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QuickView: Beau is Afraid (2023)

“I really thought I was gonna die, my whole life.”

Beau Wassermann

A darling of the A24 production company, writer/director Ari Aster’s third feature is A24’s most expensive to date, an anxiety-ridden, absurdist dark comedy that displays flashes of brilliance within its messy and often inscrutable three hours. Ostensibly about a man’s fraught journey home to visit his mother, Beau is repeatedly waylaid by strangers in a narratively loose series of surreal events in the vein of the Coens’ O Brother, Where Art Though? This is not so direct an adaptation of The Odyssey but its influence is evident. Pawel Pogorzelski, who has shot all of Aster’s feature films, has his work cut out here as each sequence adopts a wildly different style, from the agoraphobic terror of a city block and a sitcom-bright house in the suburbs to a nighttime forest and a vibrantly saturated handmade landscape of cardboard set dressing — it must have been like shooting a dozen short films at once. The through-line is Joaquin Phoenix’s performance as the neurotic Beau, though this is far from his best work as he stumbles through in dazed paranoia. More interesting are the repeated glimpses of his mother and his childhood as the source of his fragile state, with memories bubbling to the surface, often literally emerging through water. Presented entirely from Beau’s unreliable perspective, Aster provides little opportunity for the viewer to find their footing within this heightened reality — a challenging experience that some will relish. As the credits appear over an audience silently shuffling out of a vast auditorium, there is no question that Beau is Afraid is an audacious endeavour but it is hard to tell if we have travelled any distance at all.

6/10

QuickView: Leave The World Behind (2023)

Leave The World Behind posters

“As awful as people might be, nothing is going to change the fact that we are all we’ve got.”

Ruth Scott

Unfolding during an impromptu vacation to a remote hamlet outside New York, this apocalyptic tale bears thematic similarities to White Noise in its examination of the affluent middle class response to events outside of their control, displaying complacency, mistrust, and terror. Sam Esmail rose to prominence after creating the superb Mr Robot (he directed 38 of its 45 episodes), a meticulous audiovisual experience of paranoia and isolation. In Leave the World Behind, adapted from a novel by Rumaan Alam, Esmail reunites with Mr Robot cinematographer Tom Campbell, who deploys unnatural framing like overhead shots and frame-filling geometry, or gravity-defying camera angles, drawing out the ominous from the mundane. This is coupled with stunningly captured modern apocalyptic imagery — an oil tanker run aground, fleeing autonomous vehicles, and migrating animals invading human spaces. Although the score’s vibrating strings can become unnecessarily overbearing at times, Esmail delivers a masterclass in ratcheting tension through slow release of information and calmer sequences that foster a growing sense of fatalism. A recurring suggestion is that our perception of society as functional and logical is simply a communally accepted delusion. Leave The World Behind has already proved divisive and there is plenty to critique — the character interaction often feels hollow despite the acting calibre of the leads, and the film is undoubtedly overlong; ultimately, however, viewers’ enjoyment is likely to depend on whether they appreciate Esmail’s pervasive cynicism about the modern world.

8/10

QuickView: The Three Musketeers: D’Artagnan (2023)

“I don’t insinuate. I am the King.”

Louis XIII

Since the invention of cinema, Alexander Dumas’ swashbuckling serial of adventure and intrigue has provided fertile inspiration for filmmakers. This decade’s update arrives as a two-part French epic, the first French adapation in over 60 years. Opening with a brawl in mud and rain, D’Artagnan begins his adventure by literally pulling himself out of a shallow grave, setting the film’s darker tone. Martin Bourboulon contrasts the grimy streets of Paris with the warm golds of the aristocracy’s furnishings. The impressive cinematography keeps action visible even in the dark, whilst maintaining a strcitly controlled colour palette, most scenes featuring only a single hue. At times the film subtly adopts D’Artagnan’s perspective through sound design and visuals, like the muffled audio as he recovers after being flung from his horse, or a nighttime ambush where we see only the blades of his attackers as they strike from off-screen. The biggest names deliver the most impressive performances — a brooding Vincent Cassel as the falsely accused Athos, and Eva Green vamping as Richelieu’s spy, Milady. Played straight (though retaining a dash of humour), the pacing may be a little slow for some viewers but I found this to be easily the most polished of The Three Musketeers’ recent adaptations.

8/10

QuickView: El Conde (2023)

“The trouble is that love dies before the body does.”

Narrator

The darkly satirical horror of El Conde reimagines Augusto Pinochet as vampire born in Revolutionary France, director Pablo Larraín using the imagery of vampirism not merely to fictionalise but to examine Pinochet’s crimes and his lasting legacy. There are thematic similarities with the legacy crafting in Larraín’s Jackie, exploring an individual’s desires through their performance — Pinochet’s children may attend him because they cling to his wealth, but his focus is how he will be remembered. In justifying his actions, he is presented as a figure of absurd cognitive dissonance: though he squandered Chile’s wealth, he is bitter at being remembered as a thief, and he simultaneously wishes to be revered as an intellectual but excused for his regime’s violent excess as being tricked by those around him. The sombre black and white imagery suits the subject matter, allowing for contrasting extremes of inky blood and white-robed nuns. Larraín opts to use native Spanish for dialogue but a strangely posh English narration that makes sense only once the narrator makes an appearance. This voiceover lays bare Larraín’s intentions behind the vampire allegory, explaining that Pinochet turned people into “heroes of greed”, both leeching and virulent. It is a less subtle approach than other work from Larraín, but the characterful narration serves its purpose and increases the accesssibility of El Conde.

7/10

QuickView: Knock at the Cabin (2023)

“Ultimately, whether the world ends or not is completely up to you three.”

Leonard

Knock at the Cabin is a variation on the home invasion movie where a group of strangers demand that a family sacrifices one their number to prevent an apocalypse. Much of the film is spent discussing whether the intruders are perpetrating a hoax, are deluded cultists, or genuinely come with divine purpose. A more intellectually rigorous script might have made this exploration enjoyable but the flimsy evidence offers little to critique. Shyamalan continues to assemble interesting casts — Dave Bautista is the standout here as Leonard, a softly spoken gentle giant, with support from the likes of stage veteran Jonathan Groff and Rupert Grint a world away from his typical comic relief, along with an impressively natural debut from 9-year-old Kristen Cui. That talent is underserved by the lacklustre script and direction which fail to garner the necessary audience buy-in. It sits a notch above Old, but it seems that mediocrity is now the best the once-heralded Shyamalan can be expected to deliver. Knock at the Cabin might have been a serviceable episode of one of the many dark anthology shows currently streaming but, as a film, it is an uninspired home invasion where everyone is an unwilling participant, including the audience.

5/10

QuickView: Missing (2023)

Missing poster

“Mom, where are you guys?”

June

Directed by the co-editors of 2018’s wonderfully unique Searching, Missing tells a similar story and deploys the same storytelling conceit, unfolding through applications on a screen, but it suffers for the comparison. Inverting its predecessor’s story, June is an 18-year-old searching for her missing mother who disappears while on holiday — June is well equipped to investigate as a tech-savvy youth and, naturally, a true crime afficionado. Missing is less faithful to its screenlife gimmick than Searching, and the issue with this half-measure is that the whole exercise becomes a clunky method of storytelling without the same consistent voyeurism. It does deliver a more involved story with a well-executed midpoint twist, though its later revelations become distractingly convoluted. Storm Reid is believable as June, but a frequently sullen and detached teenager is a far less engaging protagonist in a medium that already distances the audience through layers of interface, clouding any emotional investment. There is enough that works to make Missing worthwhile but the inescapable déjà vu serves as a constant reminder that Searching delivered something all to similar in a more effective package.

6/10

QuickView: White Noise (2022)

“Family is the cradle of the world’s misinformation.”

Jack

“White noise”, both figuratively and literally, may be an apt description of Noah Baumbach’s dialogue style, a skill he has deployed with varying effectiveness over the course of his filmography. White Noise, adapted from Don DeLillo’s breakout novel, seeks to explore the anxieties at play in a typical 1980s American middle class family, a pervasive existential dread and specifically fear of death. As someone with an apparently atypical relationship with my own mortality, I am perhaps not best placed to opine on Baumbach’s presentation but these were frustrating characters to observe navigating their issues. This is through no fault of the actors — Adam Driver is an ever-reliable lead, as a professor who is more a performer than an educator, and Greta Gerwig is similarly effective as his wife, though her character becomes increasingly absent over the course of the film. Divided into a series of discrete but thematically connected events, the most resonant was a train derailment that spews a toxic cloud into the air — whilst the children worried, Jack displayed a complacency that they would be unaffected by the disaster, shielded by their privilege — and there seems to be an underlying suggestion that American society is particularly ill-equipped to deal with events outside their control. This broader social satire is White Noise at its best, like man who demands attention because he is scared, as if his fear would be validated if deemed newsworthy. The detailed period recreation is impressive, and at times astonishing like a meticulously stocked supermarket filled with old branding. Production, costuming and acting are each impressive in isolation but White Noise feels considerably less than the sum of its parts, its increasingly absurdist tone distancing the audience from the subject matter.

5/10

QuickView: Smile (2022)

“It’s smiling at me. But not a friendly smile. It’s the worst smile I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Laura Weaver

Content warning: suicide, trauma

I am a sucker for minimalist, high concept horror and writer/director Parker Finn’s feature debut Smile may be the best example since 2014’s It Follows. After witnessing a patient’s suicide, hospital psychiatrist Rose becomes terrified that a supernatural presence is stalking her, leading her toward the same fate. Like It Follows, the method transmission serves an allegory, in this case for the way that trauma begets trauma from one person to another. Although there is some gore to be found, it is the simplicity of the rictus grins which plague Rose that make Smile so unnerving. These false visages serve as a metaphor for masking — the need for neurodivergents to wear a veil of normality in public — something that Rose finds herself increasingly unable to maintain. Returning to a theme of Finn’s previous short film Laura Hasn’t Slept, Rose’s sleep deprivation becomes a factor in the horror – it is writ large on Sosie Bacon’s face, drained of colour, but it also provides a legitimate reason for the common horror trope of nightmares bleeding into reality. Smile may do nothing groundbreaking, but Finn deftly weaves the mechanics of horror with the awkwardness of human interaction to craft something truly memorable.

8/10

QuickView: Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (1987)

“What happened? Why at the age of 32 was this smooth-voiced girl from Downey, California, who led a raucous nation smoothly into the 70s, found dead in her parents’ home?”

Narrator

Content Warning: eating disorders

Long before Barbie — in fact when Greta Gerwig was just four years old — Todd Haynes created a fascinating student project which used the dolls to portray the life of Karen Carpenter. Filming animated toys is itself nothing novel, but Haynes’ specific combination of Barbie with Carpenter’s life and particularly her anorexia nervosa created a powerful statement about society’s treatment of women and celebrities. In contrast to the previous decade’s rock and roll, the Carpenters’ melodic pop was marketed as “clean cut”, imposing a particular image on siblings Karen and Richard. The use of dolls presents a clear statement about the way in which musicians are controlled and puppeted within a society driven by consumerism rather than art. Barbie’s particular body shape was no accidental choice for a film focused on anorexia (at times adopting the style of a Public Service Announcement) — not only would anorexia-related complications eventually lead to Karen’s death, but Haynes portrays a life dominated by a desperate desire for control. Her family are often protrayed in a grotesquely distorted manner and Superstar may have a subversive tone but it is only ever sympathetic to the tragic figure of Karen and it is overtly critical of society’s treatment of female celebrities in particular. The result reflects unpleasantly back on Barbie herself, as much a tacit subject of the film as a tool. Meanwhile that same treatment of female characters and controlled image is a thread that would run through Haynes’ work, including Carol and most recently May December.

7/10

QuickView: A Good Person (2023)

“In life, of course, nothing is nearly as neat and tidy.”

Daniel

Zach Braff takes a more conventional and less self-indulgent approach to his latest film (he remains firmly behind the camera) and this provides greater space for the central themes of grief and addiction to flourish. A Good Person is not subtle in its writing but is elevated by towering performances from Florence Pugh and Morgan Freeman as individuals linked by loss arising from the same car accident. Allison’s grief is masked by painkillers to which she becomes addicted and Pugh’s portrayal is a study in showcasing both the inner pain and how it it muted. Freeman’s portrayal of Daniel is fuelled by anger as a man struggling to be better than he was. Additional connective tissue is provided by Celeste O’Connor as the teenager Daniel is ill-equipped to raise and who forms a connection with Allison. Shot in a more naturalistic style than we have previously seen from Braff, this is a tender film with genuine emotion even if its execution is frequently heavy-handed. If one focuses on the addiction side of the story (which commands an outsized portion of the running time) one will be disappointed by derivative depictions but, taken as a whole with its commentary on grief and the way that those still grieving can aid one another, A Good Person has more to offer than may initially appear.

7/10

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"A film is a petrified fountain of thought."

(CC) BY-NC 2003-2023 Priyan Meewella

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