OSCARS 2024: Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

Many years ago, Martin Scorsese said he would like to make a movie in every cinematic genre possible. Considering this – and knowing his love of classic Hollywood and everything therein – it's surprising that he's never made a western before. When it was first announced that Scorsese was circling an adaptation of David Grann's non-fiction book “Killers of the Flower Moon,” it was assumed that Scorsese and the western would finally meet. Yet, as the script went through several years of development, the focus changed more. Meetings with representatives of the actual Osage Nation convinced Scorsese and Eric Roth to rewrite the film, to center more around the Native American perspective. The resulting, epic length motion picture was backed almost solely by Apple, in their continued attempt to buy award season prestige. It worked, because a new Marty movie is always an event, but “Killers of the Flower Moon” has also proven to be a hotly debated new masterpiece from one of America's greatest living directors. 

In 1897, oil is discovered on the Osage Nation reservation in Oklahoma. By 1921, the oil boom had made the Osage some of the richest people in the country per capita. William Hale, a local sheriff and ranch owner, invites his nephew Ernest Burkhart to live with him. Hale's relationship with the Osage is close but he's actually been plotting for years to steal their headrights to the land, via murder and marrying wealthy Native women off to white men. He convinces Ernest to seduce Mollie Kyle, a sickly but very wealthy Osage woman. The two soon marry, Ernest immediately involved in Hale's murderous, criminal plot. The Osage are well aware of the deaths and attempt their own investigations but Hale does everything he can to suppress them. It's not until Mollie – who Ernest is slowly poisoning – lobbies Washington directly that authorities start looking into the crimes.

More than anything else, “Killers of the Flower Moon” is a case study of the mechanics of evil. The film's three-and-a-half hour length is largely devoted to showing every step by which Hale and his associates slowly massacred the Osage population. He integrates himself into the community, working so closely with the Osage that he's even present at the meeting where the tribe elders announce their plan to root out the killers. As played by a chillingly stately Robert De Niro, Hale is depicted as an always polite master schemer who is an expert at telling people what they want to hear. From there, he engineers a campaign of murder, oppression and manipulation that runs through every strata in the town. White doctors are his underlings. Outside investigators are beaten or killed. Murder is carried out casually, as it suits his plans. In one of the film's most chilling sequences, Hale coldly states how a depressed Osage man must stay alive long enough for his insurance plan on him to pay off. 

If “Killers of the Flower Moon” dedicates much of its extensive runtime to showing how these vile plans were carried out so casually, Roth's script also makes sure to shine a light on the character of such evil men. Ernest Buckhart declares, early on, that he loves money. He robs a group of Osage partiers, before immediately loosing all the jewels on a bad poker hand. Later, the entire plan is nearly blown up by Burkhart foolishly letting an accomplice steal his car. If Hale is such a convincing manipulator that he can operate practically in the light, Ernest is such a total stodge as to obey every command thoughtlessly. Leonardo DiCaprio, showing little in the way of movie star vanity, plays Burkhart as a grunting, lowly criminal motivated only by greed and the loosest sense of pride in his own mindless actions. When Hale drags Ernest into a Masonic temple and paddles his ass, it reveals him more and more as an overgrown child acting out horrible deeds on behalf of powers. This reveals a clear message: Evil isn't complicated. It's stupid and common, motivated only by taking want it wants from those who are vulnerable. 

As a post-mortem on these infamous murders, “Killers of the Flower Moon” takes a detached, almost clinical approach to its violence. Scorsese devotes screen time to many of the murders, both before and after the fact. Often, we see the victims cut down by gunshots in long distance shots. This distance only emphasizes how casual the killers were about their actions. A bullet pops off, a body falls to the ground, and it's left to be discovered. This happens over and over again. Hale and his henchmen were so confident in their plans that little steps were necessary to cover their tracks. The only time Scorsese moves in close for the violence is when a home near Ernest and Molly's place is blown up with dynamite. We see the gaping head wound of the victims, who are still, seeming to maintain a level of dignity in death that are beyond their murderers. Not coincidently, this is when the deaths seem to start to actually effect even a simpleton like Burkhart. 

Throughout the film, attention to brought to how many of the Osage people were deemed “incompetent” by the government, requiring a guardianship to manage their own money. Burkhart argues with a funeral home owner, over being charged “Osage prices.” The doctors and Hale joke openly about murdering an Osage member to his face. People who knew Ernest are depicted as being well aware of what he was doing. This occurs alongside casual racism, from people who dismiss the indigenous people as savages, or a newsreel about the Tulsa race massacre. “Killers of the Flower Moon” is a long movie and it uses that length to repeatedly hammer home how the American environment of the time allowed this to happen without a moment's glance. If greed motivated Hale's scheme, if unquestioning men like Ernest Burkhart carried it out, then the systemic forces of prejudice that infect every corner of American culture is responsible for letting it happen uninterrupted. 

Yes, “Killers of the Flower Moon” is about white forces stomping out Native American culture. It does this through means cultural, political, and interpersonal. The first scene has an Osage elder bemoaning that their children will not speak their language. Mollie's mother states that all her children have married white men. The spectre of liquor and American consumerism, brought to the Osage by the white man, haunts the whole movie. Scorsese's effort to center the Native perspective surely resulted in the expanded role for the Osage figureheads. Lily Gladstone – of Piegan Blackfoot and Nez Perce heritage herself – plays Mollie as wounded and sometimes helpless to the forces around her. Yet she also maintains an incredible sense of dignity. Every Osage character in the film does. Her conflicted feelings are brought to life through several meaningful moments of voiceover narration. The movie grants the indigenous people a complicated, fleshed-out personality that we really see even in thoughtful films about how Native Americans have been abused and absorbed by the white culture all around them.

Without falling back on stereotypes of Indian mysticism, the film respects the Osage culture with haunting visions of animal spirits and ancient ancestors. These are elements of the film's powerful cinematography, the warm, earthy images often feeling like paintings come to life. This pairs with a harsh, rambling score that establishes the feeling of a crushing, advancing machine that can't be stopped. In its last third, “Killers of the Flower Moon” becomes a courtroom drama devoted to showing how even a feckless man like Ernest Burkhart can realize his own wrong-doing. Without the ability to intellectually justify his actions like Hale – always scheming, even from his jail cell –  does, Ernest is left to wallow in his own miserable suffering. It all proceeds a haunting final scene, which puts a perfect point on the idea that all of American culture is at fault for letting this happen, up to and including Scorsese himself.

Though intimidating in its length, “Killers of the Flower Moon” is sure to rank as one of Scorsese's most pointed movies. In a career obsessed with how men perform violent acts, the film sees the director truly examining the cause and effect of violence. It's an exhausting yet graceful examination of the controlling systems that allow these things to happen while also functioning as an indictment on those that did wrong and a tribute to those that still survive. [9/10]

OSCARS 2024: Barbie (2023)

In 2009, it was announced that Mattel was developing a film based on their world-famous Barbie doll. This was part of a wave of Hollywood films in the wake of Michael Bay's “Transformers,” trying to develop franchises out of beloved toy brands. Most of these projects that came out flopped and many more died on the vine. Yet “Barbie” stuck around. Versions of the film starring Amy Schumer and Anne Hathaway never manifested. Through it all, nobody was much excited for a movie based on the plastic blonde. Until the latest star on the project, Margot Robbie, got indie darling Greta Gerwig signed on to direct. As more casting and information came out, people became more excited about this “Barbie” movie. By the time it released last summer, it was among the most anticipated films of the year. The project continued to defy the odds by becoming the biggest hit of the year, well reviewed, and is now nominated for multiple Academy Awards. 

Gerwig's film begins in Barbie Land, the pink, pastel alternate reality populated by Mattel's playthings. Multiple versions of the doll rule the land while, multiple versions of her male counterpart Ken serve as studly, vacant-minded second class citizens. Life seems ideal in Barbie Land... Except for when the blondest, most stereotypical Barbie begins to have unavoidable thoughts of death. Once her feet are no longer pointy and her thighs get cellulite, she visits the so-called Weird Barbie. She's informed that the child playing with her in the Real World must be having this sadness and that Barbie must travel to the mortal realm to resolve this issue. The neediest, beach-iest Ken accompanies her as she discovers the real world is a lot more complicated. She also meets Sasha, a grumpy tweener, and her mother Gloria, who happens to work for Mattel as a Barbie designer. Meanwhile, Ken discovers the concept of patriarchy brings it back to Barbie Land, flipping the idyllic, pink world on its head.

As a comedy, “Barbie” operates in two separate modes, clearly divided along its two worlds. The first is a highly campy homage to the history of the “Barbie” product line. The film takes great delight in blowing up the various “Barbie” play-sets, vehicles, accessories, and accessories into life-sized props and sets. The film highlights several bizarre artifacts from “Barbie” history, like some of the more regrettable variations on the dolls and forgotten characters like Midge, Allen (played by Michael Cera at his most hilariously deadpan), and a pooping dog. The physics of this world operate under a cartoon, play-time logic. Most prominently, the playthings/people within this world act in an exaggerated manner you'd expect from a kid on a sugar high. When presented with Barbie's flat feet, people scream in overblown horror. The Kens posture against each other in a juvenile manner, a little girl's version of manly squabbles. It's a bit grating, especially in the early scenes, but I also have to commend the movie for its creative embracing of this artificial world and all that entails.

If “Barbie” had devoted itself totally to this Barbie Land, it probably would've been a pretty amusing – if slightly insufferable – motion picture. However, this is also a fish-out-of-water film that transports Barbie and Ken into our real world. Contrasting the naïve yet weirdly perspective Barbie with the harsh realities of our reality produces the biggest laughs in the film. Such as her denial of Sasha's claim that she's a fascist, the joke that easily got the largest reaction out of me. Or the running gag of her and Ken's inability to understand paying for things. These scenes capitalize on “Barbie's” biggest positive. Margot Robbie's considerable charm and excellent comedic timing makes this plastic doll a personable, living thing that is repeatedly baffled by everything that's happen with moments of hilarious insight. This peaks during an amusing sight gag, once Robbie's Barbie succumbs to the depression she feels. 

Probably the smartest thing Gerwig did while constructing “Barbie” is embracing the doll's complicated relationship with feminism. The utopian Barbie Land acknowledges that “Barbie,” as an ideal, presents a perfected version of femininity that can accomplish anything. This contrasts roughly with the real world conception of the doll, as a fetishized sexual object. If Gerwig had left it at that, I think “Barbie” would be a much stronger film. Instead, the script gets increasingly didactic as it goes along. There's phony feeling platitudes, like Barbie telling an old woman that she's beautiful. This tendency peaks during America Ferrera's monologue about the contradictory nature of being a woman, a flat laying down of the movie's themes that Ferrera does admittedly deliver in a fiery manner. After that, “Barbie” ladles it on, growing more sentimental as it heads into an overlong epilogue. 

“Barbie's” feminist messaging being so blunt might be why the movie ends up getting stolen by Ryan Gosling's Ken. Gosling strikes the perfect amount of brainlessness, playing a character who becomes a malicious antagonist almost by accident, because he's just too dumb to know any better. Maybe that's because Gosling always has that sad puppy dog glare in his eyes, even during Ken's most sexist moments. Gosling also has a stunning comedic timing, with a weirdo energy that manages to make even normal lines into huge laughs. The go-for-broke quality Gosling brings to Ken is one hundred perfect on display during the “I'm Just Ken” musical number, a moment of such perfectly joyous silliness that it immediately became one of my favorite moment in movies last year. The musical number is so brilliantly pulled off that everything that follows feels unnecessary. 

If “Barbie” trusted its own message more, and was willing to convey its idea to its audience with more subtly, it would be a stronger, funnier film. (This weakness is also evident in the toothless satire directed at the Mattel corporation.) On the other hand, the fact that a movie made to sell dolls was this fresh, amusing, and pointed in the first place is nothing short of a miracle. It does have some insightful things to say about femininity, masculinity, and their roles in the world while also being kind of delightfully weird. At least by the standards of 145 million dollar kids movies. Robbie and Gosling are fantastic and their performances go a long way to making the movie as enjoyable as it is. If studios want to give I.P. projects like this to auteurs like Gerwig more often, that can only be a net-gain for the film world. [7/10]

OSCARS 2024: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

Five years after “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse's” release, its impact is already clear. Multiple American animated movies have emulated its distinctive visuals. The comic book concepts of a multi-verse became even more popular since then. And it further cemented Spider-Man's place as the most popular superhero of all time. Naturally, because comic book stories never end, a sequel was planned right from the beginning. Yet there was a slight problem. Part of why “Into the Spider-Verse” became such an unexpected commercial and critical success was that nobody expected it to be good. Just look at the other components of Sony's on-going disastrous attempt to spin the bits and pieces of the “Spider-Man” rights they own into a successful franchise for an example of how low expectations were. A sequel, “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse” actually had an uphill battle of its own, because people really liked the first one. Well, I guess they pulled it off again, as the sequel has been well received in its own right. Months after the hype has died down, why do I think now?

Following the events of “Into the Spider-Verse,” Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy have continued to operate as the respective Spider-People of their universes. That's when an incursion by another universe's Vulture draws Gwen into an inter-dimensional league of other Spider-People who police the multi-verse. She goes to visit Miles, around the time he's challenged by a new villain called the Spot and is dealing with some issues with his parents. After the Spot learns how to travel to other dimensions, Miles follows Gwen into another world. This delves Miles into a multi-versal adventure, where he meets a collection of new Spider-Men – some have his best interest at heart, others have plans of their own for him – and he'll learn a lot more about himself. 

The animation style of “Into the Spider-Verse” was what signaled to many people that the movie was more than just a quickie cash-in project. “Across the Spider-Verse” clearly sets out to top the original by having an even more explosive visual sense. Time is spent developing the look for each dimension, Gwen's world being characterized by water color like palette. Or Spider-Punk always being surrounded by zine style cut-out art. When the Vulture – from the Marvel 1602 world, it seems – appears, it's as hand-drawn blueprints. The film doubles down on the comic inspiration of the first one, with even more world balloons, thought bubbles, and sound effects appearing on-screen. In truth, “Across the Spider-Verse's” hyperactive visuals are so frantic and constant at times, it borders on the overwhelming. This might be one of the few films I've seen that felt more coherent at home than on the big screen. Nevertheless, it is a hell of a spectacle. 

This visual playfulness peaks during a sequence in the middle of the movie, where Miles is chased through the Society headquarters by a whole horde of Spider-People. This includes such colorful sights as Spider-Cat, Spider-Rex, and a cowboy Spider-Man. It's a lot of fun. So are cameos from the LEGO Spider-Man universe. Yet, sometimes, “Across the Spider-Verse” piles on the references and in-jokes to the point that they feel stifling. I appreciate the shout-outs to the 1967 “Spider-Man” cartoon. Yet cameos from Andrew Garfield or a desperate connection to the MCU makes the movie feel more like an extension of a massive corporate product than as, ya know, a movie meant to tell a story. This is evident in the appearance from Spider-Man characters that end up barely contributing anything to the story too.

Another weakness in “Across the Spider-Verse” is that the film goes out of its way to tell us what Miles Morales' entire character arc is going to be. Before leaving on his latest adventure, his mother tells him not to allow anyone to tell him he doesn't belong. This completely predicts what happens to him later, Miles establishing his own destiny, his own right to exist against a horde of authority figures that tell him he has no right to be here. This is further set-up by the plot's focus on “Canon Events,” another example of a determined history being laid out for our hero. One that, obviously, he's going to deny. It's all laid on a little thick.

I say he's “going to” because... “Across the Spider-Verse” doesn't actually have an ending. If you follow comic book movie and entertainment news, you were probably aware that this sequel was originally announced as a Part One. That designation was dropped from the title but clearly the structure was not changed in anyway. “Across the Spider-Verse” fills up its run time by expanding on characters' back stories and introducing a horde of new heroes and rivals. This is fine. The movie builds to a climax during Miles' conflict with the other Spider-Men. The film then continues to an extended epilogue, which exists solely to set-up a cliffhanger. Not a particularly compelling one, if I'm being blunt. The truth is “Across the Spider-Verse” ends right when it's starting to feel like it's finally gained momentum. 

The apparent flaws with “Across the Spider-Verse” are all the more frustrating because, when it works, it works really well. The subplot focuses on Gwen and her universe are compelling. The slower scenes devoted to her interactions with Miles are really cute, suggesting a gentle kind of romantic tension between the two. Once again, I find myself feeling like a “Spider-Man” story works best when focusing on the smaller stakes, rather than the universe toppling threats. Yes, “Across the Spider-Verse” is an impressive visual experience, that does a lot of really cool shit, and is a loving homage to the “Spider-Man” franchise's history. However, it's also a fundamentally incomplete film, leaving the viewer ultimately unsatisfied. [7/10]

Director Report Card: Christopher Nolan (2023)

12. Oppenheimer

Other directors could have made “Oppenheimer.” J. Robert Oppenheimer is a pivotal figure, not just in science, but in modern history as we know it. He's already been the subject of many different biographies, a BBC serial, a play, and a few previous films. This is the kind of respectable topic that you'd expect any number of stately, award season-friendly biopics could be made about. Other directors could have made “Oppenheimer” but only Christopher Nolan could have made it a blockbuster. Nolan is one of the few directors you can sell a movie on and Universal knew it, selling the hell out of the film to general audience. When paired by the buzz generated by the “Barbenheimer” meme, a serious, R-rated drama about the niche topics of history and nuclear physics ended up becoming one of the highest grossing films of 2023. It might also be one of the highly lauded films of Nolan's frequently praised work.

In 1954, J. Robert Oppenheimer is interviewed by a security hearing for his possible communist connections and for rumors he might've been linked to a Russian spy that reported on the Trinity program. He recounts his professional career, beginning his studies at Cambridge and how a meeting with  Niels Bohr encouraged him to study theoretical physics. He's questioned about his relationship with known communist Jean Tatlock and how he met his wife, Kitty. Eventually, after becoming the head of the physics department at Berkeley, he's recruited to help create a nuclear bomb for the U.S. military. The further away from these events Oppenheimer grows, the more he comes to regret his actions. Meanwhile, in 1959, Lewis Strauss gives his opinion on Oppenheimer to the Senate while awaiting confirmation in the president's cabinet. 

Christopher Nolan would first come to most people's attention thanks to “Memento,” a movie that gained praise for its non-linear story structure. Timelines that leap around have continued to become a lauded part of Nolan's future film, in the flashback heavy structures of “The Prestige” or “Inception's” multi-layered narrative. Yet it feels like it's been a while since a Nolan movie has gone back-and-forth like that. “Oppenheimer” does something very similar to “Memento,” in the way it follows two separate timelines that are differentiate by one being in black-and-white. That Oppenheimer telling his story to the security hearing also triggers extensive flashbacks, that make up the bulk of the movie's runtime, is another example of Nolan's favorite storytelling trick. This structure resembles the way memory works while also creating of chances for narrative ironies. 

Lots of movies attempt to sum up a prominent person's entire life, within a few hours. Yet “Oppenheimer” really does set out to synthesize a man's professional, political, and personal lives. It's a lot more than just a summing up of J. Robert Oppenheimer's career, starting with his school career, following throughout the creation of the nuclear bomb, and the aftermath of those events. Nolan – working from script he wrote himself – finds thematic links between all sectors of Oppenheimer's life. His political beliefs influence his career choices and the judgements made on him later in life. His tumultuous love life effects his professional decisions. It's all linked, no action existing in a vacuum. “Oppenheimer” is a movie of chain events – visually symbolized in the first shot being of ripples forming in a puddle – and, likewise, everything Robert does echoes through every other aspect of his world. 

Ironically, as much as “Oppenheimer” is a movie about one event triggering another, it zeroes in on J. Robert Oppenheimer's greatest flaw (at least in this telling): His inability to see the consequences of his action, to perceive what might follow from the events he triggers. He womanizes, juggling Jean and Kitty without guessing that this might effect both women negatively. He's well aware that his communism connections will be scrutinized by the government. Yet he doesn't report it when a colleague suggests sharing information with the Russians. Of course, the biggest example of this is the bomb itself. Afterwards, he feels remorse and regrets for all his mistakes, breaking down or wringing his hands about it. However, that's only after the fact. Oppie says early on that he's not great at the math side of physics, seeming to represent his inability to predict the fallout of his own actions in every corner of his life.

Of course, it's not like Oppenheimer was alone in his tendency to disconnect his actions from his consequences. When the film was first released, there was an exhausting round of Discourse about the film not showing the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Some where offended that a movie about the mass death of thousands of Japanese people centered on a white guy feeling bad about it. This seems to overlooked a key scene. When deciding what cities to drop the nuclear bombs on, Secretary of War William L. Stimson rules out Kyoto partially because he honeymooned there with his wife. It's such a callous, telling line. An American has been to this place and therefore disqualifies it from annihilation. The rest of Japan is fine to be destroyed though, in his eyes. Not showing the bombing just further illustrates Oppenheimer's disconnect from his own actions and what happens because of them. 

It confirms all the clichés we have about the Academy that the only time they've given Nolan a Best Director nominations have been for his “serious,” non-genre films. This is all the funny, because “Oppenheimer” has more in common with his science fiction and superhero films than it at first appears. The scene where Oppie puts on his famous fedora for the first time feels a lot like Batman putting on the cowl for the first time. Similarly, the script makes drops references to future events the same way a comic book movie includes shout-outs to famous future characters or events. The famous quote from the Bhagavad Gita is highlighted long before it'll become relevant to Oppenheimer's life. Los Alamos is whispered in a hushed tone long before Robert is recruited to help build the bomb. John F. Kennedy gets a name-drop that recalls the Joker's appearance being teased at the end of “Batman Begins.” Considering some people have entertained the (unlikely) theory that “Oppenheimer” is a metaphor for Nolan's own feelings about birthing the ubiquity of the superhero genre, this becomes all the more ironic.

No matter how much “Oppenheimer” resembles Nolan's previous movies, you can feel him attempting to stretch himself too. Another similarity with “Memento” is, much the same that film primarily took place in Leonard Shelby's mind, everything in the “Fusion” timeline is told from J. Robert Oppenheimer's perspective. (To the point that the screenplay was written in the first person.) Setting this story in Oppenheimer's own memories allows Nolan to indulge in a kind of visual symbolism that isn't typical of him. It's not exactly subtle. When recounting his sex life to the security hearing, Robert imagines himself naked before them. At the same time, he feels responsibility for Jean's death, her body weighing down on his chest. After reluctantly trying to celebrate the bomb successfully falling, he steps in a pile of ash. This visualizes him realizing just what he's unleashed. Think of this as Film Theory 101 for the kind of Reddit Bros that venerate Nolan as one of the greats. That's not wrong. Yet it is interesting to see the director blend some of his past styles into something new for him.

Maybe the movie's visual signifiers arise out of its desire to make the invisible world Oppenheimer observes visible. This is evident through a number of visual effects shots, of strings of atoms and molecules, of stars burning out in space. Moments like this is when “Oppenheimer,” to me, feels like its really pushing towards something bigger. The film is not made for physicists and I'm absolutely not one either. Yet the steps Nolan and his team took to illustrate the scientific concepts beyond our physical world impresses me. You also see this in the thundering sound design, that piles on otherworldly bursts of noise and corresponding walls of silence to further show us the strength of these unseen forces on our world. 

That sound design is also excellent at building suspense. Whenever Oppenheimer feels overwhelming, there's a cavalcade of stomping noise on the soundtrack. This can't help but make your heartbeat rise, in fearful anticipation of what might happen... Which is pretty surprising, since we do know what happens. “Oppenheimer” pulls off a neat trick, of leaving us feel suspense over foregone conclusions. We know that the nuclear bomb won't start a chain reaction that destroys the world. We know that J. Robert Oppenheimer is ultimately dismissed of any un-American activities. Yet the film is so brilliantly assembled, so tightly edited and so beautifully photographed, that it all comes together fantastically. All the craftsmen involved in the making of “Oppenheimer” were operating at the top of their game.

At the center of the film is a career-best performance from Cillian Murphy. Murphy's deep blue eyes convey so much emotion, most painful during the scenes where he's barely holding himself together under the consideration pressure of what he's done. Such as when he's grappling with Jean's suicide or the consequences of the bomb. It's amazing how much Murphy can tells with just a look or the angle of his face. He carries the entire movie on his shoulders, making even the most melodramatic dialogue – such as the final line – come off as mythic and profound. 

Murphy is supported by an incredible cast, composed largely of some of the best character actors of our modern age. Basically every part has a recognizable face in it, from a bellowing Jason Clarke as Roger Robb or a suitably sweaty David Dastmalchian as William Borden. Robert Downey Jr. is fantastic as Strauss, a man whose petty grievances and resentments boil under the surface until finally overflowing in the last act. If you look at Strauss as the movie's antagonist, he's not the most sinister part in the film. In just a few scenes, Casey Affleck projects a deep sense of malevolence. Dane DeHaan is also coldly calculating as Kenneth Nichols, seeming to glare at other humans with an alien gaze. The heart break and erratic moods of Jean are brought to life with a real depth by Florence Pough. 

Ultimately, “Oppenheimer” is likely to go down in cinema history as one of the best biographic films ever made, that grapples with the complexities of the man at its center while also giving us a holistic understanding of this figure. It handles the heavy meaning of the nuclear bomb, how it changed the world forever. On a technical level, it is a massive achievement, its music, sound design, cinematography, and editing all operating on a top level. A massively talented cast and a director playing with his own styles and themes in fascinating ways insures it's a strong watch, every single time. Sure to be discussed and debated for years to come, it's another masterpiece from one of the great commercial filmmakers of our time. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (2023)

28. Napoleon

In 1927, French filmmaker Abel Gance unleashed a five and a half hour long epic about the life of Napoleon Bonaparte. Though now regarded as one of the greatest films of the silent era, Gance's “Napoleon” was divisively received at the time. The film was edited and cut down afterwards, being the subject of numerous restorations in the nearly one hundred years since its completion. In the early seventies, Stanley Kubrick sought to make a movie about Napoleon, which he promised would be “the best movie ever made.” After years of meticulous research, Kubrick couldn't secure funding for the film and it was never made. There have been many films actually made about Bonaparte and many others not made – Charlie Chaplin also attempted to adapt the emperor's story – but Gance's compromised vision and Kubrick's unmade epic tend to overshadow them all. I suppose the irony is too great to ignore, of great filmmakers trying and failing to make a movie about one of history's most ambitious, and ultimately humbled, conquerors. 

Ridley Scott is a great admirer of Kubrick. You can see the influence of “Barry Lyndon” – the movie Stanley made instead of his “Napoleon – on almost everything Scott has done. Considering Scott's own career of successful and unrealized historical epics, it's not surprising that Ridley has been trying to make his own “Napoleon” movie for quite a while. He approached David Scarpa to write a film on the subject in 2017 and the movie, initially given the unfortunate title of “Kitbag," had been in-and-out of development since then. Finally, Scott would clear his ever-packed dance card and be able to move forward with the now retitled “Napoleon” in 2022, the film releasing last November. 

In the aftermath of Marie Antoinette's execution, a young French army officer named Napoleon Bonaparte leads the Siege of Toulon. This elevates Napoleon through the ranks and he soon defends the new government from royalist insurrectionists. After leading a successful military campaign in Egypt, Napoleon overthrows the French Directory. He declares himself Emperor shortly afterwards. Bonaparte soon leads the French military against the Austrians, the Prussians, the Russians, and the English. All the while, the love of his life – a woman named Josephine – inspires and infuriates him as he strives for greatness.

It's the one thing every one knows about Napoleon. He was short and he sought to make up for this inadequacy by conquering Europe. This is, of course, not true. The French emperor was considered of average height for his time. However, that hasn't stopped the idea of the Napoleon Complex from entering popular usage. While Scott's film makes no comment on Napoleon's height, it does run with the idea that his desire for conquest was driven by psychological insecurities. “Napoleon” depicts the military leader as obsessed with achieving what he perceives as his destiny. He talks often of his greatness. After conquering Egypt, he looks a mummy in the eyes and playfully places his hat atop the sarcophagus. As if he's saying to one king that he has surpassed him. This was a man, determined to rule, by any means necessary.

Scott's film only hints at Bonaparte's back story. We meet his mother, whom he seems very close to, though any further details are left unspoken. His brother plays a prominent role in the earlier scenes before disappearing from the story all together. We never learn exactly where the emperor's unquenchable thirst for power came from, what inadequacy drove him to try and conquer the world, yet clearly there was something there. He has frequent arguments with his underlings. He seeks to establish dominance over other country's rulers in petty manners. He's obsessed with securing an heir, as if his inability to do so reflects on his strength somehow. Without being a full psychological breakdown of Napoleon's mind, the film runs with the idea that, behind every great leader, there's a great amount of neurosis. 

The greatest source of Napoleon's insecurities, this film would have us believe, was his relationship with Josephine. Upon setting eyes on the woman, he's immediately drawn to her. The seduction plays out quickly. Their sexually activities are depicted as frequent but brutish. Josephine teases him, forcing him to beg for it, while he stamps his feet and whinnies like a horse. She insists he's nothing without her. When he learns she has taken a lover, he uproots his entire military campaign and heads back to France. In other words, he seeks to conquer Josephine much the same way he sought to conquer the world. Just like the world, she resists him. And it drives him fucking nuts. It's a dysfunctional love story, a constant push and pull of submission and dominance between two stubborn individuals. In other words: The interplay of power and sex that Scott has played with across his last few films continues here. 

In fact, the details of Napoleon and Josephine's maladaptive relationship take up so much time in Scott's films, that some have characterized the whole movie as a comedy of sorts. Considering “House of Gucci” was a pulpy parody disguised as an operatic tragedy, it's not an unreasonable suggestions. At times, “Napoleon” definitely plays into this reading. The film depicts the Coup of 18 Brumaire as slapstick comedy. Bonaparte flees from a raging Directory, stumbling over himself several times. French politics are shown as a tumultuous circus all throughout, various leaders bickering childishly among themselves, passion often erupting into shouting and physical violence. Scott elevating events to absurd heights, such as in the stealth comedy of “Hannibal” or “Black Rain,” is probably not the most unreasonable approach to French politics. 

The main attraction of “Napoleon” was, perhaps, seeing Joaquin Phoenix and Ridley Scott reunite for the first time since “Gladiator.” Phoenix is, after all, one of the great actors of our time. He's especially good at playing intense individuals hype-fixated on their obsessions, whether they be Johnny Cash or the Joker. When combined with a script that focuses on Napoleon's neurosis, Phoenix plays the emperor as a bit of a weirdo. He carries himself with a sense of grandeur throughout but pairs it with sad eyes and a nervously furrowed brow. No matter how hard this Napoleon wants to be seen as great, it's only a veneer always about to crack up and reveal the vulnerability underneath. When he arrives in Moscow, abandoned by its ruler, his voice cracks in disappointment that no one is here. It's a compelling angle to approach the general from, Phoenix giving a memorably neurotic performance.

If Phoenix's Napoleon is a hurt little boy trying to prove himself, over and over again, Vanessa Kirby plays Josephine as something like a scheming femme fatale. From the moment Napoleon sets his eyes on her, she teases and tempts him. She clearly knows how to get a reaction out of him and uses it to her advantage throughout. It's only when the two are forced to divorced – due to Josephine's inability to mother an heir – that her feelings towards Napoleon seem to change. Josephine does love him, it seems, and not just when it's politically advantageous. Kirby is very convincing as a seductive, ball-busting mistress. She is less certain when playing a woman genuinely in love. But I think that's probably a weakness of the script, than anything else. 

Ultimately, despite having some interesting ideas about the psychological hang-ups of 1800s world leaders, “Napoleon” is still a historical epic directed by Ridley Scott. And we know what those look like by this point. Dariusz Wolski, Scott's regular cinematographer since “Prometheus,” is back behind the camera. As in “Exodus” and “The Last Duel,” he guarantees the film has a gloomy, overcast look through most of its runtime. It seems the sun is never shining whenever Napoleon is on the battlefield, even when he's in the middle of the Egyptian desert. The interiors are largely lit by candles, giving them a warm and painterly glow that blends with the washed-out colors in such a way that the film is rarely interesting to look at. Of course, Scott's movies have kind of looked like this since “Gladiator,” so I don't really blame Wolski.

Having said that, “Napoleon” certainly does have its cool moments. Even if Scott's obsession with theatrical violence can come off as juvenile sometimes, the bloody moments in “Napoleon” are still notable. The sheer destructive powers of cannonballs are displayed when they tear a horse's chest open or rip through a line of insurrectionists. The battle scenes are fittingly chaotic, full of bullets whizzing by and bodies crumbling to the ground. The moment that was most heavily advertised in the trailers, where Napoléon lures the Prussian army out onto an icy lake only to shatter it with artillery, is indeed a highlight of the film. However, a later scene, of the Russian forces leaving the bodies of dead French soldiers hanging from the trees recall the horror movie dread of Scott's “Alien” movies.

By this point, it's a cliché that Ridley Scott's historical epics are almost always abbreviated in theaters. It's all but expected by now that a longer, better, director's cut will emerge at a later date. Indeed, Scott has impishly promised that a four hour long cut of “Napoleon” exists somewhere.  If the theatrical cut of “Napoleon” – already long at 157 minutes – is missing around ninety minutes of footage, that certainly explains some things about its pacing. As it exists now, “Napoleon” does play a bit like the Wikipedia article version of history. It quickly passes through the historical events, reducing many of Napoleon's campaigns and wars down to a single battle each. It feels like a summary of a much longer history at times. 

”Napoleon” was produced by Apple Original Films, the studio shelling out around 200 million dollars in order to get the sometimes critically acclaimed auteur on-board their fledging studio. They marketed the hell out of “Napoleon,” hoping to grab the same crowd that turned up for “Oppenheimer” earlier in the year. It didn't quite work out, as the film underperformed at the box office. It also hasn't become an awards season juggernaut, grabbing only three Oscar nominations in the technical categories. Scott has already moved on to a new studio willing to give him a blank check. I have no doubt that the longer cut of “Napoleon” will be superior, should it ever emerge. As the film exists now, it is a sometimes interesting historical epic, at its best when focusing on the foibles of its legendary protagonist and his lover and far more routine (and clipped down) when dedicating time to the battles you expect to see. [Grade: B-]

OSCARS 2024: To Kill a Tiger (2022)

It is still really hard to be a woman in this world. Back in 2022, among the Oscar-nominated documentaries was “Writing with Fire.” That film illustrated some of the difficulties women face in India in the modern age. (And before that was “Period. End of Sentence,” which shown even basic feminine biology sometimes struggles to be recognized.) In the years since then, filmmakers continue to focus on the women of India and their fight for equality. “To Kill a Tiger” is another nominated documentary, focusing on this plight. Or, at least, one case in particular that can't help but speak to wider issues facing the country. India-born, Canadian filmmaker Nisha Pahuja directs, presumably giving a culturally – and gender – specific perspective on this story. 

“To Kill a Tiger” focuses on Ranjit, a simple famer living in Jharkhand. His thirteen year old daughter, while attending the wedding of a friend in the village, is brutally raped by four different men. Ranjit seeks justice for his daughter by finds the process to be difficult. The local authorities refuse to do anything but the bare minimum to help. The community leaders repeatedly suggest the matter be swept under the rug. Yet Ranjit refuses to give up. He teams up with women's rights organization to take the case to a higher court, while facing threats from other forces. 

“To Kill a Tiger” is one of the most frustrating films I've seen recently but not because it's a badly made movie. Repeatedly, every time Ranjit and those working with him attempt to further his fight for justice, he is faced with the same answer: Why doesn't Ranjit's daughter just marry one of the men who raped her? The local authorities suggest this. The old women in the village say the same thing. People repeatedly throws this answer out there, as if it is a totally reasonable solution. Everyone says that this will keep further shame from coming to the village, which they seem to consider more important than a girl being horribly raped. Whenever someone suggests that a woman probably would not want to be married to someone who violently attacked her, people counter that this is how it's always been done. 

To hear this suggestion, so absurd as to be become vulgar, repeatedly thrown out there is absolutely infuriating. I can only imagine how it made Ranjit feel. Most of the men in the film try and shift the blame to the girl. Saying she shouldn't have been alone, that she must have done something to attract this attention. They all seem more concerned with resolving the issue as quickly as possible, that further legal proceedings might ruin the boys' lives. These are the kind of excuses we've all heard many times, any time the topic of sexual assault comes up. India and America might be very different places but it seems men, in every country and culture, are eager to blame literally anyone but other men whenever a young girl is attacked and raped. 

I suppose you could criticize the makers of “To Kill a Tiger” for centering its story on Ranjit, the father, instead of the girl herself. This decision seems to mostly have been done to protect the daughter, though she is interviewed and on-screen multiple times. Ranjit does strike the viewer as a fascinating man. He repeatedly blames himself for failing his daughter. He says over and over again that he should've protected her. The regret and pain he feels is always clear. Yet, despite the monumental pressure on him to give up, he never stops fighting for his daughter. Countless people around him insists he accept the ways things have always been done but he stands up for change. He's a brave, humble man.

“To Kill a Tiger” does have one of the more satisfying endings I've seen this Oscar season. It's a powerful film, that shows that sometimes justice can be done if people keep standing up for what is right. Questions linger in the air, what the fallout will be, and the movie quickly addresses them in a pre-credit title card. The filmmakers do not just present this story as it happened, as compelling as it might be. They suggest and attack the structures that cause these things to happen, holding up a mirror to the faces and forces that causes these crimes to happen. That is what documentary filmmaking is all about. [7/10]

OSCARS 2024: Perfect Days (2023)

I hope this doesn't get me excommunicated from the film nerd society but I've never seen a Wim Wenders movie before. I'm certainly aware of his standing among serious cinephiles. “Paris, Texas” and “Wings of Desire” are considered classics. “Until the End of the World” is on my list of things to watch some day. However, his work has alluded me up to this point. Well, that changes now. The Academy seeing fit to nominate “Perfect Days” has finally changed that. Japan's submission for Best International Film, set in Japan, spoken entirely in Japanese, with an all Japanese cast, despite being directed by a German, the movie has been the latest critically acclaimed film to be made by Wenders. I guess now it's time for me develop an opinion on this auteur. 

Hirayama is a sanitation worker living in Tokyo. He spends his days cleaning public bathroom stalls around the city. He is a quiet, private man who speaks little. His much younger co-worker, Takashi, attempts to befriend him but Hirayama remains remote. He spends his free time taking photographs, reading, riding his bicycle, and listening to music. Sometimes, he goes to a bar and has friendly conversations with the woman who owns it. At night, he has strange dreams. His quiet existence is interrupted when his teenage niece arrives at his apartment, unannounced. This slowly begins to reveal more of Hirayama's life and past.

“Perfect Days” is an exceedingly quiet movie. Its first hour is devoted almost entirely to simply showing us what Hirayama's daily routine is. It seems most every day of his is largely the same. He gets up, shaves, buys a coffee from a vending machine, goes to work, rides his bike, goes to a public bathhouse, gets a drink, comes home, and reads until he falls asleep. On his days off, he doesn't do much besides develop photographs, which are usually of a tree in the park he works near. His apartment is small and solitary. Koji Yakusho's wide, expressive eyes suggest Hirayama has an active inner life, which is further emphasized by the glimpses we get at his nightly dreams. Yet the man's history and background remains unknown to us. 

In fact, I suspect that this is one of the main things “Perfect Days” is about. All throughout the film, Hirayama has brief encounters with the people around him. A homeless man who poses in the park for photographs, a woman who sits on a bench near him as he eats lunch, or people passing to-and-from the restrooms: He interacts with them a little, never really getting to know them. Takashi attempts to court a girl named Aya. She sits in Hirayama's van and listens to his music, crying a little, which we never learn the motivation behind. Hirayama picks up a note in the one toilet stall, playing Tic-Tac-Toe with an unseen person. We have brief encounters with other people. We see their faces, maybe talk to them or learn their names, but we can never know all of them. Everyone keeps their secrets. “Perfect Days” is all about the unknowable quality of the ordinary people we pass on the street every day. 

There's certainly a melancholy quality to “Perfect Days.” Hirayama's world seems quiet and lonely. The little bit of information we get about his life, from his interactions with his niece, suggests there's sadness and regrets in his past. He has short, meaningful conversations with people, dripping with sadness. This especially becomes the case as the film moves towards its last third. And yet, for the most part, Hirayama seems content. As the title suggest, the man seems to have more perfect days than imperfect ones. He takes joy in the simplest things. Like driving to work, listening to his favorite music, or riding his bike. The only time we really see him upset is when his co-worker quits suddenly and he has to do two people's work all by himself. And he seems annoyed more because his daily routine is interrupted by this. Maybe there's something to be said for that, enjoying consistency in our lives, every day. 

As mundane as it all sounds, there's an incredible specificity to “Perfect Days.” Hirayama takes great pleasure in everything around him. To resurrect a dead meme, he surrounds himself with objects that “spark joy.” This includes old books, an antiquated camera and faded photographs, and his favorite songs. His music, in particular, is a source of great joy. Hirayama surrounds himself with outdated technology, listening to all his albums on cassette tapes. I wasn't even sure “Perfect Days” was set in the modern century until his niece references iPhones. It seems to suggest that the protagonist walls himself off in the past. Yet, he's happy there. Maybe it's not our place to judge what makes other people happy.

Ultimately, “Perfect Days” is a beguiling, mysterious motion picture. Great emotions seem to simmer just under the surface, always out of reach of the viewer. It implies much more than it actually shows. Yet I can't help but be oddly entranced by it. The cinematography is expressive, the lighting soft and relaxed. There's a lot going on, under the surface. If nothing else, it has a pretty great soundtrack, filled with key needle drops by Patti Smith, Van Morrison, Sam Cooke, and (naturally) Lou Reed. I guess I should probably look into this Wim Wenders guy more, shouldn't I? [7/10]

OSCARS 2024: 20 Days in Mariupol (2023)

At the 92nd Academy Awards, back in early 2020, two films about the Syrian Civil War were nominated in the Best Documentary Feature category. Both were ground-level films, largely composed of footage recorded by people trapped in the middle of the combat. “For Sama” and “The Cave” were both harrowing watches, the former especially. This year, the Academy has saw fit to nominated another non-fiction film recorded in an active war zone. “20 Days in Mariupol” is set in a different country, during a different war, but remarkably similar in its unbridled grimness and unwillingness to look away to the aforementioned films. Once again, my totally self-imposed mission to watch all the nominated films has me seeing sights I really have no business looking at. Let's see if I can find something meaningful to contribute to this topic.

“20 Days in Mariupol” is set in the titular Ukrainian city. War correspondent and videographer Mstyslav Chernov and his team are in Mariupol, documenting the city on the eve of Russia's 2022 invasion. Russian president Vladimir Putin initially promised that the military would not attack citizen cities. As the violence begins, it immediately becomes clear that no attempt is made to fulfil this promise. Mariupol immediately becomes a battleground, the civilian population caught in the middle as Russian forces attack schools, hospitals, and neighborhoods. Local humanitarian forces are quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of injured and dead. Chernov and his team are trapped in the city for twenty days, their cameras capturing many of the atrocities and tragedies as they occur.

“For Sama” featured one of the most distressing scenes I've ever seen in any movie, when an infant is pulled from a dead mother and the doctors attempt to get the limp baby to breathe. I bring this up because “20 Days in Mariupol” features nearly the exact same series of events. In both cases, the baby does start crying, proving it's alive. Which, I suppose, make these scenes ultimately less disturbing than a lot of the other destruction both films capture. “20 Days in Mariupol” is a nearly unending parade of horrifying war footage. We see children in the emergency room, their bodies broken and bloody, many of them not surviving their injuries. Women scream through blood on the operating table. The dead and dying are carried on stretchers through the wreckage. People weep and cry, their children and loved ones taken away from them. Buildings explode. Eventually, the authorities can do nothing but pile up the corpses in a trench, a mass grave forming before our eyes. 

Over and over again, Chernov's grim narration repeats how important it is to capture this footage. To show these events happening. He befriends one of the cops hopelessly trying to maintain order in the city, who speaks the same message in Russian and in broken English directly into the camera. He asks the people in the west to help, that the suffering in Mariupol not be forgotten. And this is probably the greatest value “20 Days in Mariopul” has. At one point, a legal expert assures the filmmakers that, based on what has happened in this city, the Russian government could easily be prosecuted for war crimes. In which case “20 Days in Mariupol” might be most valuable as video evidence at such a trial. Yes, I do think these events need to be documented. These people, who lived and died and struggled and suffered, deserve to have their stories told.

But what do I, as one individual person, gain by watching this? I can't stop Russia from invading Ukraine. I can't help the people who I see harmed and killed in this film. I don't think me dropping everything in my life, getting on a plane, flying into a war zone, and trying to do aid work will help much. The most I can do is donate to on-the-ground organizations and charities in the Ukraine. Which I did, immediately after watching “20 Days in Mariupol.” If that was simply the filmmakers' goals, then I guess they achieved their purpose. If heads of states watch this film and are moved to help in some way, via political pressure or legislation, then “20 Days in Mariupol” can make a difference too. 

Otherwise, I can't help but wonder what the point is simply watching these hideous things happen. Especially when the documentary filmmakers center themselves in this story repeatedly. Throughout “20 Days in Mariupol,” Chernov and his cameras meet people on the streets. Such as a strangely serene man dragging his possessions behind in a cart. Or a fellow carrying a turtle in a little bowl, determined not to give up on his beloved pet even in the middle of a war. We get these tiny slivers of these deeply human stories within this horrible situation. Wouldn't “20 Days in Mariupol” have honored all who lived and died through this war by focusing on the stories of the people? Instead, the film is about the brave reporters documenting these hideous events. A narrative structure even forms in the last act, the movie building towards a climax of the reporters escaping from a besieged hospital and sneaking out of the city, the politically sensitive footage hidden under their car seats. Is “20 Days in Mariupol” trying to be an entertaining movie in these moments? How does that help bring attention to the plight of the citizens of Ukraine?

Several very brief scenes in “20 Days in Mariupol” show Russian officials denying these war crimes are happening. Saying it's all fake news and propaganda, that Russia is simply defending itself. I suppose simply recording what happened, in the face of disinformation like this, makes “20 Days in Mariupol” important. Yet I still can't help but question the motivation of editing footage like this into a movie – a piece of media to be watched, content to be consumed – and releasing it to the masses. There are powerful images in “20 Days in Mariupol.” There are also horrible, disturbing ones. Does giving myself nightmares by watching this make things any better for the people of the Ukraine? Will giving this movie an Oscar help the families of those who died in Mariupol or those who escaped? Is showing the world atrocities enough? I don't have the answers. Subsequently, “20 Days in Mariupol” is difficult to watch, even more difficult to write about, and impossible to assign any sort of grade or rating. [-/10]

OSCARS 2024: Io Capitano (2023)

There's lots of things you could criticize the international wing of the Academy for. However, if nothing else, the International Feature Film category does often achieve what is more-or-less its intention: To bring films and voices from other countries far more attention than they would otherwise get. If not for the Oscars, I doubt many people would have seen “Io Capitano.” The film is Italy's submission into the category. It is a co-production between Italy, Belgium, and France. Filmed mostly in Senegal and Morocco, the director is Italian, the cast is largely Senegalese, and the story takes place all over Northern Africa. I would say that is a win for international representation and cooperation, if nothing else. 

Seydou and his cousin Moussa – whom he treats more like a brother – are two sixteen year old boys living in a small village in Dakar. They both dream of travelling to Europe and becoming singers, dancers, and musicians. Both have saved up enough money to make the trip, though Seydou's mother is horrified when he mentions the idea to her. He leaves in secret, the two boys travelling into the desert to get fake passports made. They have to bribe guards as they enter into Mali. They're loaded onto a truck with a dozen other people and begin a perilous trip across the Sahara desert. At the Libyan border, Seydou and Moussa are separated by soldiers with guns, demanding bribes. Unable to pay, Seydou arrives in a prison camp, faces torture and kidnapping, and eventually is sent to work on a rich man's home with an older craftsman. Thus begins Seydou's journey to Tripoli, where he hopes to be reunited with Moussa so they can finally make the final leg of their quest: On a boat packed full of other migrants, crossing the sea to Sicily.

The official synopsis of “Io Capitano” refers to it as a “Homeric fairy tale.” While the film is mostly telling an original story, inspired by the plight of real people travelling across Africa to Europe, there are often fascinating allusions to “The Odyssey.” The boys being driven across the desert, crammed into the bed of a pick-up truck with a whole crowd of people, being tossed about by the unhinged driving, recalls the hazards of Charybdis and Scylla. A ill woman calling Seydou away from the desert guide is a vague echo of the sirens. The warden in the Libyan prison has a glass eye, an obvious homage to Polyphemus. Seydou's humiliation in the prison recalls Odysseus being a captive of Circe. The beautiful, veiled wife of the rich man has an air of Calypso about her. Once arriving in Tripoli, Seydou travels through an underground iron works, full of sparks and flames, like Odysseus passing through the underworld. When he finally finds Moussa, it almost seems like he's forgotten his cousin, as if he's been with the lotus eaters. 

The parallels between Seydou's journeys and Homer's epic add depth to this story. Yet “Io Capitano” is maybe most interesting when it incorporates its own elements of mysticism and magical realism into its story. Seydou misses his mother, much like how Odysseus misses Penelope. Yet the dream he has, of his mother floating over the desert, begging him to return home, is unique to this telling. There's a hint of Aeolus in the old wise man from the village, who appears to Seydou in a dream while he's in the prison. The scene that follows, in which an Icarus-like spirit travels back to the village to assure Seydou's mother that he's alright, speaks to the powerful melancholy that is central to this film. “Io Capitano” blends classical mythology with African spiritualism in service of telling a story rift with human emotions like regrets and longing. 

This fusion of specific cultural struggles with archetypal narratives shows us that myth-making and storytelling know no borders. “Io Capitano” is a story of brotherhood, tested but never forgotten. No matter how severe the hardships Seydou faces, he never forgets Moussa. He searches ceaselessly for his cousin in Tripoli. When they are reunited, the other boy has a bullet hole in his leg and wants to return home. It is up to Seydou to carry him, to give him the strength not to give up. It's a classical story, of the bond between two boys that pushes them through all sorts of challenges. 

If “Io Capitano” partakes in the world-wide known narrative of two best friends on an adventure, it touches on another Campbellian monomyth. That would be the boy rising from unassuming roots, to become a man and then a hero. Seydou Sarr plays the eponymous, showing such a naturalistic charisma that he could easily be an international star some day. He faces horrors but pushes through, showing courage he didn't know he had. He meets a mentor, the old stone mason, who gives him the skills he'll need to survive this journey. All the while, he is gripped with uncertainty, forced into situations he's not prepared for. Yet he perseveres, captaining a boat full of the sick and homeless on a journey across unknown waters. The final moments has Seydou fully evolving into his role as an adult survivor. There's a reason stories like this have been carried in the human soul as long as stories have existed. They resonated in a deep place.

Honestly, my only disappointment with “Io Capitano” is that it could've been a little longer. I would have liked to have seen Moussa's own journey, that brought him back to his cousin in the Libyan big city. The “Odyssey” parallels could have been taken further. The boys will surely confront new challenges once they are in Italy, other people trying to achieve their dream of being singers and dancers. Much like how, upon returning to Ithaca, Odysseus had to fight off the suitors squatting in his home. I don't know what the equivalent to shooting an arrow through a row of axes would be though... You know a movie is good when it runs two hours and you wish it had an extra hour or two more. If you can consider “Io Capitano” a Senegalese film – I would – it's the second film from Senegal I've seen. The first was “Saloum,” which was also excellent. Meaning I need to see more films from this country, if this is any indication of their overall quality. [9/10]