Releases from 2023

29.12.23 A Serbian film. Kill List. Irreversible.  There are many infamous films known for how fucked up they are. The problem, I think, with Beau is Afraid is that it is fucked up, surrealist and relatively mainstream all at once, due to the popularity and past horror success of director Ari Aster. In that sense, it is a letdown due to the pressure from past prestige and the terrifying originality of the director’s other celebrated works. Aster’s third and most loftily ambitious film, Beau is Afraid is an intolerably long, self-indulgent tale that blurs the line between visual sadism and actual entertainment. Trolling the audience from the getgo with its two hours and 59-minute runtime, the film subjects viewers to Joaquin Phoenix’s full-blown and unadulterated role as Beau; a character of sheer exasperation, until finally, blessed relief comes in the form of Beau’s mother, played by stage legend Patti LuPone. Amongst a huge cast of stars, she surprisingly ends up being the highlight of the narrative slog, even if her character is the reason the build-up is so boring. The weighty themes that Beau is Afraid attempts to explore end up lost and meandering due to the film’s emotional hollowness and inability to evoke universal relatability. The fantastic cast, including Nathan Lane, Amy Ryan and even less known actors like Hayley Squires (I, Daniel Blake), try their hardest but seem unclear on the actual meaning of what’s unfolding before them. Aster, known primarily still for his atmospheric horror films Midsommar and Hereditary, seems to think the despair itself is funny in an absurd, pathetic way. But as a huge fan of Aster’s previous work, I felt that none of the attempts at black comedy landed. What comes across most strongly in Beau is Afraid is seeing it as a commentary on American Jewish neuroticism; one that tries to channel the sentiments of Woody Allen and Larry David by way of Freudian psychoanalysis. But these half-baked ideas never coalesce into anything meaningful. With such scale and expertise available, Aster had a golden chance to lead many intriguing concepts to fruition but instead blew them on a bloated film far less fascinating than what viewers have come to expect from him. Congested and infuriating, but with certain unforgettable moments, Beau is Afraid is a film I’d be unlikely to revisit even if forced.

24.7.23 “We sell dreams, imagination, and sparkle…and when you think of sparkle, what do you think of next? Female agency.” Barbie is one of the funniest and most socially acute films of the year. It also gets bonus points from me for being a fantastic cinema experience at a raucous weekend showing in Camden. Naturally, it portrays a candy-floss world of subversion, where every pink artifice is both an ideal and a self-aware commentary on our Westernised consumerist culture.  Greta Gerwig has directed the source material with flair, and clearly has an exacting understanding of the line between embracing and parodying the character’s legacy within the Mattel framework which we are sure to see for years to come on the big screen. I have to give credit where it’s due because I’ve really not been a fan of her or writer Noah Baumbach’s work over the years. Ryan Gosling is frankly, fucking hilarious as the vacant yet good-natured Ken, eliciting delight with his oblivious line deliveries and keen commitment to the role’s inherent absurdity. The audience at my screening practically laughed every time he appears on the screen, even before opening his mouth. It’s akin to his comedy performance in The Nice Guys but turned up to eleven. He nearly steals the film if not for the perfectly cast Margot Robbie; she channels Barbie with grace and surprising nuance, and her journey frequently subverts expectations, veering into wild tangents and surprising directions.  The storyline explores relevant themes of women’s societal positioning and gender inequality through Robbie’s inspiring assertions and emotional releases. Whimsical dance numbers underscore the film’s self-awareness, such as the fantastically energised ‘Dance the Night’ sequence. While shamelessly upbeat in tone, the film also carries a sincere emotional weight at its core, with Barbie’s desire for independence and pursuit of self-definition sure to resonate with many viewers. I think most kids below teenage years may not understand what’s going on, and it’s sure to rub a certain breed of men up the wrong way but that’s not an issue for me and most adult cinema-goers. While highly saturated in bubblegum shades, Barbie has many cerebral and eye-opening issues for us to consider regarding modern femininity. It’s the rare type of accomplished film that is funny, subversive and visually dazzling without being deemed as ‘arthouse’ or pretentious. A true meta film that both pays tribute to and slyly comments on an iconic cultural symbol.

16.12.23 “Welcome to the asshole of Los Angeles…” 2023 belongs to Margot Robbie and Babylon is her fucking zenith. It’s a debauched 3-hour epic that throws a lot of blood, vomit, animal shite and snake venom on the screen. Not all of it sticks, but I had a blast watching it over two nights. It may be too sloppy and uncontrolled to be a truly great film, but I don’t know why I waited so long to check it out. The first 25 minutes is archaic, jaw-dropping cinema. It’s one of the best opening scenes I’ve seen in years, and for better or worse, it reminded me of The Deer Hunter’s extended wedding opening scene, and more obviously Chazelle’s La La Land. The first hour introduces us to many likeable characters and maintains a brilliant pace and energy before things start to drag a bit from the hour mark up until the last 40 minutes. But it certainly captures the pounding enthusiasm of Chazelle’s other musical numbers on the screen and goes a step further in terms of ambition and scale. Due to Robbie’s vibrant performance, another easy comparison is Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, with the huge cast, golden age LA setting and the backdrop of aspiring to stardom. Margot Robbie’s role specifically echoes her Sharon Tate performance which is clearly intentional and just reminds the audience across both films what a huge, deserved talent she is. Chazelle shows keen insight into the era, using the cast’s free-flowing chemistry to comment on how the end of the silent film era often left talents stranded, which also allowed me to make the comparison to Hazanavicius’ The Artist. The ending is a beautifully cerebral and emotive experience, almost feeling like a separate film in how Chazelle masterfully brings this ode to old Hollywood and Los Angeles together. It displays all his talents and hallmarks as a director while providing meaningful commentary on the costs of ambition. Babylon may be overlong, but it’s one wild ride with incredible highs that make it worth the slower points. The final sequence speaks to deeper societal shifts, showing that reaching one’s dreams while maintaining a moral compass can be as difficult as ascending to fame and the supposed glory that comes with it.

6.7.23 Asteroid City offers visual schtick and striking colour schemes, but overall feels rather contrived and hollow. It’s full of “it’s that actor!” moments, which is fun in a novelty sense, but the film crucially lacks narrative impact. Wes Anderson as usual assembles an immensely talented cast, but the play-within-a-play construct feels more ambitious than interesting, and distances us from forming an emotional connection with what unfolds. Whilst the premise of students at a 1950s space camp awards night has initial intrigue, and the retro production design surrounding it pleases the eye, the staging and story sequencing are jarring, flashing disjointedly between government bureaucracy, TV teleplay insertions, and a vast range of postmodernist devices. Overall, elements meant to draw us in instead feel like they hold viewers at arm’s length. I’ve heard others say this is the director at his most ‘Wes Anderson-ness’ which I do agree with; an observation that his recent films lack some of the warmth and charm compared to The Grand Budapest Hotel or Moonrise Kingdom, my two favourites of his. With roles both big and small, stellar performers like Tilda Swinton, Margot Robbie, and Adrien Brody leave barely a mark. Amidst the crowded canvas, only Jason Schwartzman registers a commanding performance in duel roles, succeeding in both ‘worlds’ as a widowed father and screenwriter scrambling to pull the TV show backstory together. Visually, the UFO arrival stands out as a confident spectacle, with its eerie aftermath and awesomely surreal Jeff Goldblum cameo making it particularly memorable.  While not without inspired moments, Asteroid City lacks the core emotions and coherence of Anderson’s best. I would have enjoyed it so much more without the black-and-white scenes and more time in the desert, but you have to give it to Wes for always pushing his creative tendencies. As a summer screening, it does pair well with Oppenheimer as two films about isolation set in the desert, and even Barbie as two colourful, postmodern fables. It doesn’t put me off the work of a remarkable auteur, and I’m intrigued to see what Anderson does in shorter form with his upcoming Netflix film later in  the year.

2.1.24 I swear I’ll never be able to listen to 50 Cent’s music the same way again. Anatomy of a Fall reflects a remarkable high in intensely dramatic, dialogue-driven cinema. It also, but less seriously, makes a compelling case for adding a new Oscars category honouring animal actors, because the dog here almost steals the show. This is director Justine Triet’s first film worthy of mention, with its storyline coming to fruition during the COVID period. It’s an effort brimming with intelligence regarding observations on marriage, as it probes all the high lows, secrets and compromises within domestic life.  Lead actor here Sandra Huller demonstrates once again her status as a seriously impressive actor following the triumph of Toni Erdmann a few years back. Her upcoming offering in 2024, The Zone of Interest under Jonathan Glazer’s hand, should similarly impress and I am so here for it. Here a German woman who speaks English mainly and tries to speak French pretty damn convincingly creates lots of facades and muddies her statements, creating more confusion around who she is, which is an element I have never before seen in a film like this, to its massive credit. Thanks to Triet, Anatomy of a Fall impeccably probes the enigmas central to this whodunit with extreme precision, intricately layering characters, reactions and hypotheticals against each other, making the film both an exceptional courtroom thriller as well as a marital case study. Aside from Huller and Snoop the dog, the whole cast shines throughout the film, as it feels they are so in tune with the required dramatism needed to make the story so compelling. The script is complex but precise, belying satisfying surprises at every turn. It’s well-balanced in its use of both French and English dialogue to maximise accessibility, which is obviously why it is proving itself so popular as one of the best of the year. Its shocking moments and expert editing must be singled out as particular strengths.  But what makes the film so special is its willingness to leave some questions unresolved regarding the fall, fully intriguing without frustration. Another key pleasure is how it teases both scenarios of what happened through shocking, intensely dramatic moments expertly edited for maximum impact. But the concrete mark of masterwork lies in the uncertainty; the lingering doubts and a missing puzzle piece that stays maddeningly out of reach. For all its hugely impressive elements, this uncertainty forms the pinnacle of the film’s appeal. Ultimately, the opaqueness of Anatomy of a Fall’s mystery cements its emerging reputation as a contemporary dramatic masterpiece. Such bold directorial choices re-introduce Justine Triet as an impressive new cinematic voice who has helmed a five-star tour de force, of mystery and doubts that refuse resolution. Unmissable. My favourite film of 2023.

24.3.23 Alice, Darling deals with the fact that a relationship doesn’t need to be physical or aggressive to be abusive. It doesn’t contain any surprises or say anything groundbreaking about domestic violence in our current society, but its performers give it what for. It’s also neatly edited and therefore effective as an 80-minute movie, which goes a long way these days. I didn’t care much for the side quest plot about the missing girl in the woods, and I felt more interested in plot holes rather than meaning at the end of the film, but it’s engrossing while it’s on and like ‘Women Talking’ does make you reflect on how power and control can corrupt intimacy. Anna Kendrick is pretty good in it, but Wunmi Mosaku is excellent (His House, Loki), so I’d happily single out her performance as the standout feature.

19.3.23 Alcarràs is a film that intelligently looks at human fear, seen through four different perspectives in a Catalan family working on a peach farm. Through the eyes of the bloodline’s elderly patriarch (legacy), his outraged son (injustice), teenage grandson (rebellion) and innocent granddaughter (friendship), varied yet universal subject matters are skillfully explored. It’s not simply a tale of ‘the capitalists versus the people’, which makes the conflict of the film delicate and complex, suiting its subtle style. There is no antagonist of such, so instead the film plays with the idea of ‘progress’ being the enemy, especially when some members of the family become hostile to change and others less so. I feel like the film is at its strongest during the scenes with the young children. Their distaste of ‘the big trucks and scary men with the solar panels’ but at the same time showing them to have kind and tender moments with the black immigrant workers to be really effective. I found it to be a smart commentary of the ever-present immigration debate in Europe which seems to get more ugly and complicated with every passing year. However, I do think the film is at least  20 minutes too long, and there are some characters and scenes which don’t add to the overall feel and message of the film. I also felt that it could have been elevated with an effective score or soundtrack but nothing memorable is present. 

17.8.23 In her directorial debut, it’s hard to gauge whether A.V. Rockwell loves New York City or hates it to the core. Her impressive feature, A Thousand and One, is a poetic urban commentary of a city that is too often romanticised or simplified, and not always truthfully depicted. Rockwell delivers an authentic portrait of life in 1990s Harlem that reflects an affection for black culture and state policy disillusionment in equal measures. Through the eyes of Inez, played with grit and toughness by Teyana Taylor, we witness the complex push and pull of her relationship with the city she calls home. Though she dreams of a fresh start after prison, the draws of drugs, crime, and unreliable partners continue to ensnare her. Much like Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight, the film utilises a three-pronged structure to intimately explore Inez’s journey at three pivotal points in her life, in satellite with her son Terry and love interest Lucky.   At its core, A Thousand and One is a reflection on how our environments shape us, but also how the ones we love are the ones who can hurt us the most. Inez’s complicated relationship with Harlem mirrors the complexities of family – full of frustration and heartache but bonded by deep, unbreakable love. Anchored by Taylor’s moving lead performance, the film I think heralds the arrival of a bold new cinematic voice in Rockwell. Her lyrical ode to the city she knows so intimately resonates with raw truth and glimmers of the soul of America’s black working class.