April 24, 2024

13.3.24 In Poor Things, Yorgos Lanthimos creates a gorgeous, fantastic world of boundless energy and creative spirit. Emma Stone’s Bella, resurrected by Willem Dafoe’s well-intentioned but unhinged scientist Dr. God, possesses a novel outlook on life, untainted by the passage of time, social prejudices, or the fear of causing offence. Lanthimos’ technical prowess shines through in so many parts of the film. Whether it’s the magnificent set design or the delightful otherworldly cinematography, it all enhances the already impressive performances from the ensemble cast. Mark Ruffalo, in a role that feels tailor-made for his talents, delivers a comic performance that elevates the tone of the film to one of constant humour and originality. The opening 40 minutes are so electric that I found myself compelled to pause and revisit some of the uproarious one-liners over dinner, just to savour their brilliance once more. Emma Stone’s Oscar-worthy performance as Bella is one of unrestraint, serving as a poignant commentary on the patriarchal bonds constraining women. Initially grappling with the world’s deep-seated gender prejudices, she gradually softens to societal norms surrounding childrearing, marriage, and the repugnant aspects of ‘polite society.’ However, some moments feel uncomfortably voyeuristic, particularly when Lanthimos fetishises Bella’s encounters with elderly, hirsute, and foul-smelling clients at a Parisian brothel. Despite the brilliantly effective humour framing these scenes, Bella remains the object of a lecherous male gaze. The inescapable feeling is that this exploitation extends beyond the character and onto Stone herself, her willing participation and subsequent Oscar not negating the troubling nature of these scenes. Despite these quibbles, Poor Things manages to deliver a strong payoff as Bella’s character evolves to gain a deeper understanding of human behaviour and motivations. The film’s misguided message and hypersexualised elements may be off-putting, but it remains an impressive and often hilarious piece of work. At well over two hours long, the movie occasionally struggles to find its footing in terms of pacing and resolution. An impressive and often hilarious piece of work for those who appreciate Lanthimos’ unique brand of storytelling, even though the over-eroticism personally put me off.

16.4.24 Like most of Wim Wenders’ work, Perfect Days is a slow, hazy, and reflective tale that meanders at its own pace. While I typically enjoy Wenders’ contemplative style and the film’s connection to 70s rock icons like Patti Smith and The Velvet Underground, Perfect Days left me feeling underwhelmed. Apart from piquing my curiosity about toilet architecture, it’s an outing that has failed to hit my wavelength. Koji Yakusho’s performance as Hirayama is undoubtedly the film’s highlight. His muted yet powerful portrayal of a man resigned to his tedious daily routine is often sombre and occasionally compelling. Yakusho’s weathered face in the final moments is a masterclass in conveying the depths of human emotion without uttering a word. His character’s simple actions, though seemingly mundane, take on a poignant quality, inviting the viewer to find comfort in the ordinary rhythms of life, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The unique dream sequences are also impressive, although I feel like there are too many of them. But the film’s lack of context and backstory regarding Hirayama and his relationships with his sister and wider family proves to be its greatest flaw. While the narrative’s nuanced circularity and gentle pulse are admirable, I couldn’t shake the sense of frustration at the missed opportunity to delve deeper into themes of loneliness, solitude, and Japan’s ageing population. The film’s ambiguity left me yearning for more substance and a greater emotional payoff. Despite being impressed with the final moments, it’s a shame it didn’t register with me where it has for so many other lucky viewers.

17.4.24 I swear that with each year, British directors get more impressive and skilful with their debut films. Electrifying, tense and culturally rich, Monkey Man greatly balances self-aware action against a fleshed-out backdrop of Hindu nationalism, a bold first outing from one of the UK’s most promising leading men Dev Patel. Monkey Man is set in a fictional Indian city called Yatana – a sleaze-soaked urbanscape where every vice has a price tag. It’s the kind of place where money and power breed corruption, keeping the poor utterly invisible. Words like gritty and scuzzy don’t begin to describe the seedy underbelly Patel thrusts us into. He both directs and stars as the lead Kid, a human punching bag who comes up with a plan to avenge a past wrong. It’s not a wholly original concept: with themes of retribution and physical improvement through training always being seen as woven into the fabric of the archetypical revenge movie. Patel brings a fan’s appreciation of the genre to his film-making and does not attempt to hide his references. He makes light of being compared to John Wick, for example in the scene when the gun dealer says he has the same gun as from the film series but a ‘made in China’ version. In the fight sequences, Patel looks to Indonesia for inspiration. He attempts to match both the sympathetic everyman quality and the bloodbath intensity of action phenomenon Iko Uwais, star of The Raid. The highlight of the film is one of the final fight scenes, with many of them feeling like end-of-level boss fights. Kid has to work his way up to get to the big shots, including the corrupt and sadistic chief of police (Sikandar Kher), who impressed me as an incredibly imposing villain who would not be out of place in a video game such as The Last of Us. The film also refers tangentially to tribal land grabs and slum clearances, and a simmering Modi-esque culture of division and hostility, but it is all a little too vague to coalesce into actual political commentary. But that’s not so important; what is, though, is that Dev Patel cements himself both as an action star with A-list ambitions and a competent, resourceful B-movie director. Some plot points work better than others, for example, his allyship with the transgender Hijra community feels tacked on. Thus, Monkey Man is not perfect, but it does not have to be. The film feels alive, with all the rush of Drive or Uncut Gems. Just like Patel, this is a film which reflects the best of what the East and the West have to offer cinematically. A killer debut.

23.4.24 Late Night with the Devil works very well on two fronts – as a short, sharp horror movie, and as a vehicle to showcase David Dastmalchian’s leading man potential. Ever since his standout turn as Polka Dot Man in the brilliant Suicide Squad reboot, I’ve felt he deserves a chance to take centre stage. Well, now he has it. Dastmalchian imbues the role of a late-night talk show host with a calm, understated confidence that makes him a natural fit. The film takes its time with the documentary-style setup but effectively builds an eerie, Halloween-themed atmosphere. While the supporting characters are thinly written due to the short runtime, they each get a moment to shine and add entertaining flourishes to the bizarre scenario that unfolds throughout the eventful evening. I don’t want to spoil the highlight, but suffice it to say one character overshadows the others with a performance so intensely memorable it dominates the insane finale. Intriguing threads are dangled about Bohemian Grove, the real-life gentleman’s club with alleged occult links under its tall trees, as referenced by the film’s pseudo-villain. The only issue is it leaves you craving more, though that just lends the movie great rewatch value and sparks online discussions about potential satanic group involvement. It’s a very effective horror feature that again shows Shudder as a studio adept at reliably chilling features that offer many talking points.

19.4.24 As a cinema-going experience and comment on journalistic ethics in a globalised world, Civil War works well and hits hard. The issue is that despite some great acting, the characters are very thinly written, and their fate can be telegraphed right from the start of the film. Alex Garland, known for his growing body of cerebral films, deliberately keeps Civil War opaque in its creation of conflicting groups. For example, how the hell would the so-called Western Forces of California and Texas (as President Nick Offerman calls them) ever conceivably rustle up enough power amongst themselves to overrun the USA, with their huge gulf in cultural and political stances? There are many questions in Civil War, and only some of them get answered. Too much is left unsaid about what happened in this near-future USA, which may frustrate viewers, but does feel like a deliberate choice by Garland. The film delves into the ethics and risks of neo-liberalism, exploring what too much freedom might look like. It reminded me of Florida citizens during COVID-19 who would rather die than wear a mask, such an impingement on their freedom, despite the potential mass benefits to others. With Trump’s Capitol insurrection still fresh in our minds and the possibility of his re-election, Civil War has staying power, at least for now. I liked Caileen Spaeny’s performance, much better than in Priscilla, and the showstopping, frankly terrifying portrayal by Jesse Plemons. The peppering of war photography in real-time is effective and reminds one of the current conflict in Gaza and the brave journalists putting their lives on the line to show the true costs of war. The intensity is gripping, and despite my predictions coming true about the predicaments of the female characters, it still traverses to some really interesting and shocking places. Civil War doesn’t take a clear stance politically, much to its credit, but it holds a mirror up to the global risk society that we are all a part of. Much like the fearless war correspondents it depicts, it’s a timely story that presents a haunting reflection of our troubled times without easy answers. Not Garland’s best work, but the type of film that just keeps you guessing what sort of brainfuck he will rustle up next time.