Alice Low's Prevenge is a unique, enjoyable, and inquisitive horror experience, a film centered around Ruth,a troubled pregnant woman who is reeling from the loss of her baby's father who died tragically in a climbing accident. Prevenge is the story of a woman out for revenge against those who she perceived to have wronged her, a film that blends comedy and horror elements extremely well, focusing on the exploits of a woman who communicates directly with her baby in the womb, unable to discern the difference between her imagination and reality. Prevenge is a film that beautifully taps into the fear and responsibility associate child birth, showcasing a woman who is lashing out violently in an effort to cope with having to raise this child alone. Playing in the realm of pregnancy and childbirth, Prevenge subverts the nature of a woman's changing body in such a situation, with Ruth not only at the mercy of her child physically but also emotionally. Stylish and subversive, Ruth's communicates with her child, a coping mechanism of sorts that drivers her to seek revenge of those who have wronger her. The film's tone is playful and violently giddy yet what is so surprising about Prevenge is its ability to raise surprisingly heartfelt story of one woman's need to accept the tragedy that has been bestowed on her by the forces that be. Prevenge is a story about the need for acceptance, being much more introspective than most horror films of its kind, with our main protagonist confronted with this sense of solitude, fearful of having to raise this child on her own. Her revenge tour involves her senselessly murdering a host of characters' which she feels wronged by, attempting to cope with tragedy, as the film manages to be surprisingly introspective but also a helluva a lot of fun. I particularly enjoyed the film's nod to the 1934 film, Crime Without Passion, with Alice Low juxtaposing the legendary opening scene with that of her protagonist, playfully deconstructing a woman who is out of her mind due to the emotional damage she has been through. A film that should be enjoyed by both horror junkies and those who simply enjoy a unique and subversive story, Alice Low's Prevenge is a stylish descent into madness, tapping into the fears and anxieties related to childbirth and the responsibilities it bestows on the individual.
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Confrontational, brooding, inquisitive, and transfixing, Tim Sutton's Dark Night is a minimalist portrait of American culture set against the backdrop of the Aurora California Cineplex massacre, a film which attempts to deconstruct how such heinous acts of violence can manifest themselves, leaving a lasting impact on the viewer long after the credits roll. Detailing the lives of six strangers, most of which are only connected by the massacre which takes place, Dark Night is a film that offers up a series of vignettes, detailing both the victims and the shooter himself, drawling parallels that are uncomfortable but essential in trying to understand how an act like this could have come to fruition. Tim Sutton's film uses static photography and space to evoke a sense of stillness and alienation, with all the characters, including the perpetrator, suffering from some form of personal emotional pain, each seeking some form of connection in different ways. From a workout warrior who slaves away attempting to be the best perceived version of herself, to a veteran who struggles to rehabilitate himself back into society, Sutton's film draw parallels between both the victims and the man responsible for taking their lives, detailing how much emotional pain and personal strife are universal concepts. The shooter himself is a character of utter isolation, a young man whose angst and bitterness towards society are pushing him down a dark road, one that ultimately leads to violence. The other characters share similar acts of pain and emotional isolation too, with Dark Night being a film focused on tapping into the true importance of having human connection, the need for relationships and how our shared humanity and kindness towards one and other are essential to us not falling down a path of hate. While the film makes no excuses for such heinous violence, Dark Night details how feelings of isolation can lead to anger and violence, seemingly rejecting the notion of mental illness in a sense, due to all these characters having their own emotional strife. Sutton's film isn't deeply political but it does have something to say about our culture's obsession for violence, showcasing how it's all around us, though it never pretends to disregard the importance of personal accountability either. Meditative and brooding with atmosphere, Sutton's film slowly approaches its horrific conclusion but in the end it's the director's refusal to show the actual act in which the filmmaker makes his most profound point. We see the before and after but never the actual act, with Dark Knight effectively focusing on the cause and effect of such violence, with the filmmaker creating a minimalist portrait of alienation and sorrow, one which begs the viewer to question to true nature of how an individual could carry out such violence towards their fellow man. An inquisitive deconstruction of such a horrible tragedy, Tim Sutton's Dark Night is a singular vision of pain, alienation, and violence, being a film which doesn't pretend to offer up any true answers to such tragedy, as it attempts to try and understand how something so terrible could happen. Denis Villeneuve's Arrival is an atypical large-scale Sci-fi blockbuster, a film more interested in heart and humility than action or adventure, being an experience which attempts to deconstruct a host of ideas centered around humanities penchant for fear and rejection of concepts they simply don't understand. Those going into Arrival expecting an action/adventure film are sure to be disappointed, as Arrival's intentions are squarely rooted in slow-burning suspense, deceptive negative structure, and its thematic ideals, being a film which unfortunately falls victim to having a message that at times feels very heavy-handed and overly sentimental. Centered around Dr. Louis Banks, a linguist who is recruited by the military to assist in translating the communications of an alien species, Arrival taps into the utter importance of open communication and interaction, something that is sadly in very low demand these days by many, with it being far easier to villianize those who are different than even attempt to understand where they are coming from. With mankind teetering on the verge of global war, Dr. Louis Banks races to find the answers behind the mystery of these Alien's intentions, with Denis Villeneuve creating a film brooding with mystery and a quiet, foreboding atmosphere, one that feels very much like a cinematic riddle, placing the viewer into the same headspace as the protagonist. Denis Villeneuve's Arrival laments on humanities need as a species to put away our petty differences, touching on he importance of unification and understanding, but the film is more clever than profound, playing with narrative structure in a way that certainly keeps the viewer engaged from start to finish. My main problem with Arrival is while its message is important and certainly novel, the film divulges into overly sentimentality and simplicity far too often, with the film feeling completely underwhelming once its overall riddle is solved. Aspects of this film are downright silly in nature, with many of the supporting characterizations, such as the CIA director and Colonel of the military for example, feeling laughingly one-dimensional and inorganic, simply there to serve the thematic intentions of Villeneuve's film. Featuring an important message about the overall need for open communication and understanding, Denis Villenueve's Arrival is more clever than profound, being a film that divulges into sentimentality and simplicity in the back half of its running time, which is unfortunate given the mysterious atmosphere, tension the film manages to create in the beginning. Scott Derrickson's Doctor Strange is a film heavily steeped in the franchise-based, Marvel archetype that the studio has developed over the years, being a film about an arrogant, egotistical character who is confronted with the realization that he doesn't have all the answers, facing an existential crises of sorts. Through this character's newfound perspective he begins to define what a true hero is supposed to be, empathetic to others embodying Spiderman's classic line "with great power comes great responsibility', thanks Uncle Ben! Centered around a world-class neurosurgeon, Stephen Strange, whose arrogance has left him without many close confidants, Doctor Strange tells the story of man who sees his livelihood eviscerated after a tragic car accident leaves him with severe nerve damage in his hands. With western medicine offering no answers, Strange reluctantly turns to the hidden world of eastern medicine and mysticism to save his career, inadvertently discovering everything he knows is a lie, that the universe is full of alternate dimensions, and he himself must act as an intermediary between our world and what lies beyond in order to save the human race from oblivion. Doctor Strange is a film that very much fits thematic and narrative formula that has made the marvel cinematic universe a financial juggernaut but luckily for us, the film's metaphysical nature and creative visual design make the film quite enjoyable, and one of the more psychedelic mainstream film's I've seen in awhile. Dealing with a ton of exposition, given the film's more dense metaphysical ideals, Doctor Strange can get a little tedious at times, but nearly every-time the film becomes tedious and didactic it wows with an impressive visual flair, providing a delicious amount of escapism and thrills that make the film worth seeing. A times the film fails to be inclusive to the entire audience, providing little context to certain references within the marvel landscape, but at this point it's to be expected from these films, and thankfully it hardly matters due to the film's unconventional world-building and action sequences. The performances themselves are all by-the-numbers, but it's the film's ability to find the humor in its borderline absurd concept that keeps the film from feeling too monotonous in tone, with the humorous climax being one of the standout moments of the entire film. While Doctor Strange is certainly generic superhero fodder, when viewed through the lens of the Marvel Cinematic Universe the film does enough to distance itself with psychedelic visuals and well-thoughout out action set-pieces, being a pleasurable experience which still fits into the tried and tested mold. Terence Davies' The Neon Bible is a lyrical and transcendent coming of age story, a film which provides a heartbreaking examination of religious oppression and sociocultural collectivism in small-town America, detailing the exploits of David, a young, teenage boy, who reflects on his early years, his abusive father, his suppressed mother, and his flamboyant aunt, Mae, who served as a shield for young David against his troubled surroundings. Reflective in nature, The Neon Bible looks at the restrictive, old-fashioned culture steeped heavily in misogyny through the lens of a small young boy, detailing the oppressive forces of Evangelical Christianity, which both psychological and often physical plague his mother, a woman who is effectively trapped under the collective's perspective of right and wrong. While David's mother falls down a death spiral of abuse, depression, and forced-servitude, Aunt Mae does her best to protect the young boy from witnessing this unfair treatment, a flamboyant character and lover of the arts who views performance as her means for escape. Like most of Davies' films, The Neon Bible's lens for the viewer is the memories of its main protagonist, with young David rarely witnessing direct abuse, confined to experiencing the aftermath of such pain and oppression, one in which his own mother slowly drifts into what one could define as borderline psychosis. Aunt Mae shields young David from witnessing much of the abuses of this culture, with her flamboyant demeanor and care-free nature distracting David from the true horrors of the world which he inhabits. Played beautifully by Gena Rowlands, Aunt Mae is a character of such quiet pain, a woman with no alternatives but to run from such rampant misogyny and collectivism, with her affinity for the stage being rooted in the fact that it's the one place in which she can feel important, free, and alive. She is a tough character, who who has been used and abused by a system that essentially views woman as secondary to men, masking her own pain for the sake of young David who is far too young to understand the magnitude of his mother's abuse. As the film progresses, one begins to realize that Aunt Mae's own cockiness, her general flamboyant demeanor, are a biproduct of her environment, with her care-free nature being the only way in which she has been able to remain sane in such an oppressive culture. While The Neon Bible's critique of evangelical Christianity is biting and important, I'd argue the film's real triumph is how it exhibits the flaws of collectivism, with the small-town christian community being steeped into collectivist thought. Jack's mother is a character who is slowly grinded down by the collective beliefs that plague the small town, with The Neon Bible painting a portrait of a society in which everyone thinks the exact same and individual thought is looked down upon, viewed as a nuisance to god and the common good. It's through this collective ideal that society knows what is best for everyone that Jack is forced into adulthood, striking down a man of the cloth who "wants to help his mother", unwilling to see his mother's individualism crushed under the weight of collective any longer. The visual acumen of Terence Davies is almost singular, and The Neon Bible is no exception, being another cinematic achievement that is best described a visual poetry, with Davies slow crawling camera capturing the ethos of this story, a young man reflecting on his childhood and the path life has led him down at this point. Heartfelt, compelling, intelligent, and artistically crafted in every way, Terrence Davies' The Neon Bible may not quite stand up to his earlier works, but it's without question another impressive film from the great English filmmaker. Adam Irving's Off The Rails is the remarkable, yet heartbreaking story of Darius McCollum, a man with Asperger's syndrome whose overwhelming obsession of transit has landed him in jail over 30 times. Impersonating NYC bus drivers, train conductors, and track repairman, Darius has been arrested repeatedly for criminal impersonation, yet he keeps returning to his Nirvana, with the recurring threat of jail time offering little as a deterrent. Being both a in-depth human interest story, as well as a investigative study of our prison system and mental health, Off The Rails provides a potent portrait of a man in Darius who has been chewed up and spit out by the cold, impersonal American judicial system, one that simply cannot cater to this man's unique needs. In-depth in execution, Off the Rails attempts to deconstruct how past experiences and environment impact an individual and explain who they are as human beings, detailing how Darius from an early age found himself in a state of seclusion, struggling to find his place in the world. Violently picked on in school, and the son of a somewhat despondent father, the only place Darius seemed to find some semblance of warmth was in the metro, with the various transit employees treating the young man with a level of respect and dignity that he was simply not accustomed too. With Asperger's Syndrome, individuals effected tend to struggle socially while simultaneously fixating on routine, so for Darius the transit system became the best of both worlds for him, a place he became attached to due to the acceptance, comfort, and security he felt there at an early age. His multiple arrests, while certainly warranted, are not the actions of a benevolent man, but a man seeking some from of connection and peace, one which unfortunately could put many in danger, due to Darius' fixation with impersonating bus drivers or train conductors who have the responsibility and liability of transporting thousands of people daily. Off The Rails taps into the psychological nature of a man such as Darius, arguing that the grandiose nature of his arrests, the attention he receives, becomes a toxic cycle of abuse, as Darius' thirst for any form of connection almost becomes fueled on a subconscious level by the attention he gets from the media and strangers every time he is arrested. he is a character who effectively loves the transit system, placing it above everything else, a peculiar but fascinating infatuation which is at least partially explained by his troubled upbringing and his Aspergers. Rehabilitation not incarceration is the major revelation of a film such as Off the Rails, a film which remains light in tone but direct in its critique of a system focused more on containment than helping individuals. Darius as a man is quite unique, a man acting out of compulsion, not vindictive in any way, yet due to the large bureaucracy and impersonal nature of the criminal justice system he finds himself treated the same as hardened criminals, with his most recent arrest placing him at potentially 15 years to life. Adam Irving's Off The Rails doesn't pretend to have the answers to such a complex and unique situation as Darius McCollum, only offering a window into the world of such a unique and tragic man, being both a deeply personal human interest story and a biting commentary on the impersonal nature of the American judicial system. Based on a true story, Jeff Nichols' Loving recounts the struggles of Richard and Mildred Loving, an interracial couple, who were sentenced to prison in Virginia in 1958 for getting married. With little power of their own to fight the state's bigoted stance, Richard and Mildred were forced out of the very place where they grew up, the only place they ever knew, forced to retreat to the urban landscapes of Washington D.C. where they are at least aloud to be together. As time passes, and Richard and Mildred's family grows, their irritations with being away from the countryside intensify, leading to the ACLU taking on their case, one that is eventually settled in the supreme court. A story that is loaded with emotion and an important message about bigotry and racism, Jeff Nichols' Loving is another Hollywood film that could have easily rested on its laurels, relying primarily on its powerful subject matter to touch the audience. Fortunately, Loving is much more than that, being a film that understands the importance of finding the humanity in each of its characters, detailing their struggle in nuanced ways, tapping into the fundamental nature of love itself as these two characters live for one and other, unwilling to be torn apart by the outside, vindictive forces of the world. While the story itself provides the heavy lifting, it's the characterizations themselves that make Loving more than an important reminder of our troubled past, detailing both Richard and Mildred's shared and personal struggles as they try to raise and family in Virginia. Joel Edgerton's portrayal of Richard is one great example of that, a simple-minded man who struggles to even fundamentally grasp the reasons why the state won't allow himself to be married to Mildred, unable to psychologically grasp such bigotry, only concerned with loving and caring for his wife. Richard is a character who is too simple to grasp the gravitas of the situation he finds himself in, a man who wants nothing more than the media circus and attention to go away, so he and his wife can be left alone in the countryside where they are can raise their family in peace. A good man, Richard's simplicity or naivety toward the gravitas of the situation provides the perfect window into the absurdity of this law against interracial marriage and/or reproduction, a law that fundamentally takes the rights of both him and his wife Mildred, stripping them from their ability to choose where they live, own property, and raise their children. Mildred as a character is much more aware of the bigotry which exists, a sharper character than her husband who we can only assume has seen it first hand due to the darker complexion of her skin. She is the stronger character in a lot of ways, the one that pushes Richard to fight for their ability to choose where they life, growing tired of the restrictive spaces of Washington DC, intent on returning to the open spaces of the countryside, a place where she has always called home. She is a character of optimism and fortitude, one that never gives up home, knowing very well that her husband himself simply doesn't grasp the racial bigotry which permeates, something which one could assume makes her love him even more. Perhaps the most important aspect of Loving is that it never goes for the cheap, shock drama that plagues many films dealing with subjects of racism, with Nichols understanding that such a story has absolutely no need for overdramatic moments of grandeur, relying on his subtle film-making to captures the quiet, oppressive, restrictive culture that both these main characters' find themselves in. The landmark decision iteself, one that takes place in the supreme court, is regulated to the background by the end of Loving, with Nichols interlacing the supreme court proceedings with the Loving family going about their day, with the landmark verdict only being captured on screen via a phone call, as if Nichols' subtly reminds the viewer that this has and always has been about family and love, focusing on the very characters who are now free to live in this country with the same freedoms as all. Featuring a subject matter that provides more than enough emotional fireworks, Jeff Nichols' Loving elevates itself among mere Oscar fare due to its well-developed characterizations, nuanced direction, and its fundamental understanding of the true importance of this story, one about two individuals who simply want to have the same basic individual freedoms bestowed to all Americans. Mel Gibson's Hacksaw Ridge is a powerful, albeit emotionally forceful drama recounting the true story of WWII American Army Medic Desmond T. Doss, who became the first Conscientious Objector in American history to be awarded the Medal of Honor. Detailing his life from an early age through the Battle of Okinawa, Mel Gibson's Hacksaw Ridge has an emotional through-line that is hard to deny, being a film that taps into the fundamental preciousness of life itself, detailing even in scenes of brutal chaos and extreme wartime violence the true value of human life. Hacksaw Ridge is a film about how courage, bravery, and toughness are defined, deconstructing how physical aesthetic is merely a facade of such traits, with Desmond T. Doss's convictions for what he believes in being what makes him stronger, more courageous, and braver than many of the men he served with during the Battle of Okinawa. Doss is a man who doesn't believe in killing, no matter what, and while his perspective is fundamentally singular, he still wishes to serve his country and what it stands for the best way he knows how, being a medic. Beneath this story of courage, bravery, and the horrors of War, Mel Gibson taps into the fundamental nature of America's most important attribute, individual rights above that of the collective or the majority, detailing a man in Desmond T. Doss who is harassed and abused by his own fellow soldiers early on for being different, with his individual freedom's and convictions in what he believes not being shared by nearly anyone around him. His path isn't an easy one, far from it, but it's through his actions, not his words, that he gains the respect of the men around him, becoming a hero to many, and a man who the members of his unit know they can count on in times of extreme brutality and war. Gibson further illustrates the importance of what America stands for, as well as the precious nature of life itself through clever juxtaposition towards the end of the film, contrasting Doss with that of the remaining Japanese soldiers who have been defeated, even detailing a Japanese commander perform harakari on himself after the defeat of Okinawa, a ritual in Japan that involves disembowelment as an honorable alternative to surrender. While Doss' personal convictions lead him to reject the populace opinion of killing in wartime, he is still able to serve and perform his duties in the end, with his individual personal and religious freedom's being held at a higher regard than that of countries's will, something that can't be said for the Japanese soldiers. The Japanese soldiers sacrifice their lives for their country, a novel concept sure, but one that is steeped in honor for country not individual freedoms, taking their own life over surrendering to another country. While about half the film details Doss' fight for his right to serve his country in a way that doesn't go against his personal and religious beliefs, when the Battle of Okinawa takes center stage it doesn't disappoint, with Gibson instilling the film with a heavy dose of brooding, ominous atmosphere, with the scorched landscape and dust-filled, hazy air evoking a sense of hell on earth. The war sequences are incredibly visceral, extremely violent, chaotic, and seemingly genuine in capturing the horror of battle, with Gibson never shying away from detailing a realistic portrait of the extreme violence which took place during the battlefront. With Doss being a medic, much of the film takes place in the quietness between confrontation, giving Gibson's lens adequate time to survey the landscape, with the stench of death, pain, and misery being Doss' bedside companions as he surveys the landscape, looking for wounded men who need his help to survive. Many war films are borderline juvenile in their anti-war message, but Mel Gibson's Heartbreak Ridge is honest about war itself, understanding the true horror of it while simultaneously recognizing that, at least during World War II, it was fundamentally necessary for the sake of maintaining the individual freedoms that America and Western culture itself were founded on. While some of the dramatic beats of Hacksaw Ridge can certainly feel forceful at times, it's hard to deny Mel Gibson's talents as a filmmaker, being a director who demonstrates a strong fundamental understanding of story structure while simultaneously showing a visual eye that is very effective in creating a visceral experience. |
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June 2023
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