhaps by the director, Mark Mylod). The cast offers talent, and Hong Chau and John Leguizamo probably fare best by underplaying matters slightly. Regardless, the casting could not save a film that serves as a way-too-obvious satirical joke.
There is some ambition here, namely in the filmmakers' desire to say something about idolization and submission, autocracy and sado-masochism, the cultivation of a cult. Indeed, while I briefly thought of Donald Trump at one point during the movie, the denouement instead suggests an analogy to Jim Jones and Jonestown. And there are moments, and portions of scenes, that suggest the potential for an ironic, dynamic, enticing experience.
But the film fails to flow effectively. It feels rushed, and at one hour and forty-seven minutes, it probably should have run two hours in length. Worse, it is a heavily (although unimpressively) stylized movie that nonetheless tries to hint at phenomenology (as if matters are just happening spontaneously and naturally). Blending the two modes is very difficult, if not impossible, and The Menu's attempt is insufferably clunky. Indeed, it fails to foster any genuine mystery, intrigue, or character development.
One receives a bad sign right at the start upon immediately realizing that the sound mixing of the dialogue is too low. (I saw the The Menu at a standard/high-quality AMC theater.) One can hear the dialogue sufficiently, but it does not resonate well and plays too far below the musical score. There is, perhaps, an attempt by Mylod to create a Robert Altman-style atmosphere where lots of different ambient sounds and conversational chatter are being picked up—again, part of The Menu's awkward attempt to blend a phenomenological experience with a heavily stylized one. But that ambition still would not excuse or explain the main dialogue failing to resonate crisply and playing at a much lower pitch than the score.
Ironically, I had just finished Helen Mirren's MasterClass on acting and she notes at one point that if the dialogue in a scene fails to resonate richly and fully, it just throws everything off and can pretty much ruin a film. Unfortunately, all of The Menu is like that, but I would not say that this element ruins the movie. Instead, plenty of elements combine to do so.
(For what it may be worth, there was one other person in the theater when I saw the film on Thursday afternoon, and that person left halfway through.)
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Nov 2, 2022 1:49:08 GMT
It seems to me that the potential prequel that Cregger is discussing would not necessarily lend itself to the black comedy—the seamless blend of horror and parody—that he effortlessly achieved with Barbarian. But given Cregger's directorial creativity and irony, one cannot put anything past him.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 12, 2022 4:24:46 GMT
I did not care for Little Women (2019), but Midsommar, from earlier that year, is a good horror film—intriguing and ironic, with a strong sense of composition—and a fine showcase for Pugh's ability as an actress. I saw it three times in the theater that summer. Come to think of it, Pugh's role there is not entirely dissimilar from her protagonist in Don't Worry Darling. I remember the ads for that. Horror isn't really my thing, but it did look interesting! ... me neither, but Midsommar offers some sociological or anthropological irony, and it is pretty chilling without being supernatural at all. And, as I indicated, it is visually impressive, too ... definitely worth a view at some point. It also fared well enough in theaters to the point where the studio released a director's cut several weeks after the initial release (the director's cut constituting my third theatrical viewing).
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 8, 2022 3:53:51 GMT
Zach Cregger doesn't think it will get a follow-up. Never say never, Zach. We're supposed to be getting a Constantine 2!
I don't see how Barbarian lends itself to a sequel or a prequel at all—it is (or should be) a one-off.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Oct 8, 2022 3:39:24 GMT
I have viewed Barbarian twice and like it quite a bit—"pretty good" the first time and a full-fledged "good" on the second occasion. The film is essentially a black comedy that seamlessly blends horror and parody—not an easy feat at all, but one smoothly achieved by writer-director Zach Cregger. It is also well-edited and well-shot, especially in its tracking shots within tunnels. The use of tunnels within the frame, distant or partial lighting within the frame, and frames within the frame creates an appropriate sense of uncertainty, dread, and claustrophobia. Indeed, even when I saw Barbarian for the second time, I found a couple of moments to be genuinely freaky. While some of the shots are self-conscious, that style is suitable for a horror flick (and a parody), and they do not interfere with the viewer's immersion.
There is also an oblique sense of historical and social commentary to the film, especially as expressed in the flashback sequence—the white flight, the "ghettoization" of Detroit, the understaffed and unresponsive police. (And in that latter regard, Cregger smartly avoids a simplistic racial argument, showing that Black cops can be unresponsive and inattentive, too, especially when it comes to sexual crimes against women.)
The casting works as well, and so does the acting. When I viewed the film the first time, I thought that some of the acting could have been better with more improvisation to create greater naturalism—either that, or the actors were improvising too much and not that convincingly. But seeing the film for a second time dissuaded me from those thoughts because I better appreciated the movie's parodic quality. Likewise, the somewhat unusual approach to narrative—deliberately discrete in a manner reminiscent of some of Quentin Tarantino's films, most notably Pulp Fiction—makes more sense once one gains a better feel for the movie's sense of parody and irony. If one views Barbarian for a second time, one will really understand how cohesive Cregger's vision happens to be. Again, it is not easy to blend horror and parody, especially in a way that offers genuine scariness and also some serious and intelligent social commentary. This film is a real treat.
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