The Outfit

Spoiler-free!

The Outfit is a movie set in the 1950's, inside a single tailor shop, where the bad guys are mobsters, and no one can be trusted, and it stars Mark Rylance, Johnny Flynn, Zoey Deutch, and Dylan O'Brien, which reads to me more like a fantasy football lineup for movie stars than a cast list that would ever actually happen. And yet—somehow—it misses the mark on feeling like a film that was made just for me. 

I can't say that makes it a bad film at all though. Far from it. It has a concise and thought-out structure to it that gives it a very intentional feel. Much like the suit that Mark Rylance's character cuts and sews throughout the story. It treats filmmaking as a structured craft more than a freeform art, and the tone that sets goes well with a plot set inside a tailor's shop. It has strong bookends, gently interwoven themes, and conversations that are deliciously subtextual and often subtly intense. And despite its neat structure, it does many things that you won't expect, that turn the plot into new and interesting directions. The overall picture is as neat and trim as a new suit. 

And yet... when you look closer, things begin to, shall we say, unravel. Some of the twists and turns may feel so completely unexpected because they couldn't reasonably happen in reality. In small things, only ever little details, the writing skirts by, making important plot changes happen on the flimsiest of foundations. Sometimes characters will tell lies that make no sense at all, yet the characters being lied to buy it without question. We the audience might notice at first but then be lulled back into the story by the character's belief, or another lie or another twist that makes us forget the last one. On and on it goes until it neatly wraps up the ending and hopes you won't remember the skimping that happened in the middle.

And as much as I enjoyed the conversation-heavy thriller aspect, and as much as I generally go for single-location stories, those things here often felt to be a waste of the cast's talent. They do a lot—particularly Mark Rylance in the lead—but never reach a point where the roles seem to be a challenge. The learning and dedication required for Rylance to become a convincing "cutter" (as he calls himself) seems like a normal Tuesday for him. Same for Johnny Flynn's underperformed and cool villainy. Same for Zoey Deutch's sweet, but tough, but sweet, but tough receptionist. Same for Dylan O'Brien's tendency to lean into the physicality of his roles. I'm a fan of all four, particularly Rylance and O'Brien, so seeing a film that exists to highlight performance keep them to this "comfort zone" was a little disappointing. But maybe that's not fair of me.

I think at the bottom of this mystery, the disconnect I feel with it is in the plot itself. Perhaps a little in the skimping of plot turns, but mostly in the turns themselves, that took the story further and further from where I wanted it to go. Maybe it's not fair to claim this as a complaint either, or maybe the story really would have served itself better by taking more predictable but more manageable turns. Regardless, the craft is undeniable, often fascinating, and worth a look.

Parasite

Spoiler-free!

This Oscar-nominated South Korean dark comedy tells the story of the Kim family. It all begins when the son, Ki-Woo (Choi Woo-Sik) is approached by his friend who's hoping he'll take over tutoring a rich girl he likes. He trusts Ki-Woo not to steal her out from under him, and doesn't care that he technically isn't qualified to tutor. Ki-Woo's sister Ki-Jung (Park So-Dam) forges university papers for him and he's off. But the rich mother also has a son who she considers a budding artistic genius. Ki-Woo sees an opportunity for his sister to get in on the enterprise too, and soon she has become a "prodigious art teacher." The next steps are to get their also unemployed father (Song Kang-Ho) and mother (Chang Hyae-Jin) into the household, but that may take more than some white lies and the slope keeps getting slipperier...

The Kim family! Pleasant, charming, devious, criminal.

The big appeal of this story is how unique it is. A poor family that literally lives halfway underground in a cramped and stink-bug infested home, slowly and steadily infiltrating a rich home that sits high up on a picturesque hill. While they're on top of the world, the Kims talk of living in the house as theirs -- and in a way they do. And when they're low, they're literally existing in the gutter with sewage surrounding them. It's fascinating to watch their plans and schemes unfold, especially because plans never go the way they're planned to. The plot is like watching a slow-spiraling plane crash and a beautiful rocket launch at the same time.

Bong Joon-Ho of Snowpiercer fame is the writer/director, and his craftsmanship is tight and full of unique style. He excels at creating unprecedented situations and placing characters into them that are interesting and different so as the navigate the situations in an entertaining and unique way. Here I especially liked the family dynamic, where they all just kind of accept the criminality of the scheme from the get-go, and work together like gears in a clock to get it all done. Bong creates instances of darkness and comedy that exist together perfectly. There's moments of joy, tragedy, horror, and thoughtful fascination. The look of it is rich and sticks with you. It's all-around a beautifully crafted piece.

But a well-crafted film doesn't equal a universally great film on its own. 

And yet, despite all this, I didn't love the movie. I was entertained, amused, horrified, and fascinated by it, but I could never cross the threshold into love. I've thought about why, and have concluded that I couldn't care about the story and characters in the way I need to in order to love a story. And it's not because the characters are bad people, per se -- that makes investment harder but isn't a deal-breaker for me. This movie asks its audience to sympathize with the Kim family, and I could. Especially Ki-Woo, who participates the least in the wrongdoing and who the story somewhat centers around. He has a naive hopefulness to him that invites pity more than blame. And you do feel for the situation the family begins in. They are poor, but talented, and have grand aspirations. What's not to sympathize with?

However, in their pursuit of riches and comfort, they bulldoze anyone in their way -- not only their elite targets. It's also worth mentioning that the rich Park family are not bad people. They're aloof and careless in how they deal with people, but never "cross the line," as it were, into law-breaking. And the Kim family are equally as careless of anyone not a part of their clan. So I found it hard to root for them, as their redeeming qualities dwindle over time. I don't think the film needed me to root for them, but without the investment that caring for characters brings, the impact of the film's later events is severely lessened. They're merely interesting, which the movie always was. There's no switch in which I became engaged on a personal level -- something vital for me to care about a film, if not to appreciate or admire it.

We all feel inferior from time to time. We all get that sense that people can smell that which we want to hide. Most of us already know that it's no excuse.

It frustrates me the more I think of it, because with the right tweaks I could have easily invested -- but I'm beginning to doubt that's what the film wanted at all. Ki-Woo is who we understand best, but once Ki-Jung enters the house, she overshadows him completely. She's that kind of person -- fascinating, and captivating to watch, but fake. We never know her. We know the father, Ki-Taek, and once he comes along he overshadows both the kids, but his motivations never sat well with me. I wanted to understand the kids better, but we never get a real chance, and by the end I didn't know any of them well enough to care what happened to them. Being hard up is not a character trait. It's a circumstance; and one that isn't automatically deep enough to forge a connection that would inspire me to look past certain behaviors.

So in the end, interesting is all it could ever be for me. For other people it was more, and I can see why. I want to mention that, because perhaps you reading this may be one of those people. Or maybe you're the sort of person why doesn't need to care about a film's characters in order to love the film itself. Either way, if you love dark comedy that is both rich with seriousness and light with wit, and if you like to see a unique plot unfold that you've never seen before, Parasite may be well worth your time, and your riches -- such as they are.

Joker

Spoiler-free!

What I expected to be a dark and disturbing downer meant to leave me unsettled and unhappy, is instead an intense and scrutinizing look at a descent into madness and villainy, so thorough and unflinching that one can't help but see a reflection of themselves hidden within the frames. In a day when movies about villains are just movies about anti-heroes, and comic book movies are more commodity than art, Joker reminds us of how relevant and uniquely valuable a medium they can be.

Directed captivatingly by Todd Phillips, written along with Scott Silver.

Joaquin Phoenix takes on the role of the iconic villain in the rich setting of late 70's/early 80's Gotham City. Arthur Fleck is clown-for-hire striving to keep smiling in a rough and messed-up world. In gradual progression, the film shows us what it takes to transform him into the Joker that we know and love. The journey is too long and complex to break down, but the important thing is the way it draws you in to start. Though we know his villainous fate, we must be invested in the decent -- to take the ride along with him -- for the movie to make the impact it desires. Two or three scenes hook you at the beginning, and then the slow reeling in process begins.

I think it's wonderful that this film is making people angry. I can only imagine it's a visceral reaction to having a mirror thrust so unexpectedly in their face and showing them something that they don't want to recognize. I found myself doing a little soul-searching last night, that's for sure. But though this film is politicized, it isn't political. It doesn't show left and right, but rather an up and down balance of right and wrong. Gotham politics are similar to the divide and unrest in the real world today, but they are grown in an organic fictional environment rather than being transplanted to invoke cheap parallels. The fictionalization and over-the-top comic book style makes the open exploration on ideas palatable to a potentially stubborn audience -- exploring all sides of questions that we might otherwise dismiss offhand.

This is not a Conservative film; it doesn't push propaganda of any kind. But it does feel out of place with Hollywood content common to today.

People keep saying they handled mental illness badly in this film, and I'm not sure what they mean by it. What I saw was the subject being handled with care, and like the rest of the film's subjects, being explored from all sides. I found Arthur's illness to be the most constant source of empathy throughout his descent. Particularly the condition that makes him laugh uncontrollably when he feels entirely different. Everyone asks him, "What's so funny?" never understanding his mind as we do. Makes you think twice about judging people based on assumptions and appearances. In fact, the film refrains from any kind of judgement altogether, counting on the audience's moral compass to draw the right conclusion. The movie itself embraces the madness -- but never glorifies it. Every beautiful moment has horror in it, and every horrible moment, tenderness. There is always a balance of tone and no idea is presented without being challenged.

Phoenix's performance is precise and extreme; he runs wild with an exact and calculated grace and balances the evil and the good side by side with great skill. No one could doubt that he can play a scene with honesty and complexity; what's remarkable about this performance is the characterization: The way he runs. The way he laughs. The way he dances. The way he sees himself in his imagination. The twisted glee that pokes through his shell before it bursts out of him like a shot and blossoms into the full-fledged character with immaculate timing. To be honest, I expected his take to be more of a twist on the character, so seeing him open into full Joker so effortlessly once everything was properly developed was nothing short of astounding. It's the best performance of the year, but it's also one of the most full and complete performances I've ever seen. It's immensely satisfying, heartbreaking, and glorious.

Supporting actors include Robert De Niro, Zazie Beetz, Frances Conroy, Brett Cullen and Shea Whigham. They are all great, but this is Phoenix's movie. 

The imagery of the movie is beautiful, as many movies are, but sets itself apart by serving to elevate the film beyond making it look nice. Framing is all about evoking a visceral response, and colors used to convey emotion. Sets and lighting play their part in setting the right mood too. Gotham has never been more beautiful, looming, bold, or grimy. Scenes are filmed with purpose behind the structure, and the effect is that the film feels richer, and more focused. Intentional. My favorite, and perhaps the most obvious example, is the huge flight of stairs Arthur must traverse to go home every day. He trudges up them in weighty gloom day after day -- until he snaps, and dances down them, having embraced the new life he's descending towards.

I've heard Joker declared to be not really a comic book movie at all, and though it isn't what is currently expected of CBM's, being free of action sequences and the narrative structure of good fighting evil, it's not true that it's a basic, "one man's descent into madness." Since when was being a popcorn movie a requirement of CBM's, anyway? DC especially has a dark richness to it that practically begs for serious and introspective character studies like this one. Iconic characters and fleshed-out fictional worlds used to examine truths, ideas, and perspectives -- without the baggage of reality -- in vivid color, and that heightened aspect that comic books provide so effortlessly. Through the lens of a comic book, this tragedy becomes art in a way it never could otherwise.

If DC continues in this direction instead of blindly following the MCU, we're in for a treat. 

Comic book films can be a lot of different things, and I'm glad to see that they haven't become completely pigeonholed yet. Joker is a difficult movie. Not so much because it's dark with disturbing aspects and a bleak ending. In fact, the ending isn't bleak at all, but you'd have to see the film to understand my meaning on that. Joker is difficult because it challenges you in ways you might not be prepared for; and connects with you in the same surprising manner. It moved me deeply, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I cannot wait to go through it again. No, it's not bleak; it compels you to search for hope.

In the Shadow of the Moon

Spoilers. Spoilers galore.

This movie starts out so well. Set in 1988 and starring Boyd Holbrook as a beat cop who latches onto a strange serial killer case, it's pulpy scifi noir, and I thought had a great chance of being one of my favorite pure-fun movies this year. But that was just the first five or ten minutes; by the time it ends, it's worked its way into being one of the most trite, self-righteous, garbage movies of the year instead.

It's like he's trying to do penance for being a man. Just keep elevating fun movies! Don't throw your career away on guilt-ridden garbage!

What caused the decline? As with most movies of recent days that have fantastic premises but flop into miserable piles of wasted opportunity, it boils down to an agenda. Films should have agendas; if they didn't, they'd never be anything but an unstructured mess of nothings. Most movies have an agenda to entertain, tell a meaningful story, or show a character grow into a better person. To be art! This movie's agenda? To promote an idea; the idea that some ideas should be restricted and punishable by death.

This movie says that if you could go back in time and kill baby Hitler, you should do that, but not even to stop there, but kill his family and anyone who might have influenced him. (Otherwise they may simply influence someone else into being "Hitler.") It declares that to be a moral good and doesn't ever offer a counterargument. We follow the lead down the rabbit hole as he chases a murder suspect who reappears every nine years. He grows older and falls further away from his daughter in his obsession, until finally he is taught -- like in a Sunday school lesson time -- that the murderer is good, and that he must accept her deeds as such because one day he will believe as she does, and be the one to teach it to her in the first place.

This is the Antifa version of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Plot twist! She's a time-traveler. And his granddaughter. When he first met her in '88, he killed her, and in 2015 when these realizations come, it is too late for him to fix anything, though she hasn't gone through it yet. Also, he's made a miserable life for himself and his daughter over the past 27 years, and none of his action resulted in anything. Understandably, he's upset. So, what happens after that? Nothing. He accepts it all like the good, contrived fictional character he is, and the film wraps up with a hopeful sermonette on the importance of saving the future by any means or some such BS.

Because the future is apocalyptic and the lead's granddaughter's mission is to kill just the right people in the past, whether they be innocent or guilty, to prevent the apocalypse. It's like if Skynet were presented as the good guys. They'd blame John Connor for the war (he did resist their takeover, after all!) and use that to justify killing Sarah Connor and anyone else who gets in the way. Their ultimate goal is to prevent a war! How could you possibly call that evil??

The movie aims to never allow the validity of their moral reasoning to come into question. There's no debate presented within the movie's pondering, and though the lead is crazed to stop the killer, he never argues with her once she explains her actions. She's clearly the twist good guy, and he is clearly just ignorant; misunderstanding the situation. This winds up hitting the movie's quality down from two directions. First, who is ever going to enjoy a movie where that boring monstrosity is the lead's arc? The film ends at his lowest point and he's never given a chance to overcome anything, decide anything, or have ultimate triumph. The "triumph" is taken from him and given to his granddaughter, who never earns her spot as hero.

Makes me want to watch The Predator. A dumb fun movie where he gets to be heroic. 

Secondly, it hits the movie from a messaging standpoint. These days all movies seem to have a message of some kind -- and by that I mean a meaning to takeaway that is intentionally added by the filmmakers. All good art has meaning of some kind, but I remember a day when that meaning was merely what the viewer saw in the art. And nowadays most films will add a little straw-man counter argument at least, so they can knock it down easily and make their message look even better. I suppose this movie was afraid of counterarguments. And well it should be; all it takes is for someone to point out that killing an innocent person is morally wrong, and the whole movie crumbles like a house of cards made of dry sand.

This whole movie is like if you were to cook a spaghetti noodle by dipping it incrementally deeper in the hot water. (The hot water is a metaphor for all this movie's indoctrinating hot air.) The end of the noodle you'd hold onto is the extremely solid premise and set-up. Then the longer the noodle soaks in the garbage water, the softer and limper it becomes until by the end it disintegrates into nothing -- overcooked until its structure fails.

The evil ideas on a pedestal here eat into every aspect of the movie. If they don't directly influence it, they distract from anything that could be worthwhile as the filmmakers clearly don't care about constructing a clever scifi mystery at all. The scifi and time-travel is a means to an end, never explained beyond a vague "the moon allows for it." They don't care about character, or they wouldn't have destroyed their lead to make their point. And they don't care about entertaining through world building or visuals or anything else. Good actors give lazy and contrived performances, and the action is messy, and unforgivably bland.

The antithesis of Minority Report. And Minority Report had the good grace to present the appeal of the other side.

I can ignore bad, even evil ideas if the rest of the movie is good and high-quality. I can even ignore if a movie is low-quality in technical aspects but at least has an entertaining story. I was open to forgive this movie's horrible progressively worsening slog of preaching and cheap storytelling; all it needed was to give me one solid thing to hold onto. One. It had a gigantic head start, being two sub-genres deep into my favorite genre, and starring someone who makes even the worst crap worth watching, playing a character set up with great potential.

How they lost it is almost beyond me. Almost. They failed and lost because even though their starting point was two steps away from a successful finish line, when the race began, they sprinted backwards. In the Shadow of the Moon is the sad and frustrating proof that any movie can ruin itself if it tries hard enough.

Bad Times at the El Royale

Spoiler-free!

Drew Goddard is the man behind The Martian's screenplay and the director and co-writer of The Cabin in the Woods. He's also series creator of Netflix's best MCU show, Daredevil. All things I adore. And now, Bad Times at the El Royale. It's all his, and the things about those former movies that I suspected came from his mind has confirmation. I will officially watch anything that Goddard puts his pen on, because I love the way this guy writes.

We're on the same wavelength or something. ... I wish. 

This movie is the sort of movie that shouldn't be explained. It's also the sort of movie where if you watch the trailer and think you'll like it... well, I honestly would be shocked if you didn't. And while the style and tone are great indicators of what the viewing experience will be like, you'll walk away loving the undisclosed details if you walk away loving anything at all.

It starts out on a great foot and with an explosive bang, showing off visual storytelling, glee-inducing yet simple camerawork and drop-dead gorgeous colors and lighting. The opening scene is very much a miniature reflection of the entire movie. After that, things get going in a cool and leisurely pace with brisk undertones that serves as a reminder of what is promised to come. But the film doesn't get ahead of itself and carefully introduces each character, showing them interact and introducing intrigue in each. That introductory scene, and many after, felt almost theatrical, like an immaculately staged and well-rehearsed play. When it closed I felt the need to give applause.

Like in a play much of the interest comes from watching the actors interact with each other and the sets. There's a palpable energy between them.

It utilized chapters with old-timey title cards to mix up the perspective, one for each of the seven characters, and a fun side effect is that some events are witnessed multiple times, from differing perspectives, each one adding to the information and delving further into the mystery and intrigue. Also it's just plain a heck of a lot of fun for the audience. Every time a new title card is introduced it feels like a turning point, immediately dropping an info bomb about the corresponding character that shakes up the plot in magnificent ways.

All this fits inside a classic three-act structure, and helps with the building of tension and rise and fall of action, which turns out downright masterfully, but honestly what else would you expect from a writer who directs his own work? Goddard though, is perhaps exceptionally good at the job. He could've made this story about anyone with equally fascinating results. The mystery isn't even a mind-bender; it's merely crafted in a way that makes you eager to understand it. A perfect balance of revealing and withholding.

I like a movie with a slow burn. This one has firecrackers at intervals. And a hefty stick of dynamite for the end. 

I won't even bother to describe who the seven are. They are the movie's mystery. The El Royale is located on the California/Nevada state line, and guests must choose which side to stay on. There's a theme of false choices. For the hotel it's clear cut: California or Nevada. But with people it's more complex than that. "Good or bad? Right or wrong?" Well, what if a person's good but pretends to be bad? Or bad and pretends to be good? What if they think they're bad but they're good? Vice versa? Maybe they know if they're good or bad and own it. And maybe they don't know one side from the other or up from down. Is that seven options? Well, you get the idea.

Performance-wise, stand-outs will differ from viewer to viewer, but no one -- and I mean no one -- lacks in their performance at all. They're professionals, all, and each has significant moments to shine. Me, I particularly loved these three: Jeff Bridges, never not a standout, Cynthia Erivo, perfectly balanced with the voice of an angel, and Lewis Pullman, unexpected highlight of the whole film. I kid you not. And I exaggerate not. (Fun tidbit: he's Bill Pullman's son.) Dakota Johnson was way cooler than I thought she'd be, Cailee Spaeny was kind of brilliantly hilarious, Jon Hamm was a fun edgy/charm combo, and Chris Hemsworth was weird and very off-putting. Intentionally, of course.

My cynical side hopes that people who go solely to see him shirtless will be disappointed. My optimistic side hopes they'll instead be hit with the real magic of this movie. 

I figured they'd utilize music, but I had no idea of how far it would be taken, and how ingrained would be. There's almost always something playing, or someone singing, and all in-story. It bleeds into the style. There's a beautifully long and immaculately timed one-shot where a character is singing and another is sleuthing that I never wanted to end. The violence was all well and good -- no secret: the violence was my favorite parts every time -- but the intentional, calm pace in between is what keeps the movie thriving. Whether it lulls you into false comfort, or makes you aware of the impending doom, it's in that patience and restraint where the story is crafted.

Then the violence and the thrills come, and the prepared background makes them pop and startle with what seems like no effort at all. It's all in the prep work. This isn't an action movie, but those spurts of action put most action flicks to shame with how well-done and explosive they are. And this is my kind of film because in between those brief but generous spurts is character attention and exploration that is for me equally as exciting and fights and blood splatter; and it simultaneously works to enhance that action by putting stakes behind it all.

I didn't mention the dark humor. There's dark humor that I loved. Subtle. Unnecessary. And OH-so-fine. 

I'd love to have a deeper grasp on the themes explored here. I can't get into it here since I wanted to avoid spoilers, but the night I saw it I couldn't sleep for thinking about the themes and how they were portrayed. There was some wonderfully clever and impactful symbolism that struck me, and I've been pondering on it all ever since. It'll take a second viewing at least to strengthen and solidify my interpretation, and who knows how many more before all those lines and details even begin to get boring. If there's a threshold, I plan to find it.

Bad Times at the El Royale is a rich and silky-smooth thriller, pensive but not pedantic, intricate but never stale or tedious, sufficiently intense and mature, yet distinctly and determinedly fun -- and absolutely glowing in devious red neon. It may not be everyone's ideal vacation into the silver screen, but for those like me, who enjoy the... shall we say... less touristy locales... that perhaps feature the dangerous mark of a devoted artist... this incident may as well have been hidden away just for you to find.

Running on Empty

In 1971 Arthur and Annie Pope were just a couple of anti-war radicals among many, but one mistake and seventeen years later they're still on the run from the FBI, uprooting almost every six months as the Feds continually close in. But worse -- now they have children in tow; Harry, who's ten, and Danny who's seventeen, an ace on the piano, and itching to fly the ever-relocating coop to go to school at Juilliard.

Directed by Sidney Lumet. Crank up the Jackson Browne! (They don't actually. Too on the nose? Too similar to Stand By Me? Oh well.)

This is the first movie I've watched just because River Phoenix is in it. I grew up on Indiana Jones of course, and spent plenty of time crushing on young Indy as he fights off bad guys, lions, and snakes on that circus train. And I saw Stand By Me because I expected the movie itself to be great (it is) and got broadsided by that kid's performance. But diving into his less-mainstream filmography, I was expecting movies that have circumstantial importance, that are admirable, well-made, and performed with that Special Something -- but fail to find a personal touch with me specifically. What I ended up with was another favorite coming-of-age movie, and now I wonder how I managed to expect any less.

I was expecting Rebel Without a Cause (not to knock that one of course, I liked it a lot, but you understand) but I was more reminded of this year's Lean on Pete (still my top film of the year) and Billy Elliot. In fact, it seemed very much an all-American version of Billy Elliot, with the background of 70's hippie politics and the auditions and side-focus on music. It could have been sidetracked by the politics, but the family and their relationships were more important. It also wasn't fancy filmmaking, but felt grounded in its time and by the intimate focus on the central family, who are close-knit despite their unusual and often hard situation.

Families that evade the FBI together stay together? They have secret signals and code words and everything!

While Phoenix's Danny is the main protagonist, his parents both have clear cut arcs that feel secondary only by a hair. The scene between Annie and her father is probably the most important of the whole film. It brings the theme together. It becomes an emotional center. And it's a huge turning point of the plot. My favorite scene though, hands down was the birthday dinner. The common chatter, the gift-giving, the dancing and singing to James Taylor's Fire and Rain. Coming-of-agers always have the best dinner scenes, don't they?

And Phoenix does That Thing where the character is always hiding, and it draws you in. Camera placement has a lot to do with it. Long takes are used too, and the camera is most often set unobtrusively behind, to the side, or far away from the actors, allowing the scenes play out like watching real life. In one dinner scene Danny's head is framed directly behind his dad's. But River also hides behind his floppy hair, and wanders around the frame spontaneously. It makes you look for the character, and as I understand it, physically looking for a character helps engage with the emotional journey study too.

He also plays the piano. Like, for real.

He has some explosive moments of emotional acting here too, and I love how fleeting they are. They flash and blind you instead of lingering beyond their welcome. But mostly, he's just achingly melancholy. It's something that only really works in intimate dramas like this, and can't be faked. You have it, or you don't -- and River Phoenix had it like crazy. I also loved Christine Lahti. Effortlessly believable as a mother, and a daughter (you could see her past in her interaction with her dad) and she would worry in such a stable way, and completely brought to life the parental sacrifice part of the story, emphasized so wonderfully by the poetically ironic way it was written.

Judd Hirsch takes third place -- sometimes warm, sometimes closed and distant. He turns on a dime sometimes, but the character gets a lower level of attention to start. What I loved most that involved him was how at the end of the movie, Danny makes the selfless choice to not abandon his family, allowing Arthur to make the selfless choice to let him go. They both get to be the hero and do the admirable thing, instead of Danny rebelling and his father coming around to accepting it. Martha Plimpton is the love interest, and though I was pleased to see and recognize her from The Goonies, I liked her more than I expected to. Her and River's interaction was extra engaging.

Normally it's the height of laziness to play the same song twice in a movie, but the second time Fire and Rain plays, it takes on a different meaning.

When I think about why I like this movie so particularly well, all that comes to mind is scenes, and moments in the scenes. Memorable details, scattered around involving scenes, that are liberally peppered throughout an engaging story, that holds meaningful themes close to its heart; and it all adds up to something simple but very specific, and full of understated beauty. It wasn't made for me, but I found it, and now I get to treasure it all the same.

I have a soft spot for coming-of-age tales in which the drama is about and around family, and I doubt it will wane anytime soon. Running on Empty is yet another in a long line, that breaks your heart just so you can feel it overflowing, and the effect is as warm, as bittersweet, and as potent as ever.

The Hurricane Heist

HURRICANE HEIST! In which talented b-tier actors action/adventure their way into stopping wacky, maniacal villains from stealing $500,000,000 in the middle of a massive hurricane! The result is very appropriately like a mashup of whichever Fast and Furious movie you think is most ridiculous, and Into the Storm or The Day after Tomorrow -- in all ways possible.

Geostorm WISHES it were this awesome.

Toby Kebbell and Maggie Grace probably deserve better than this type of movie in their filmography, but I guess they already have better films under their belt. And sometimes you just need a little silly fun in your life. I'm sure these two were under no illusion that this project was going to be anything more than what it was, and any audience member who watches it and doesn't get what they were expecting probably just went to the wrong theater. It's called Hurricane Heist, and it delivers everything implied.

Quality weather-destruction, impossible high-speed action sequences, and creative problem-solving peppered with plot holes abound. I'm going to go ahead and embrace being cruel to Geostorm, because that movie was a huge disappointment that decided to have a ton of board meeting scenes instead of giving us what we want and what we need, which is grand destruction by way of falling water and blowing wind. Even with the heist part to contend with, this film is very good about being set inside a storm and dealing with the potential dangers that brings.

Tbh I'd watch Toby Kebbell do anything but my favorites are always when he shows up in dumb fun movies and makes them memorable.

We get rain, and people having chases and shootouts in the rain; wind, and climbing high towers in the wind; using air pressure differences to escape the bad guys; and a smallish tidal wave to contend with. Debris blows through the background, parts of buildings and cars blow away, and our heroes are out there among it all. It only lets up to allow set up for the final showdown of racing away from the deadly wall that follows the eye of the storm. When characters start out clean, and end up wet, disheveled, and covered in mud and blood -- that's the best tell-tale sign of a great disaster flick there is.

And it looks way better than it could've got away with. A lot of the stunts were practical, and I would've been impressed if I wasn't too busy enjoying myself to notice the filmmaking techniques. But I'm impressed now. They put actual effort into this movie, people. The script was a disaster (of a disaster), but they made it fantastically. The sequence at the beginning with the house was actually quite stunning. The blending of practical and cgi hit the right balance so the movie didn't feel totally like a cold animated spectacle, but still had plenty of crazy and impossible stuff going on too.

The tagline is "make it rain" y'all. MAKE IT RAIN. There is no subtlety at all, and it is wonderful.

So, no, this movie isn't good when judged on a normal scale. It has some gaping plot holes and is riddled with cliches. The story is obviously ridiculous and it doesn't shy away from playing that element as far as it wants to. The actors are good actors but the characters are one-note and the performances are mostly phoned in while waiting for the next action sequence. BUT. It has some unexpectedly good elements to it too, so don't dismiss it too carelessly.

If you're looking for a good movie, you're looking in the wrong place, plain and simple. If you like Fast and Furious style action you'd probably get a kick out of most of the snappy sequences this one has to offer. And if fighting bad guys and a hurricane simultaneously sounds like a good, fun, popcorn-munching time -- well, you're absolutely right.

Thoroughbreds

In this relaxed thriller, Lily (Anya Taylor-Joy) is a very unhappy teen living in a very uncomfortable lap of luxury. She hates her step-father (Paul Sparks) but suppresses and hides her emotions. One person she can't hide from is her childhood friend Amanda (Olivia Cooke). When they reconnect after a while, Amanda admits that she is incapable of feeling emotion, and as a result is perceptive enough to see through Lily's mask. She's also supremely cold and logical, so when she suggests that Lily might murder her mean step-father, the idea... rather takes hold.

Good breeding doesn't mean beans when it comes to the human heart.

The prominent feature here is character study. It's character study mostly by observation because characters never analyze themselves and when they analyze each other is more often says more about the character doing the analyzing. We watch them interact and make decisions and slowly a clear picture emerges. The movie utilizes every facet at its disposal, both in technical film techniques and the more organic ones, creating a machine of many moving parts that work together to point to the same conclusion.

On the "well, duh" side: casting, acting, and characterization. Olivia Cooke's naturally blank deadpan is fascinating in that you would never learn a thing about her from watching her face. For her, we must look to body language, dialogue because Amanda is an honest person, and decisions. Decisiveness is important to Amanda and she has a solid, if skewed view of morality. With Anya Taylor-Joy, her emotions boil under her face, and while she tries to hide behind a stone mask, what does leak through is the good stuff. Emotion drives her and overcomes her sense of morality.

Who's the real psycho here...?

These two characters are almost opposites, and as such they inform our understanding of each as we compare them. Then you must add Anton Yelchin's character to the mix, because without his Tim, there's not quite an ideal balance. Tim is older, less privileged, already has mistakes under his belt, and aspires to be like the two girls already are. He wants wealth and power, and think he has what it takes to achieve that through dealing drugs. But without anti-social disorders or a lifetime of oppressed emotion and lying, that's a path that he's surprisingly ill-equipped to take.

Next, and probably my favorite aspect of the film is the camerawork. Long Takes is the name of the game, but not in a showy, complicated, "look at me" kind of way. It's simple: the camera is placed in a spot where it can view a whole scene with only adjusting focus as a character moves in and out... and it watches. It doesn't decide for us which part of the performance is the most telling; it stays out of our way. Zoom-ins are used to express importance of the moment, and there's plenty of shot-reverse-shot too. I think the idea was to capture the story and character is the simplest, most comfortable, and most effective way possible.

Love him. There's still movies of his I haven't seen, but I never want to finish them.

You don't want to notice shot length or the reasoning behind a shot composition while watching; you just want it to make the desired effect. With this not showy but intentional method, it did its job -- I had to watch it again to pick up on it fully, spurred by the longest oner -- a three-minute one that was masterful. I adore watching films with minimal cutting and being able to see performances play out -- to be allowed to look at what I want to, instead of the camera's framing forcing me to look somewhere where I don't see performance coming from. When a performance is as good as this cast gives, different people will see it in different places.

Even with their backs to the camera they are still readable, and when they're off screen the sound effects take over, and you'd might be surprised at how telling they can be too. Paring the heightened moments that would tend to overload down to only sound focuses the tension and engages the imagination. And it allows the film to keep it's deliberate, relaxed pace even through the crazier parts. The soundtrack also needs a mention: it's mainly spastic tribal drums which is hilariously fitting to the otherworldly setting. At one point a character's running footsteps could be easily confused for scoring too.

It's all so wonderfully strange.

Despite dark subject matter and the character study of extremely flawed humans that you'd rather be fascinated by than identify with, the film is well grounded in entertainment. Richly comic in wonderfully subtle and dark ways that works alongside the film's other moods for beautiful and unexpected combinations. My favorite bit was Ave Maria playing as Tim slow-motion smells soap and caresses a shiny red car in Lily's fancy house. Drop-dead gorgeous. I also loved watching the girls act in front of mirrors, and the neat detail where Amanda only uses the pawns and knights as she plays chess with herself.

Thoroughbreds is stimulating to watch, never lacking visual interest on screen that draws the eye and engages the mind, so even as the film moves casually and methodically it is not for one second boring. Its fascinating characters aren't spelled out for us, and the final delivery isn't a message or moral, but simply a few character journeys that will make you think hard about their situation, their burdens, and their decisions. We are invited not to judge, but to understand -- as we are entertained by the film's lavish, well-bred existence.

All the Money in the World

Spoilers.

This remarkably cold movie tells the true story of the kidnapping of the grandson of the richest man in the world circa 1973. J. Paul Getty (Christopher Plummer) is the grandfather who refuses to pay the ransom. The boy's mother Gail (Michelle Williams) spends her time pestering her father-in-law for the cash and working with his personal agent (Mark Wahlberg) who has instructions to find and rescue Paul III (Charlie Plummer) as inexpensively as possible.

Directed by Ridley Scott. And it feels it.

This whole film is a character study in coldness -- using a chilly aloof tone as if it were a medium, such as oils or charcoal. Most obviously, it is tinted literally in cold colors; dark, lifeless pale blues and sickly yellows. This bothered me slightly. When color grading is obvious to me it takes me out of the picture. The beginning was in black and white, and it was the only time the film looks truly beautiful. I wish it had stayed that way, but the otherworldly color grading was intentional, and knowing that helps a little.

Then, famously, Mr. Getty's steely and calculating actions. He claims to love his grandson, yet openly refuses to pay. "I have fourteen grandchildren," he says, "if I start paying ransoms, I'll have fourteen kidnapped grandchildren." And there's no denying the logic in his reasoning, no matter how repulsive and frigid it feels. But he seems to use this reasoning as an excuse, pinching pennies in spectacular fashion and hesitantly spending his billions on inanimate pieces of art which he talks to with tenderness unused toward the living.

He is affectionate toward Paul as a kid, which only makes his later carelessness worse.

The monologue in which he explains why he values beautiful things over people was most telling to me. Things don't change; people do. I found his character magnificently fascinating, and Christopher Plummer pulled off the part beautifully, with an underlying softness in his eye that hints at endless complexities within this enigmatic man. He did a similar job with a similar character in Nicholas Nickleby, but that didn't degrade the fascination or entertainment he provided at all. I'm glad he was the last-minute replacement, if only because he didn't require prosthetics, so his performance came through effortlessly, and with intricacy.

He was the one character you expect coldness from. It was unexpected in the character of Gail. It would've been endlessly annoying if she had been panicking throughout the film, but her focused calmness came across at times as just calculating as he father-in-law; intentionally, I'm sure. As the character who drives the story, it's interesting to see her contrasted with Getty as they both work essentially the same way to achieve their goal, only hers is a noble goal. But underneath she still has an anxiousness and desperation that occasionally reveals itself. Even in the end when she and Paul are reunited she still doesn't melt, but instead redirects her strength to support and assure him.

The kind of nice kidnapper was not a real person.

Paul spends the movie growing more and more passive, until you think he's adopted that Getty stony demeanor permanently. When he finally does break down it is the antithesis that concludes the cold pattern and the film. Strangely, the warmest relationship is between Paul and the kidnapper who's assigned to guard him (Romain Duris). From being friendly and trusting, to turning a blind eye when Paul tries to escape, to actively saving his life, he's the film's most personable character. Yet the film is sure to show him receiving and pocketing his cut of the ransom. No one here is cut and dry.

Though Christopher Plummer is the only actor here whose character is capable of reaching shock-and-awe levels, the rest of the cast puts every bit as much work in, and find their moments to impress. Even Mark Wahlberg who I thought for sure would take me out of the movie was natural in the seriousness and disappeared into his role. Williams commands every scene she's in, and Charlie Plummer is one of my new favorite things -- though I still haven't seen Lean on Pete, the movie that informed me of his existence in the first place. He's got talent that stands out, but perhaps more importantly, he has a naturally magnetic screen presence; something you can't learn.

Though sometimes the point seemed on-the-nose, scenes like these had easy depth and rhythm.

Usually I go into movies hoping that I'll be able to empathize with the characters; here, even regarding a kidnapped teen, inducing sympathy into the audience isn't the goal. These characters are made to be real and complex -- sometimes to the point of seemingly contradicting themselves -- and we are not invited to feel for them, but to observe them; as coldly and calculatingly as they observe the world. It's from this perspective that the film finds its significance. Liberties are taken with the truth of the real-life event to make a more cinematic and impactful ending, but understanding the mission of the film, that was a wise choice.

In short, perhaps this isn't best viewed as a true story. As Paul says to us via voice-over, it's like they're from another planet. Perhaps this story is best viewed as a glass exhibit of strange, cold-blooded caricatures; equipped with a moral to help us see that though we may lack all the money in the world, it was they who lacked in the riches this world has to offer.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Spoiler-free!

Sam Rockwell deserved an Oscar for this.

Good thing he got one I guess!

One of very few Oscar season movies to grab my attention beyond their Oscar material, this inexplicable film is either an upbeat violent drama or an immaculately subtle, pitch-black comedy. The incomparable Frances McDormand is Mildred, a woman whose daughter was brutally murdered, and the killer never caught. To light a fire under the police force and keep the case from being buried and forgotten, she hires three billboards near her home, puts some bold, goading words on them, and then steps back to take flak from every side.

Unexpected, crazy, beautiful, and heartbreaking plotlines ensue.

Written and directed by Martin McDonagh, the film is similar to his previous, Seven Psychopaths, but with a significantly more serious edge. The film toes the line of reality while being firmly planted on the side of fiction; heightened and caricatured. Though serious and dark, and unwilling to downplay that aspect, this film is at its base, made to be entertainment -- entertainment that challenges, moves and evokes thought, but entertainment nonetheless. To that end it finds humor where it can, and finds it in many wonderfully unexpected places. To that end, its characters display realism through their exaggerated existence; and to that end, the plot moves with irony, violence, a plethora of bold turns, and plenty of cinematic flair.

This movie is absolutely rich with content. So much detail in every moment, so much to read between the lines; so much to glean from expressions and subtleties of performance. My favorite thing is how completely inconspicuous the foreshadowing is -- a couple times I realized what was about to happen by remembering a casually mentioned line from before. But I could never guess exactly what would happen, because the film would then immediately take another twist in a new direction. The plot direction was impressive to me as it was unpredictable, and is confident and cleanly displayed -- save for one plot hole so obvious and significant that I'm wondering if I merely missed something, with how confidently the film plowed through it unblinking.

The conflict mixed with understand between all the characters in a thing to behold. 

McDormand is way out there with Mildred, finding an interesting balance of likability. That is, she's almost completely unlikable as a character -- brazen, hardened, rude, selfish -- but is so sympathetic that we care for her anyway from the get-go, and by the end she has shown genuine good qualities. McDormand also deserved her Oscar; average performances aren't exactly in her wheelhouse. Woody Harrelson was also nominated for his supporting role, and the balance his character made was intricate; full of ins and outs and things to consider. His character -- the police Chief -- influences the plot more than anyone. There is nary a not-impressive performance or character to be seen, but you'll forgive me if I spend my time on one in particular:

Sam Rockwell I've been a fan of since I first saw The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and seeking out his movies, every one only increases my admiration. After seeing this, his first-ever Oscar-nominated performance, I've realized something: That he commits the exact same level of intense devotion to every role -- as naturally as another actor might phone in or run on star-power. It just so happens that Dixon is the first role he's landed where the character is so complex and mesmerizing on the page, that when he brought it to life with the same dedication and care as always, suddenly no one could ignore the merit or the talent which he's quietly possessed his whole career.

I think he deserved every award he got, but I'm a fan regardless of those trivialities. 

Dixon was the most unexpected aspect of this whole wild movie. Rockwell's performance is outstandingly good. I expected that, and adored every second. What I didn't expect was the arc direction the character would take, and that astounded me -- multiple times. This character in any other movie would've been a throwaway straw man, boring an irritating. Here the movie builds him, moment by unprecedented moment, into a gorgeous arc, that, every time it moves forward, seems incapable of taking another step without snapping and destroying the realism, but doesn't; again, and again, and again, into a thought-provoking and moving conclusion. Many of his moments make you laugh and hurt simultaneously, and no one can make the most of a beautiful opportunity like that like Sam Rockwell.

I'm not sure if a year's time will see me remembering this as basically a Rockwell vehicle that conducted some timely explorations and looked great; or if it will stick with me in a permanent and significant way. Without a doubt it's an excellently constructed film. The characterization is immaculate all-around. The location is lovely and memorable and it is shot in a wonderfully clear, sturdy way that complements the blunt but heartfelt tone. The way the writing ties in to itself is endlessly impressive to me, and the plot itself plays by its own rules in great ways. It had a lot to say but isn't preachy about it, nudging with gentle, subtle violence.

This movie boils down to sincere moral exploration through outlandish characters.

I liked what it had to say; I liked the story, the look, the tone, the humor, the emotion, and of course I loved the complex characters and the fine performances that made them larger than life. If at a later time the impression it left on me has faded, that will be alright. Personal connection is tricky and unpredictable, but there's a big difference between a movie meaning much, and a movie meaning much to me. Time will tell if this movie will find a permanent spot in my heart, but for now: I think this film is a pretty doggone incredible piece of filmmaking, and I love it for that alone.