While I consider myself somewhat of a novice when it comes to Mikio Naruse, having explored the canon of nearly every other titan of Japanese cinema far more by comparison, the one thing that always seems to stand out when it comes to this celebrated filmmaker is the touch of delicacy and grace that seems to envelope much of his work.  When A Woman Ascends the Stairs is no different, being a tender, humanist study of one young woman's struggles in an unforgiving society.  Set in 1950s Tokyo, When A Woman Ascends The Stairs takes a naturalistic approach, chronicling the life of Keiko, a woman who works as a bar hostess in Tokyo's Ginza district, entertaining businessmen after work .  Regardless of being sharp, resourceful, and strong-willed,  Keiko struggles mighty to find her own sense of independence through both personal and financial freedom, falling victim to the oppressive system she inhabits, no matter how hard she tries, one that is completely dominated by placing men atop of the pedestal.  Lustrously photographed in monochrome and featuring elegant direction from Naruse, When A Woman Ascends the Stairs is a quietly devastating drama which paints a rather harrowing portrait of woman during this era of Japan, one in which their successes and failures were inherently linked to their relationships with men in their life.  There is nothing abrasive or overly dramatic about When A Woman Ascends The Stairs, rather a sense of calm, steadfast execution, being a film that lulls you to sleep in a sense as it evokes the entrapment felt by its main protagonist.  For Keiko, her choices begin to appear quite simple, either get married or struggle to makes ends meet.  In an effort to establish herself independently, she attempts to buy a bar of her own, but it becomes apparent that even this will be extremely difficult, due to her family routinely hounding her for money, and the continually debt she accrues by simply performing her job as a barmade/hostess in order to evade becoming a woman of the night, if you know what I mean.  While When A Woman Ascends The Stairs is quite harrowing, following the ups and downs of Keiko's struggles for independence as a woman, the film never falls into a sense of despair, nihilism, or even pessimism, with Naruse optimistic spirit ringing out in the final frames, as Keiko herself keeps on pushing forward, optimistically believing that she will someday own her own bar, and by proxy her own independence form this male-centric culture.  Beautifully photographed and exquisitely understated, Mikio Naruse's When A Woman Ascends The Stairs is a powerful showpiece of Mikio Naruse's filmmaking, being a film that is harrowing, yet optimistic, encompassing the range of emotions associated with a hard-working individual being a victim of the system.
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Justin Lin's Star Trek: Beyond picks up in the middle of the USS Enterprise's five-year mission into uncharted territory, finding Captain Kirk and his crew arriving at Starbase Yorketwon, a remote outpost on the fringes of Federation space.  When an unexplained frequency from deep space is discovered, the USS Enterprise volunteers to explore the peculiar signal, unknowingly venturing into a trap that leaves the Enterprise completely destroyed, with much of its crew stranded on an unknown planet.  With no means of communication, limited supplies, and no apparent means of rescue, Kirk and the other survivors of the USS Enterprise are forced to ban together, using their wits in order to defeat this new, unknown enemy who seems to have a lot of hatred for the Federation.  Justin Lin's Star Trek: Beyond is a tightly-paced, action-packed thrill ride that should appease most fans of large-scale science fiction adventures, though it may leave some of Star Treks more devout fans grasping for straws, due to the film's breakneck pacing and overall lack of intelligence.  There is an intellectual bankruptcy to Star Trek: Beyond, in that Justin Lin shows very little interest in any real form of characterization, outside of a few strong narration moments from Kirk, with the film feeling like a sequence of strung together action set pieces first, relying on the past film's character development to supply the emotion and drama of this story.  The characterizations that do work, work due to their reliance on the actors and the relationships built through the prior films in the series and the overall brand, with basically every new character in the film, specifically the main baddie, feeling very paper thin and simply there to serve the narrative thrust of the story.  What we get in turn is 120 minutes of blockbuster entertainment, with Justin Lin providing the viewer with loud and bombastic action that also feels more grounded than typical, mainly due to much of the film being spent outside the USS Enterprise.  The film looks great in its big moments but it's in Star Trek: Beyond's smaller moments where film holds its footing, stripping these characters of their technologically-fueled specializations and forcing them to survive on a more primal scale, one in which communication and trust are the most paramount.  Do I wish we could have had the best of both worlds? Absolutely, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I enjoyed Justin Lin's Star Trek Beyond, due to its simple, straightforward approach that is unquestionably dumb in aspects, but also very economically made, cramming a fun, explosive blockbuster filmmaking into 120 minute frame, which sadly in this day and age of blockbuster style filmmaking feels like quite the accomplishment.

Noah Pritzker's Quitters reminds me a lot of another American independent film I saw earlier this year, The Automatic Hate.  While these two films have very little in common from a story, character, and thematic perspective, both films are infectiously brazen in how they tap into uncomfortable aspects of human emotion.  Centered around a dysfunctional family, specifically Ben, the teenage son, Noah Pritzker's Quitters reveals how damaging emotional trauma can be on the psyche of any individual, as the story reveals subtly and sometimes not-so-subtly, the sources of Clark's emotional pain that is related to feeling like part of a failed family.  In the opening sequence we are introduced to Clark's mother, an emotionally unstable woman who appears to be suffering from some severe form of mental instability or chemical imbalance.  With her seeking rehab, Clark becomes further despondent, having absolutely no one to talk to outside of his father, a man who he sees as primarily responsible.  The film never goes into complete detail about the father's treatment of Clark's mother, but as the film progresses it becomes clear that much of Clark's behavior, which even borders on sociopathic at times, is directly related to his inability to externalize his own frustrations about his dysfunctional family, and his father's selfishness being the root cause.  After his mother goes to rehab, Clark instantly struggles to control his emotions, internalizing his anger and frustration, while simultaneously becoming vulnerable in how he immediately seeks companionship in the form of a girlfriend.  This sends his presumably best friend, Etta down her own path of self-discovery when she rejects his overbearing talk of love and companionship that is clearly out of line, given their age and the nature of their relationship.  Even at school Clark's interactions exhibit a sense of frustration and angst, with one memorable scene being how he attempts to comprehend why he got a B+ for his paper, poking and prodding his teacher about intricacies of grading an essay, attempting to comprehend on an ordinal scale as his teacher explains that emotion is a very important aspect that is hard to define.  Quitters' brazen nature comes out when Clark essentially attempts to find a new family unit through the courting of Natalie, another classmate.  Clark says and does all the right things but it becomes increasingly apparent that Clark's love is not directly related to Natalie but more about her family, one he perceives as sophisticated and well put together.  I describe this behavior as sociopathic because as the film progresses, Clark becomes uncomfortably close to Natalie's parents, forming an unhealthy relationship in which he is treating them as a surrogate for his own.  Quitters is a film that really forces the audience into an uncomfortable situation, watching this awkwardly unfold in a way that touches on Clark's internalized anger towards his father and his situation in life.  Perhaps the best way to describe Quitters brazen style is pulp psychology, being a film that pushes the envelope of what is comfortable for a drama, in order to examine emotional trauma, mental illness, and family dysfunction.  Featuring strong performances from everyone involved, Quitters' may not be the most intelligent film about a complicated issue but it's an emotionally entrancing one, mainly due to its bold storytelling. 

Ivy Meeropol's Indian Point is a detailed look at the nuclear industry, focusing specifically on Indian Point, a nuclear power plant sitting merely 17 miles, give or take, from New York City.  Providing an intricate look at the core activities of this aging nuclear powerplant, Ivy Meeropol's Indian Point provides a surprisingly well balanced examination of this industry, exposing crony capitalism, corruption, and simple bureaucratically negligence, focused specifically on finding answers related to the most importance question of all, are these nuclear plants safe?  A rather by-the-numbers documentary, Indian Point is simply compelling due to the host of elements it untangles, focusing on how the Fukushima power plant disaster provided deadly warnings that have not been fully embraced by the federal government or the industry itself, questioning why this has occurred and the potential risks associated with this negligence.  One of the more interesting aspects of Indian Point is how it exposes the Nuclear industry being almost one solely built on a lot of trust, relying on engineers to competently do their job day in, and day out, with a slight mistake potentially proving catastrophic.  The film never questions their credentials, but simply suggests this isn't fair to the engineers, never cheapening itself to overbearing fear mongering, which is probably a biproduct of its balanced documentation.  Indian Point interviews local residents, government employees, industry employees, environmentalists, activists, and journalists, even wisely dedicating a lot of time to the engineers who work inside these power plants.  What becomes quite apparent about Indian Point is that everyone is to blame, from the government failing the industry and vice versa, due both to cronyism and straight up bureaucratic incompetence.  If one example sums up the tangled web of failures in which the Nuclear industry currently sits, it's how the local government itself in New York is now fighting the cronyism of the federal government, unwilling to even risk any potential disaster when so many live in such close proximity to Indian Point.  While I wish Indian Point was a little more balanced when it comes to focusing on how there are really no other competent alternatives to nuclear energy currently, the documentary casts a wide net in its depiction of the current state of the Nuclear Industry, revealing that perhaps the most frighting aspect of all this is that the industry relies more on faith than facts when it comes to safety.  

Catherine Corsini's Summertime is a story about the undefinable, unclassifiable nature of love, featuring the unlikely romance between Carole, a Parisian schoolteacher and feminist activist, and Delphine, a young woman who grew up in the rural area of France, the daughter of two Limousin farmers.  The film opens in the countryside, introducing us to Delphine's modest lifestyle, one in which the gender roles are strictly defined due to the environment in which they inhabit.  While Delphine's father works long hours outside, and Delphine's mother handles all responsibilities on the domestic side, Delphine herself oogles one of the area's other young woman.  When the source of Delphine's affection rejects her, suppressing her own lesbian tendencies due to traditonal  family values, Delphine decides she needs a change of scenery, leaving the family farm for Paris.  Soon after she meets Carole, instantly feeling attracted to her strong personality and outspokenness about the treatment of woman in this world.  Carole's characterization is one of the weaker elements of Summertme early on, a character who becomes confused about her sexuality due to Delphine's persistent passion for her.  While probably not unintentional, Summertime unwisely exhibits the close-nit relationship between lesbianism and feminism, something that really weakens Carole's characterization early on.  It's almost as if the film felt it necessary to add more stakes for Carol, attempting to use her break up with her boyfriend as a symbol of her commitment to Delphine. Carole's ending of her relationship with her boyfriend is given very little focus in Summertime, a decision that weakens her own characterization.   The problem is the character is also having a big discovery about her sexual orientation,  yet the film never dedicates much time to exploring this moment of self discovery for Carole, a decisions that weakens various thematic threads of the film centered around homosexuality, feminism, and independence.  Delphine's characterization is by far the strength of the film, being strong from beginning to end, a character whose journey is the centerpiece of the film.  Delphine isn't a character who denies herself the pleasures of her sexual preference, yet she lives her life in hiding, fearful of her traditional mother and father finding out about her homosexuality.  In Paris, she is alive due to being free from the gaze of her parents, yet when Delphine's father falls victim to a stroke, she immediately rushes back home to help her mother run the family farm.  The back half is where Summertime gains momentum, with Carole herself finding her love for Delphine tested, being forced out of her urban environment and thrown into the polar opposite, rural environment.  On the farm is where Delphine's insecurities come bubbling to the surface again, hiding her homosexuality from her parents, fearful of their reaction to her "nontraditional" sexual orientation.  The strain of Delphine's festering secret and Carole's uncomfort with this rural lifestyle is where Summertime thrives, putting the couples early idyllic romance to the test in an honest and heartfelt depiction of what it means to fall in love.  Through the relationship between these two characters Summertime reveals the importance of being oneself, suggesting that it can be extremely hard due to preconceived notions about homosexuality, but inevitably a necessary step in order to find happiness and love.  Leaving the farm behind becomes a symbolic representation of Delphine finding her personal freedom, with perhaps the Summertime's strongest aspect being its ability to capture how hard that can truly be.

Daniel Burman's The Tenth Man is a story about the relationship between personal identity, community and tradition, following a character in Ariel who for a long time has struggled to embrace the Jewish community in which he was raised in Buenos Aires.  After years away, Ariel receives a phone call from his father Usher, which prompts Ariel to return to Buenos Aires in an attempt to reconnect.  The founder of a charity foundation in Once, the city's bustling Jewish district, Usher is extremely busy, and on Ariel's arrival, he finds himself getting entangled in his father's vast array of charitable commitments.  In the process of trying to track down his father in person, Ariel meets Eva, an independent young woman who is a part of the Jewish community, someone who ultimately aids in helping Ariel come to grips with the traditions and the community that have unnecessarily divided Ariel and his father.  Daniel Burman's The Tenth Man feels like a very personal story, a low-key effort focusing on a character in Ariel who never seemed to be able to find his place in this world.  Much of his personal solitude stems from the perceived neglect of his father, a man in Usher who is extremely dedicated to serving his community.  This has led Ariel to somewhat resent the Jewish community and their traditions, a man who left Buenos Aires in an effort to escape this perceived slight, one in which he saw his father focusing on the community more than his own son.  It's only through Ariel's interactions with Eva that he begins to become comfortable in his own skin, understanding the notion that he can maintain his independence and singular voice while still embracing the community.  The Tenth Man is a film that spells very little out for the viewer early on, a lowkey film that relies on setting and character to define its story.  The film's message is simple yet borders on heavy-handed at times, with much of the first half revolving around Ariel's frustrations related to the countless tasks his father asks him to carry out for the community.  The whole experience of Daneil Burman's The Tenth Man feels deeply personal but also slight, and I'd be lying if I didn't find the pacing of this film severely lacking at times.  The whole story, centered around Ariel's angst towards the Jewish community due to his father's neglect, comes relatively into focus early on, and while I'm always a fan of minimalist work, The Tenth Man simply wasn't meditative or contemplative enough to keep me engaged.  Ultimately about a character finding himself and being comfortable where he came from, Daniel Burman's The Tenth Man has an important message but unfortunately doesn't show the nuance in execution to be anything particularly special.