OSCARS 2024: The Color Purple (2023)

Steven Spielberg's 1985 adaptation of “The Color Purple” is generally considered a respectable but somewhat incomplete adaptation of Alice Walker's landmark novel. Especially the queer element of the book was downplayed in the film. This is likely why other adaptations were considered a valid enterprise. In 2004, a stage musical based on the novel would debut to critical acclaim. Considering the role music played in the original, this adaptation made a bit more sense than your usual attempts to bring a well-known movie to Broadway. Since we live in a time where recognizable I.P.s drive every studio decision, “The Color Purple” making the leap back to the screen was only a matter of time. Last year, it happened, “The Color Purple: The Musical: The Movie” releasing around Christmas. The reviews were okay, the box office wasn't great, but the movie still scooped up a single Oscar nomination. 

Director Blitz Bazawule sticks closely to Spielberg's film and Walker's novel. “The Color Purple” is still the story of Celie, a black woman living in Georgia in the early 1900s. She's separated from her beloved sister, Netty, when their abusive father essentially sells her to a man in town as his wife. “Mister,” as he insists she calls him, is a monstrous man who beats Celie and terrorizes her into raising his kids. The shy, reserved Celie soon meets other women. Such as the outspoken Sophia and Shug Avery, a blues singer Mister harbors feelings for. Celie slowly comes out of her shell and stands up to the hateful men in her life. All the while, she never forgets her long lost sister.

Usually when a story makes a leap across mediums, I don't consider it a true remake. 2023's “The Color Purple” is, ostensibly, not an adaptation of the 1985 film. It's an adaptation of the stage musical, right? Yet I couldn't stop thinking about Spielberg's version while watching this one. Every moment of emotion that lingers with me about this story is from that film. When Celie finally rebels against Mister, nearly slashing his throat with a razor before exploding at him around the dinner table, it's a moment of almost frightening catharsis. That same scene in the remake, meanwhile, feels like a pale imitation. The same can be said of the horrible string of events that leads to Sophia being imprisoned and her spirit broken. The violence is unsettling in the original, while here it feels much less shocking. I guess it goes without saying that not every filmmaker can engineer a scene with the power and impact that Steven Spielberg can. 

This isn't to say there isn't talent involved with this “Color Purple.” Cinematographer Dan Lausten creates a good looking movie. The lighting is bright but with depth. The colors are rich. The camera movements are dynamic without being too distractingly showy. The cast is fairly talented. The nominated Danielle Brooks, as Sophia, is a stand-out. She brings a massive amount of power to her declarations of independence. Colman Domingo is utterly despicable as Mister, the exact kind of entitled scumbag you'd expect from this character. Taraji P. Henson is also very good as Shug, with an attitude and verve that draws the eyes. However, I'll admit that Fantasia Barrino seems miscast to me as Celie. Whoopi Goldberg was so perfectly meek in the part, playing a girl so frightened she fades into the woodwork. Barrino is just waiting to break loose and announce herself.

Musicals, of course, live and die based on how strong their songs are. I haven't seen “The Color Purple” on-stage and maybe it plays better there. However, I'll admit I did find this one to be a bit of a slog musically. Most of the songs blend together in my memory, many of them using similar construction. There's a lot of numbers here where back-up singers join in to emphasize the intended power of a lyric or melody. The truth is musical depend on a very careful tonal balance. Sometimes, people randomly breaking into song and dance will just look silly. That's the case here, when men building a house start using boards and hammers in their dances moves. Or during the especially silly number “Miss Celie's Pants.” It says a lot about the quality of the music here that the best numbers are the ones taken from the original movie. 

Spielberg's “Color Purple” was too long and too sentimental at times, while also having the edge and ugliness necessary to sell this story. The eventual triumph doesn't mean much unless it's earned. The remake lacks that grittiness, its victories feeling much more contrived. The performances aren't bad and it's a good looking film. However, when a musical doesn't hook me, I find myself becoming bored quickly. That was sadly the case with this “Color Purple.” Walker's novel remains the definitive version of the story while this take can't even stand up to the compromised strengths of Spielberg's adaptation. [5/10]

OSCARS 2024: Nyad (2023)

In 2015, husband and wife filmmaking team Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin made “Meru,” a documentary about Chin and two other men climbing an especially perilous peak in the Indian Himalayas. In 2018, the same duo made “Free Solo,” about Alex Honnold's free-climbing of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. The break-out documentary hit of the year, “Free Solo” would go on to win the Best Documentary Feature award at the Oscars. Vasarhelyi and Chin have made a few other documentaries since then but 2023 would see them handling their first narrative feature. And it followed a subject not too similar to their hit docs. “Nyad” is about Diana Nyad, the swimmer who came to fame in the seventies for her numerous long distance swims. It's not surprising that this filmmaking duo would be drawn to Nyad's most arduous task – swimming from Cuba to Florida, while in her sixties – as another display of the human body and its ability to perform stunning acts of stamina. The resulting film unsurprisingly captured the Academy's attention, receiving two nominations in the acting categories. 

In 1980, long-distance swimmer Diana Nyad first attempted the 110-mile, continuous swim from Cuba to Florida. She did not compete the task. Even though Nyad remains a point of inspiration for athletes all over the world, that she has left this journey incomplete vexes her still. At the age of sixty, she decides to try again. Her life-long friend, Bonnie Stoll, acts as her couch. A surly navigator by the name of John Bartlett is recruited to steer the boat. Nyad does everything she can to prepare but still she fails her mission. A month later, she tries again, this attempt cut short when she nearly dies from a jellyfish sting. This is the second of five attempts by Nyad to complete the swim, growing more desperate and determined with each failure. All the while, her body, mind, and the commitment of her friends will be pushed to their absolute limits. 

Diana Nyad's story is about as cinematic as a true story can get. Her last name literally being pronounced the same as the water nymphs of Greek mythology is the kind of detail you'd expect a screenwriter to invent. Her achievements are seemingly superhuman, the kind of record-breaking tasks that seem impossible. A swim through open ocean is full of dangers, from out-of-control tides, to sharks, to how to pull off practical necessities like eating, drinking, or using the bathroom. More than anything else, what makes Diana Nyad's story so well suited to the movie screen was her undying determination. To attempt something like this once is daunting. To try over and over again, despite nearly dying every time, is the kind of improbable resoluteness you typically find in fictional characters, not real people. In other words, Diana Nyad's story was tailor-made for a movie. 

Probably the biggest challenge facing filmmakers bringing Nyad's story tot he screen is that... Swimming for a really long time is maybe not the most exciting action to watch. It's a journey fraught with danger. I can't even begin to imagine how Diana pushed her body and her mind through a mission like this. Yet someone swimming in a straight line probably wouldn't make much of a movie otherwise. In order to make “Nyad” as cinematic as possible, the filmmakers delve right into Diana's mind. When she begins to hallucinate, deep into the swim, we are greeted to those visuals. Her memories come to life around her: Her difficult childhood with her irresponsible father, sexual abuse at the hands of her swim coach, her struggles as a young gay woman. From there, Vasarhelyi, Chin, and cinematographer Claduio Miranda do everything they can to make this journey look at memorable as possible. Deep reds, blues, and purples glow through crashing waves as Nyad swims on and on. 

The script is sturdy and the film looks good. What makes “Nyad” really worth watching, however, are the lead performances. Annette Bening plays Diana as irrepressible. After nearly dying of a jellyfish sting, while recovering in the hospital, she's already talking to an expert about what to do the next time. After being fished out of the water, almost dead, she's still trying to swim. Bening allows for Diana to have an ego, which gets her in trouble. She's a proud and stubborn woman. Yet her unkillable spirit is too inspiring not to love a little bit, making full use of Bening's ability as an actress. Jodie Foster is ideally cast as Bonnie, an ever-true friend that challenges her partner but never gives up on her. Every time Foster gets an inspiring speech or an impassionate monologue, she makes it sing. That's what you hire Jodie Foster for. Rhys Ifans is also nicely crochety as literally a weathered old sea captain.

“Nyad” is the kind of Oscar-nominee that's not likely to be remembered in a few years. The fact that it was a Netflix production, designed to play in theaters for a single week before being buried on a streaming service forever, isn't going to help. I'm not sure I'm going to remember much about after the ceremony wraps. The movie does nothing to reinvent the biopic formula. However, the performances are strong and the movie is steadily assembled. Sometimes, all you need is an extraordinary story brought to life by competent talent. I foresee this becoming a favorite among moms all over. [7/10]

OSCARS 2024: The 2024 Oscar Nominated Live-Action Short Films

The After (2023)

"The After" begins with Dayo, some sort of besuited businessman type, having a pleasant morning with his young daughter and beautiful wife. The daughter is then brutally stabbed by a random maniac and tossed over a bridge, the wife shortly crawling after her. This is when I was reminded I was watching an Oscar-nominated live action short film. The rest of "The After" takes place a year later, with Dayo now working as a ride-share driver and still thoroughly trapped in his grief. That is when an unexpected act of kindness from a random person gives him the first moment of catharsis he's had since the death of his family. 

Yes, the shorts branch of the Academy remains addicted to melodramatic misery porn about dead kids. "The After" is especially ham-fisted about its opening tragedy. The film takes just enough time to establish what our protagonist has to lose before taking it away as abruptly as possible. Naturally, for maximum shock factor, our hero has to watch his wife and kid die violently and randomly. A car crash or medical emergency wouldn't be dramatic enough. It has to be a motorcycle helmet clad slasher. That image is so improbable and sprung on us so randomly, that "The After" seems just as likely to cause laughter as gasps. I mean, it wouldn't be funny if it was a mass shooter. But this is a British film and they actually have gun control in that country, so the sacrificial lambs must die at the hands of a horror movie villain popping up suddenly in this glurge-y drama. It's difficult to take any of this seriously, when it's so transparently manipulative. How are we supposed to care about this guy's wife and kid when they exist solely to give him a tragedy to overcome?

"The After" doesn't stop ladling it on after that. The flash-forward shows Dayo as completely broken, seemingly spending all his free time sitting in his car, pinning and crying over his dead family. Once another little girl enters his car, who just so happens to look very similar to his dead daughter, you can guess where this is headed. The only thing elevating "The After" above its status as tear-jerking sludge is David Oyelowo's lead performance. He manages to bring a degree of humanistic vulnerability to his character, especially in the climatic moment, that is actually somewhat touching. You have to be made of stone not to be a little moved by a grown man collapsing into tears from an innocent gesture. Otherwise, "The After" is the kind of heavy-handed, tragedy-laden, faux-inspirational nonsense you'd expect to see trending on your aunt's Facebook page. [5/10]

Invincible (2022)

We've got two nominated shorts in a row beginning with a minor dying this year. “Invincible” starts with fourteen-year-old Marc driving a car into a lake. We then flash back to show the last 48 hours of his life. Marc is a bright but troubled young man who is back in a juvenile detention facility after a weekend with his parents. He assures his little sister that she'll see him again, because he can survive anything. Back at juvie, his moderating officer warns him that, if he escapes one more time, the consequences will be more severe. Marc tries to behave himself but his hunger for freedom can only be restrained for so long.

“Invincible” is based on a true story, of what happened to the director's friend when he was young. This set up certainly gives the Quebecoise short film more gravitas than the glurge-y melodrama of “The After.” It helps that the film approaches its subject in an understated manner. Marc, as calmly played by  Léokim Beaumier-Lépine, clearly has more going inside than it appears. He's clever enough to turn on the sprinklers when left in a sweltering prison cell. He's creative enough to express his feelings through a thoughtful poem. Even if he's too stoic to read it in front of the class. When the boy has a chance to glee, when a guard leaves a gate open, we see him consider it. Yet he holds himself back, trying to behave under the rules his role has assigned him. 

As an ode to someone too free to ever exist within the confines of society, “Invincible” could have been a little more fleshed out. This is a short that feels like a prototype for a feature film. Still, the discussion of existential themes – as displayed by Marc's friend, who claims they can imprison his body but not his mind – suggests there's more than just that trite idea going on here. It's well photographed, with the cramped, Academy ratio cinematography emphasizing the character's confinement. I wish the last third wasn't so rushed but this one did achieve some of the emotions it clearly sets out to create. [7/10]

Knight of Fortune (2022)

Danish short “Knight of Fortune” also revolves around death, though at least it's not of a child. Karl travels to the morgue to say good-bye to his recently deceased wife. He can't bring himself to look at her body, instead occupying his time by fixing a broken lamp and sitting in the bathroom. That's where he meets Torben, another widower also there to see his wife's body. As they stand over the corpse, Torben begins to read from a long list of apologies. That's when the woman's family enters the room, none of them seemingly recognizes Torben. Karl is left confused by the entire scenario but quickly learns what is going on. In his own way, this eccentric stranger helps him confront his own grief. 

“Knight of Fortune” presents a side of grief that isn't often acknowledge: Sometimes, you'd rather do anything besides look the death of someone you love in the face. Karl stopping to fix a sparking lamp before opening his wife's casket is a good sign of the kind of guy he is. After he's kept from crying in the bathroom by a weird stranger, I thought “Knight of Fortune” would be a dryly sardonic comedy about a man being repeatedly interrupted on his way to grieving for his wife. Instead, the film takes a much more reflective path. The true nature of Torbin's ritual is easy to guess but still plays out in a touching manner. We all have to say good-bye to the people we love. If you don't grapple with that pain, you'll become trapped by it. Sometimes, you need a helping hand to get out of that cycle.

“Knight of Fortune” is the gentlest of comedies though, about an unlikely friendship blooming in an even more unlikely place. Leif Andrée as Karl carries the right kind of world-weariness on his face, as an old man having trouble processing his pain. Jens Jørn Spottag has the right off-beat energy as Torben, to leave you a little uncertain of the guy at first before realizing that he actually means well. The awkwardness between them presents a bit of dry comedy but, ultimately, this is a very sweet little film about accepting the inevitable and finding a way to carry on. [7/10]

Red, White and Blue (2023)

“Red, White and Blue” focuses in on Rachel, a waitress and mother of two in need of an abortion as quickly as possible. She lives in Arkansas, where the surgery has been de-facto outlawed, and must drive all the way into Illinois, even for a chance that she might be able to have the necessary procedure. She pinches penny to save up enough funds for the trip. Leaving her son at a friend's and, with her ten year old daughter Maddy in tow, the two do what they can to make this dire event into a fun road trip. Yet not everything is as it appears. 

“Red, White and Blue” is, ostensibly, filmmaking as activism. This is a movie meant to draw attention to how fucking shitty abortion laws are in America right now. First, Rachel must save money anywhere she can. The visual cliché of an adult raiding her child's piggy bank is literally employed here. Even then, Rachel can only afford the appointment after a generous customer leaves her a big tip. This is still not enough, as the waiting list is extremely long upon Rachel arriving at the clinic. Despite the incredible graveness of this situation, “Red, White and Blue” is still strangely framed as light-hearted. The woman and her daughter sing along to a pop song on the radio, eat lots of junk food, and even stop at a carnival. Contrasting such an upsetting situation with a fast-paced montage is extremely weird. 

At this point, I was just confused by “Red, White and Blue's” approach. Even more frustrating, this seems to be one of those issues movie with nothing more on its mind than to showing us how bad things are. Writer/director Nazrin Choudhury does not get into how this country has gotten to this point, or the various factors of why it has happened. No further commentary is provided beyond these things simply being this way and how bad that is. At rough as this is, it's all a prologue for a truly offensive plot point. The movie reduces a horrible, all-too-common event to nothing but a cheap twist ending. If that wasn't bad enough, the movie piles on unnecessary details that strike me an exploitative exercise in bad taste. What is the purpose of films like this, that pass off a cheapening of real world horrors as activism? I can't answer that question. However, if the history of the Academy's choices in this category is any indication, “Red, White and Blue's” utterly surface level treatment of a controversary issue and its gormless shock tactics will probably be rewarded with an Oscar. [4/10]

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (2023)

The Academy ignored Wes Anderson's latest feature length masterpiece, “Asteroid City,” this year. However, they did notice one of the shorter Roald Dahl adaptations he made that debuted on Netflix not long afterwards. Like Dahl's story, “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” involves the titular gambler who stumbles upon a pamphlet written by a doctor, who met a man who claimed he could see with his eye closed. Sugar studies and practices the techniques for three whole years, until he has mastered them. He immediately uses the newly acquired skill to cheat at cards and earn piles of money at the casino. Yet the life-long gambler soon discovers that his priorities have changed with the acquisition of this new talent.

Despite only being forty minutes long, “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” sees Wes Anderson indulging in all of the trademarks that define his films. The movie contains a nesting doll style narrative, stories within stories being told throughout. A narrator, patterned after Dahl himself, provides a framing device. Before Sugar relates his story himself, reading the first-person account from the doctor who then has the performer telling how he acquired these abilities. Many of these recollections are related directly to the camera by a talented range of actors including Ralph Fiennes, Benedict Cumberbatch, Dev Patel, and Ben Kingsley. This continues to show Anderson's obsession with narrative playfulness, about how storytelling itself is an act of creation that draws us deeper into people's souls. 

Netflix paid over 600 million dollars for the Roald Dahl Story Foundation and they were clearly willing to show that money on-screen here. The elaborate production design and visual symmetry that is Anderson's most defining trademark are very present here as well. The stories-within-stories are presented as stage play, stage hands moving special effects in and out of scenes as the sets shift around the actors. It's an amazing visual experience, animation and puppetry being used to create a fantastically home-made, artistic world. Through it all is Dahl's story, which is an utterly charming tale of a cad slowly transforming into a selfless man almost as a side-effect of his latest con. In other words: This will do nothing to change the minds of anyone who finds Anderson's schtick insufferable. For those of us who love his style, this is another triumph, a master operating at full power. [9/10]

OSCARS 2024: The Zone of Interest (2023)

When Jamiroquai's music video for “Virtual Insanity” hit, it was evident that the director was someone special. Jonathan Glazer immediately became a favorite of film fans the world over but he takes his time with his project. It's been a decade since his last movie, cosmic horror film “Under the Skin” that wowed many and baffled others. In all that time, there's been rumblings that Glazer's next film would be an adaptation of Martin Amis' Holocaust novel, “The Zone of Interest.” In 2019, Glazer would team with A24 and a number of other production companies in order to finally realize the project. The resulting film has been maybe the most critically acclaimed and audacious work of Glazer's lauded career. The Academy has recognized the achievement, giving Glazer his first Best Director and Best Picture nods. 

The year is 1943 and the Nazis' Final Solution is well underway. Just outside the walls of the notorious Auschwitz concentration camp resides a home. Nazi commandant Rudolf Höss lives there with his wife, Helga, and their five children. The family goes for swims in the near-by river, the father goes fishing. Helga tends to a garden and a group of servants prepare birthday parties and special dinners. All the while, countless lives are ended and countless more people are put through Hell on earth just on the other side of a wall. Höss and his family carry on, going about their daily lives without any concern for the horrors going on just a few feet away from them at any given time.

Most movies about the Holocaust plunge us right into the misery of the genocide, showing us people surviving or struggling one of the most horrifying events in European history. Much has already been written about how “The Zone of Interest” differs in its approach. Glazer and his team keep everything we typically associate with the Holocaust off-screen. Instead, we simply hear everything. Gun shots. Screams. Trains pulling in. The ever-present rumbling of the furnaces. “The Zone of Interest” is not about surviving the Holocaust. Instead, it's about presenting a society totally complacent in the faces of these horrors. “The Zone of Interest” is blatantly about how people can turn their backs on atrocious human suffering. Helga complains about having her pleasant home life interrupted when Rudolph is tasked with operations in Hungary. The kids have parties, screams of terror within ear shot. The only time Rudolph directly comments on the massacre happening under his watch is when some bones float into the river and interrupt a pleasant family outing. Suffering and death on a massive scale is only a minor inconvenience for him.

A common reaction to “The Zone of Interest” has been to say it's about the “banality of evil.” Even Steven Spielberg has used this line. And, yes, the film is about that. Near the end, while bored at a party, Rudolf absent-mindedly wonders how much effort it would take to gas everyone in the room. Nazi officials did absolutely dreadful things without thinking about their moral consequences. It was a job for them, the extinction of millions being a nine-to-five gig. Yet simply reducing “The Zone of Interest” to the “banality of evil” doesn't even begin to cover everything the film is doing. Using a similar technique to what he did in “Under the Skin,” Glazer's team rigged up the house and its surrounding areas with cameras. This allowed the team to watch the actors play out a daily routine. The events are often watched from afar, observing Höss and his family like a cold and inattentive god. 

This means the audience is watching what is happening with the same dispassionate gaze as the Nazis themselves. We are being made complacent in these horrors too. This makes “The Zone of Interest” a profound statement not just about the Holocaust but about any genocide. All of us are living our day-to-day lives, going to work, eating meals, hanging out with friends and family, while others are dying and suffering somewhere in the world. To participate in Western society is to take part in a massive machine that only operates at the cost of countless lives. Right now, the U.S. government is funding a genocide in Gaza by Israel. How many other pitiless atrocities have the average American contributed to with their tax dollars totally unawares? Glazer's film uncomfortably asks us to consider that turning a blind eye on ceaseless human suffering unimaginable is not especially difficult or unique. It may, in fact, be an unavoidable component of the American condition. 

That Spielberg would comment on “The Zone of Interest” is intriguing. Spielberg's own “Schindler's List” generated debate, if it was even morally responsible to make a movie about the Holocaust. Film, even the greatest and best intentioned films, are spectacles. Somebody, somewhere, is going to be munching on popcorn and Jujubes while watching a reenactment of the systematic slaughter of six million Jews, five hundred thousand Romani, a hundred thousand homosexuals, and countless others. Some studio lackey will be checking the box office returns on how many people bought tickets to such a show. Is cinema, as a medium, uniquely incapable of capturing the horrors of such an event? Glazer's film circumnavigates this dilemma as much as it can by simply never depicting all the visuals clichés we associate with Holocaust movies. We see the garden fertilized with ashes. Gun shots and wails of agony break up the unending churning of the furnaces. Yet the audience is forced to imagine everything else. The movie glues us to our seats and has the terrors of these events germinate in our minds for 105 minutes. 

This is not the only way that Glazer and his team take the spectacle out of the idea of filmmaking. The far-off cinematography is often paired with utterly mundane activities. We watch these little figures do totally mundane, every day tasks. Rudolf talks on the phone with his officials, who coldly commend him on his horrible work. We see a whole room full of high-ranking Nazis go through the steps of bureaucracy. When combined with the daily chores, it is monotonous. When combined with the unending sounds of torment, “The Zone of Interest” gives the impression of being in Hell itself. The only time Glazer breaks form is when showing a Polish girl sneaking into the camp and leaving food for workers. These scenes are shot in inverted monochrome and accompanied by Mica Levi's bellowing, groaning, ogre-like soundtrack. (Which is otherwise not present in most of the film.) In its final moments, as Rudolf Höss descends the interior staircases of the camp, as the film becomes unmoored in time and flashes forward to the Auschwitz Museum in the modern day, it's made clear. These events will exist forever, the acts of these men will reverberate through history eternally. Yes, if eternal damnation exists, it is surely very much like this. 

In other words: “The Zone of Interest” is a staggering masterpiece, a uniquely powerful achievement that seeks to not just have the audience understand the horrors of the Holocaust but forces us to grapple with their implications like few films have before. It's a great movie. It's also a movie I never want to see again. The film summons a foreboding atmosphere more nightmarish than any horror film I've ever seen. Movies about the Holocaust will continue to be made, as long as films continue to be made. I don't think there will ever be another film on the topic like this one. Part of me hopes there never will be. “The Zone of Interest” is an astute, haunting exorcism of true evil. [9/10]

OSCARS 2024: Anatomy of a Fall (2023)

Being an industry award show run primarily by people in the United States, the Academy Awards naturally tend to favor English language films. The number of times a film not in the English language has been nominated for Best Picture, much less won, is rare. Even though, the very serious film critic types tend to highlight movies from all over the year, when talking about the year's best. However, maybe things have been getting a little better in that regard.  “Parasite” sweeping the top categories a few years back might've been a game-changer, in retrospect. This year, “Anatomy of a Fall” has picked up several nominations in top categories. It's a French film, starring a German actress, in a mixture of English and French. That's a win for multi-nationalism, I'd say. 

Sandra Voyter gives an interview at her isolated cabin home but has to cut it short when her husband begins to blare music upstairs. The couple's blind son, Daniel, takes his dog Snoop, out for a walk. When he returns, he discovers that his father, Samuel, is dead on the snow beneath the house. Immediately, authorities begin to suspect that Sandra murdered her husband, pushing him from the guardrail to his death. She maintains her innocence, insisting that Samuel was suicide and killed himself. Soon, the case goes to trial and becomes a high-profile news story. The evident is stacked against Sandra by an aggressive prosecutor, forcing her son to come to his own conclusion about what happened.

“Anatomy of a Fall” belongs to the very respectable genre of the courtroom drama. This is a style of story that is linked very closely to the murder mystery, in terms of structure and pay-off. In both styles of story, we are presented with a dilemma, evidence, and a number of suspects. “Anatomy of a Fall” is special in that there's only ever one real suspect, Sandra herself. The audience's interaction with the narrative arises out of deciding whether she did it or not. This puts us in the exact same place as the jury, watching compelling evidence for both sides being laid down and forced to draw our own conclusions from what we've learned. Within this structure, “Anatomy of a Fall” is immediately compelling and keeps you hooked throughout. Each new reveal draws you in deeper, causing its two hour and thirty minute runtime to sail by.

Director Justine Triet and her co-writer Arthur Harari didn't just set out to write a persuasive court room thriller though. “Anatomy of a Fall” is ultimately about the subjectivity of truth. Throughout the film, the prosecutor and Samuel's psychologist present the image of a man with everything to live for and a venomous wife. Yet, every peek we get at Sandra's perspective of events, we see Samuel as a bitter and broken man. From certain points of view, both of these things are true. The truth is, in this case and in reality at large, objective fact can only take us so far. Some things exist as uncertainties. The version of Sandra and Samuel that exist in each other's heads were, in some ways, just as real as any other. Ultimately, “Anatomy of a Fall” comes to the conclusion that we must all choose our understanding of the truth, our own version of reality, and go from there. Because what other choice do we have?

There are other layers here as well. Unavoidably, gender comes into play. Sandra isn't just a woman but a bisexual one. She's had affairs with women in the past, something which greatly wounded Samuel. The prosecutor is brutal, tearing Sandra down on the stand and trying to create the image of her as a castrating bitch, who stole from her husband and plotted his murder far in advance. Would he be treated her this way if she was a man? Or even a strictly straight woman? One of the few times “Anatomy of a Fall” breaks its commitment to subjective reality is when it gives us a look at a terrible argument the couple had the day before the death. This makes “Anatomy of the Fall” one of the most brutal games of he said/she said that I've seen in film. The fragile egos of men and the pressures women live under all play a role in how they act, how they see things, and how their individual realities exist. 

All of its fascinating ideas aside, “Anatomy of a Fall” is just a fantastically assembled motion picture. Simon Beaufils' cinematography manages to combine visual tricks like handheld footage or smooth tracking shots with more intimate shots, that emphasizes the characters and their places within the buildings and rooms. Laurent Sénéchal's editing strings the film together elegantly, making every cut count. Sandra Hüller gives a performance so realistic, you can hardly believe she's acting sometimes. She seems like a real person, thrust into this unenviable position. Yet, when asked to really give it her all and belt it out, Hüller is simply thunderous. Milo Machado-Graner is heart-breaking as poor Daniel, who looses his dad and looses his innocence in a much wider sense. Messi the dog, as Daniel's seeing-eye dog Snoop, also has to give one of the best canine performances I've ever seen. 

The question everyone is asking after seeing “Anatomy of a Fall” is: Did she do it? That's even the film's English tagline. I do believe the movie presents as much evidence as possible for either case to be true. However, one scene I think does maybe push my opinion in a particular direction. And that's when Sandra seemingly attempts to seduce her lawyer, a moment that suggests she's really invested in being proven innocence. Yet, I suppose, even that scene is up to interpretation. Being able to generate discussion and debate is a sign of a great film. “Anatomy of a Fall” isn't just a flawlessly executed genre exercise but also a movie with so much more on its mind, grappling with heady ideas within a very accessible format. [9/10]

OSCARS 2024: Maestro (2023)

What's your opinion about Bradley Cooper? I can't say I felt too passionately about him one way or another until recently. He started out as a fairly bland leading man type, in forgettable flicks like “The Midnight Meat Train” and “Limitless.” Bro-like turns in “The Hangover” and “The A-Team” defined his early stardom and seemed to be about where he was comfortable. Yet Cooper clearly had something to prove. He mugged his way through “Silver Lining Playbooks,” “American Hustle,” and “American Sniper” in such a way that showed his desperation to display his talent. It says a lot about my feelings towards Cooper that I didn't start to warm up to him until he started to relax a little, disappearing into roles like a CGI raccoon or a coked-up Jon Peters. However, those were just preludes. Cooper was assuredly not done showing the world his ability for greatness. And so “Maestro” was born, a passion project Cooper bore to the screen almost singlehandedly. A movie so overflowing with Capital I Importance that it was destined to become the most hotly debated title of 2024's Oscar season. Cooper's plea for greatness worked, with “Maestro” earning notices at multiple award shows before picking up seven Academy Award nominations. Is the mainstream press – who have been largely receptive to the movie – right? Or is “Maestro” as swollen an act of overburdened hubris as everyone on Film Twitter seems convinced it is?

The maestro in question is Leonard Bernstein, the beloved composer and conductor that is one of maybe two modern classical songwriters the average person can name. Bookended by an interview from the end of Bernstein's life, the film essentially begins with the start of superstar career, when he called in to conduct the New York Philharmonic after Bruno Walter fell ill. While writing “On the Town,” Leonard meets actress Felicia Montealegre. Despite Bernstein being gay, he finds a soulmate in Felicia. The two marry and have children, while Bernstein's career as a composer grows in prominence. Yet he's frustrated, seeking to conduct great music. This inner turmoil leads him to affairs, that drive a wedge between himself and Felicia. Yet they remain bonded, which only grows sturdier after Felicia is diagnosed with breast cancer and begins to face the end of her life.

Why do we make biographical movies, books, and so on? Presumably it is in order to gain insight into the minds and actions of people we admire. To learn what made them tick, what drove them to create or perform acts of greatness. “Maestro” begins with a quote from Bernstein, saying that “a work of art does not answer questions” but “provokes them.” This seems to be the approach Cooper has taken to Bernstein here. Because “Maestro” consistently, frustratingly keeps its topic at a distance. What drove Leonard Bernstein to compose and conduct? He makes some vague mention of striving for greatness but little further insight is provided. When we see him conduct, he seems to fall into a state of ecclesiastic euphoria. But why? Bernstein's background is mentioned in dialogue, his love affairs glimpsed in passing, his relationship with his children briefly illustrated, his drug abuse shown in one scene. Yet “Maestro” stubbornly refuses to provide insight for any of these actions. 

“Maestro's” chilly approach to its subject extends to what is, ostensibly, the main focus of the film. The film definitely wants to frame itself as a love story, between Leonard and Felicia. Yet the reason for their bond remains as understated as anything else in the movie. The two share a certain chemistry, sure, and we are presented with many scenes of them talking and chatting. Yet why does Felicia love Leonard? She know he's mostly interested in men, sexually. Yet is still offended when she catches him making out with random twinks. Why does Bernstein cheat on his devoted, loving wife? He bids a male lover farewell after deciding to marry Felicia, another moment that is vaguely defined. We see them argue and we see them comfort each other in the back half, after her cancer diagnosis. However, the spark between them – what either gets out of this relationship – is another element “Maestro” keeps just out of reach. Why Felicia puts up with his moods and infidelity and remoteness is never answered.

Matthew Libatique's cinematography definitely emphasizes the movie's approach. The players are often framed far off in the distance, away from the viewer. Leonard and Felicia talk under a canape in the garden, partially obscured from us. There's an especially ostentatious – some might even say pretentious – sequence where the two argue in a private room. They stand by a window, the balloons from the Macy's Thanksgiving parade going by outside, the camera holding still for several minutes as we watch them verbally spar quite a while away from us. When not holding on these far-off shots, the cinematography is full of flashy movement. There are multiple drawn-out, tracking shots, usually overhead shots that pass through doorways and walls as it follows the characters. Not to mention, the scenes set in the forties are in black-and-white, that most obvious visual indicator that what we are watching is high-minded art. 

The cinematographer is showing off. The sound design – mostly composed of Bernstein's pre-existing music, of course – is showing off. But nobody is showing off in “Maestro” as much as Bradley Cooper. He does everything an actor eager for an Oscar is supposed to do. He wears a fake nose and is plastered in old age make-up as the movie progresses. He applies a distractingly nasal voice. He spits out reams of erudite dialogue. And when Bernstein is conducting, he swings his arms around in rhapsody and contorts his face in utter exaggerated ecstasy. Carey Mulligan is like this too, vomiting monologues of twisting, stagey dialogue. But she's a better actor than Cooper and the entire motive isn't a delivery system for her ACTING, so she comes off a little better. 

Ultimately, what can you call “Maestro” but a massive act of hubris on Cooper's behalf? He directed, co-wrote, and produced this movie strictly as a vehicle for him to play Bernstein. The script is designed to leave so many empty spaces in Bernstein's characterization, that Cooper's frankly sweaty acting is meant to fill the blank spaces. Is this a tribute to Bernstein's genius or a vanity project for an Oscar-hungry A-lister? I know which I believe. I will give Cooper and “Maestro” this much though: He actually put the R.E.M. song in the movie. That made me laugh. “Maestro” is a handsome production, with strong make-up effects, pretty cinematography, and a handful of well-executed scenes. It would have to be, considering the movie and prestige attached to it. Yet a biography that brings us no closer to understanding its subject, as this one does, can be considered nothing but a failure. [5/10]

OSCARS 2024: Rustin (2023)

At this point, Oscar Season and biographical films are irrevocably linked. The Best Actor category is almost inevitably dominated by performers playing real people. A quick glance shows me that we haven't had a year without a biopic nominated in that category since 2008. While many biographical films are actually quite good – indeed, a great one is leading the field this year – most films in this genre are not so notable. It's become a cliché that, if an actor wants to take a short cut to critical respect and award recognition, playing a real person is the way to do it. Especially if the subject contributed to American history, had a distinctive physical appearance, or spoke with a weird voice. In 2024, the film that meets all these qualifications is “Rustin.” To really show that this is the token biopic nod, Colman Domingo's lead performance is also the only nomination the film has received.

“Rustin” is, of course, about Bayard Rustin, civil rights activist and proponent of non-violent protest. The film begins in 1960, as Rustin and Martin Luther King have organized the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and are preparing a peaceful march on the Democratic National Convention. When it slips that a rumor is about to be leaked, that openly gay Rustin is having an affair with King, he leaves the organization. Two years later, Rustin begins work to help organize the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. Along the way, Rustin carries on a love affair with white activist Tom Kahn, falls for another man, and tries to exist as both a gay man and a black man in a time when both are persecuted.

“Rustin” was directed by George C. Wolfe, the famous playwright turned filmmaker who previously brought “Ma Rainey's Black Bottom” to the screen. A fair criticism of that film is it never quite escaped its stage bound roots. Perhaps Wolfe took this heart for “Rustin.” The film employs a number of visual tricks. Such as black-and-white flashbacks, first person perspective shots during Bayard's run-ins with the cops, high-speed montages, and a few weird zooms. Despite all these steps, it's unavoidable that “Rustin” is still largely composed of people sitting around and talking things out. Many scenes are devoted to Rustin, King, and other prominent black rights leaders arguing and debating various plans and issues. Most baffling of all is “Rustin's” conclusion. After the entire movie building up to the March on Washington... The actual march takes place entirely off-screen! We merely see a split-second of King's speech and the aftermath. What an utterly strange decision.

A lot of 'Rustin” is like that. The film attempts to be a snapshot of Bayard's whole life within this handful of years. This means it splits its focus between his work as an activist, as he attempts to push through his own plans against resistance from other established leader, and his status as a gay man during the early sixties. The various love affairs Rustin has are all quickly rushed through. The subplot involving a composite character played by Johnny Ramney ends especially abruptly. The film does what it can to blend these two aspects of Rustin's life, especially when his previous arrest for “perversion” is announced to the public. Yet it never comes together into a logical whole. We don't get a sense of Bayard Rustin as a whole human being, a civil rights activist and peaceful protestors who also happened to be homosexual. The elements uncomfortably linger next to each other, as if the script is changing focus back and forth.

Ultimately, movies like this depend a lot on their performances. Colman Domingo is a hugely charismatic actor and that is well on display here. However, this is also a very showy performance. Domingo mimics Rustin's distinctive speech pattern, while wearing a lot of make-up and period clothes. It's theatrical, in the kind of way that can't help but be a bit distracting. We aren't seeing a character come to life. We are seeing an actor play that character. There are a few performances like that. Such as Chris Rock as Roy Wilkins, who is obviously never anyone but Chris Rock. This stands against more naturalistic performances, like a very subdued Aml Ameen as King or an immediately magnetic Jeffrey Wright as Adam Clayton Powell Jr. (Who more-or-less fills the role of catty antagonist throughout the film.)

There are biographical movies that rise above the genre and become classics in their own right. There are also biopics that, outside of its star turn, is destined to be forgotten. I'm sure Colman Domingo, as a black gay man in reality, was very proud to bring this key figure in African-American and LGBT+ history to life. You can tell it was a big deal for him. Yet “Rustin,” as a movie, feels a lot like a Wikipedia encapsulation of someone's life with a few baffling omissions and changes. I hope Domingo gets another chance to show off his abilities in a better movie in the future. [5/10]