OSCARS 2025: The Seed of the Sacred Fig (2024)

A lot of filmmakers think of themselves as edgy, dangerous artists that challenge the status quo and shake up the system. We know this is mostly bravado and pretensions, obviously. Director is too privileged a position, film too expensive an enterprise, to actually risk pissing off those in power. If forced to be totally honest, how many filmmakers would say they were willing to go to jail for their work? Not many, probably. Not in America anyway. But in other countries, living under harsher scrutiny? Iranian director Mohammad Rasoulof has had repeated run-ins with his country's strict, Islamic government. He's been arrested multiple times, his films banned, his passport confiscated, and was convicted of making "propaganda against the system." He was commanded to stop making movies for two years but went ahead with a new project, "The Seed of the Sacred Fig," anyway. 

After the film was accepted into Cannes, Rasoulof was convicted to eight years in prison, had his property seized, and was sentenced to be flogged. He sneaked out of his home country, partially on foot, and is currently living in exile in Germany. It's the kind of crazy story, of an artist actually standing up to his authoritative government and facing serious consequences for it, that shows movie making is an important art form. The Academy likely couldn't pass up a chance to acknowledge such an event and "Seed of the Sacred Fig" was accordingly nominated for Best International Picture. (Officially being the submission from Germany, despite being made entirely in Iran with a wholly Iranian cast and crew.) 

In 2022, a young Iranian woman named Mahsa Amini was arrested for "improperly" wearing her hijab. She was beaten by police and died three days later. The incident prompted protest, rioting, and harsh retaliation from the government, especially against women and minors. These real events set the stage for "The Seed of the Sacred Fig." Iman is the husband of Najmeh and father to two teenage daughters, Rezcan and Sana. He accepts a job as a judge on the Revolutionary Court. Quickly, he learns he was chosen to uncritically convict every case that crosses his desk, essentially hired to sentenced protestors to death. He is given a gun for protection and instructed to live anonymously. His daughters, both of whom are carefully following the protests, bristle under these new restrictions. When his gun disappears, Iman begins to regard his wife and children with suspicion. It is not long before the growing tension in the home boils over into violence. 

My exposure to Iranian cinema has been limited, thus far. What I have seen suggests that a strict formalist visual style and slow pace seems favored, at least by filmmakers on the arthouse side of things. "Seed of the Sacred Fig" certainly fits that description. The film's 168 minute runtime is composed of many pregnant pauses and terse glances, with a limited use of music. Actors are often framed in long held shots, that linger on the conversations and actions being performed. It nudges right up against stuffy, inaccessible artiness. However, the frames are clearly carefully composed. When Namjah meets with a friend in secret, we see military convoys ride over the hill behind them. A slow shot of a badly injured protestor having her face stitched up emphasizes the pain and humiliation she's feeling. The intentionally tight, controlled visuals cause a sense of unease to begin building immediately. Rasoulof and cinematographer Pooyan Aghababaei are clearly doing this on purpose, as the film includes many artistic flourishes. Such as Iman taking a dream-like shower, a painterly frame of the wife in bandages, or a slow-motion shot of bullet casings falling through fingers. The film is shot very intentionally, in order to make the audience feel boxed into this situation too.

This is what makes “Seed of the Sacred Fig” a thriller of sorts. From the beginning, there's this sense that something is going to go wrong. However, Iman is portrayed as a decent enough man, quiet and committed to his belief system. From the moment he's given a degree of power though, he begins to show signs of paranoia. Bringing a gun into the house acts as a corrupting presence, a symbol of the new influence Iman carries. Soon enough, he's arguing with his wife and daughters. He forces them all to be interrogated, which is only the most obvious sign that something has gone very wrong. The comforting space that is suppose to exist between parent and child, daughter and father, is replaced with a fear of being exposed, of secrets coming to the surface. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, of a family gone rotten, but “Seed of the Sacred Fig” stretches it as tightly as possible to create maximum discomfort.

The final act of “Seed of the Sacred Fig” resembles a traditional genre piece more than the proceeding two hours. There is a car chase, fist fights, and gun fire. However, it doesn't feel like an unnatural, Donald Kaufman-esque mutation. Instead, the climax builds on the quieter tension that came before. The quiet unease rises towards outright nervous tension, a confrontation on the road having a jittery quality to it. The movie has earned that last act. Iman insists that a wife and daughter are always subservient to their father. Najmeh believes that a mother's job is to protect her children. Seeing these conditions come into conflict makes for a suitably upsetting conclusion. This is the explanation for the obtuse title, a mythological metaphor explained by the title card that essentially means that what was meant to grow and flourish instead chokes out its home. The family unit dies from its own strangling influence.

It's not hard to figure out what causes this imbalance. Iman believes that power should be kowtowed to. He feels immense guilt about signing so many people, so many young people especially, to death... But he does it anyway. Doing what the state tells him to, complying with power, is part of his belief system. His daughters, meanwhile, believe that authority can be challenged, that there are more important things than following the rules. Maybe Iman is afraid of what will happen to him if he doesn't go along with it all. There's room for that interpretation. However, “Seed of the Sacred Fig” seems to be playing much of the conflict in modern Iran out in microcosm. Some cling to the old ways and the appeal to power that comes with it. Others believe that change is not only possible but a necessary good. The former camp is so entrenched, literally in hundreds of years of tradition, that violent confrontation is the only way it'll happen.

For those with the perception of international cinema as depressing, drawn out, wrought with heavy issues, and inaccessible, “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” isn't going to change that. This is perhaps the definition of "eat your vegetables" cinema. However, that isn't to say it isn't extremely well done, thoughtful, and ultimately devastating. I don't know enough about the situation in Iran to know if it'll ever get better. I suspect such change will take a long time. However, it's clear that Mohammad Rasoulof is a talented guy. I respect him standing by his beliefs and making art that speaks to his morals. [8/10]

OSCARS 2025: Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat (2024)

In theory, the Oscars are meant to recognize the best and brightest films from the previous year. Ideally, there would be no bias or insinuating circumstances influencing the choices the Academy makes. Of course, the very opposite is true, the AMPAS voters being extremely susceptible to any number of factors. One of which is the general atmosphere of the year before. While the slate of nominees should probably be read simply as s selection from a wide catalogue of choices, you can't help but look for connecting themes. The documentary line-up this year, perhaps more so than in past years, seems defined by fighting social injustices amid a world turned towards imperialism and authoritarianism. In other words, I'm learning so much about the awful things people in power have done to lower classes this year, usually in the name of expanding their own empire. “Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat” is maybe the most literal example of this, an epic length documentary that connects some unexpected dots as it tells an all-too familiar tale: U.S. intelligence using subterfuge and espionage to destabilizing another country, all in the name of defeating the nebulous threat of "communism."

The film recalls a specific chapter in the history of the U.N. and American imperialism, with an unexpected link to pop culture. In 1960, sixteen newly independent African countries join the United Nations, ushering in what Nikita Khrushchev considered the beginning of the post-colonialism era. Among the newly accepted countries is what was then known as the Republic of the Congo or Congo-Leopaldville. Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba calls for a united Africa but is quickly forced into exile by a military coup. This is the work of the Belgium monarchy, eager to maintain control of their former colony for its highly valuable mineral resources. Such as their uranium mines, which is used to entice the United States – knee-deep in the nuclear arms race with the Soviets – into helping out the scheme. The CIA utilizes an unexpected plan: Send beloved American jazz singers to the Congo as a cover for special agents to ultimately capture and assassinate Lumumba. Unknowingly, the likes of Louis Armstrong, Nina Simone, Dizzy Gillespie, and Duke Ellington become pawns in a plan to destabilize an African nation. 

The first thing you're going to notice about “Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat” is how it looks and sounds. The term “video essay” has been largely co-opted by Youtubers, many of them of debatable talent. However, director Johan Grimonprez reminds us about the term's value. “Soundtrack” is cut together from hundreds of hours of video archives. The editing is extremely fast-paced, a countless number of vintage clips being woven together to create a visual collage. The composition of the film matches the jazz soundtrack, leaping around wildly and often mixing different formats – newsreel, classic concert footage, TV clips, and frantic on-screen text – into an at-times overwhelming swirl of information. At two hours and thirty minutes long, “Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat” is extremely dense, loaded with history, personal reflections, details, and unearthed comments. It's the kind of film you will learn things from. It all goes by so quickly that you will probably learn something new every time you watch it.

The jazz music isn't chosen only because those are the musicians involved in this true story. Like a bebop rhythm, the film jumps around between different topics. At first, sixties jazz singers and a U.S./Belgium-backed coup in the Congo don't seem to have much in common. Grimonprez' film uses a wildly erratic pattern to find the connective dots between all these themes. The jazzy pacing will start at Khrushchev banging his shoe on the table at the U.N., jump over to the political upheaval of Africa in the sixties, move on to the jazz scene of the day, link that to the civil rights movement, and then circle back around to the coup in the Congo and American imperialism. It sounds scattered and maybe it is at times. The feeling is one of a solo, meandering and impulsive. However, this approach also finds the unexpected connective fiber between these seemingly unrelated events. Is this how the intelligence departments have always worked, confusing people with a wild swirl of different tactics and info? 

The manic presentation often contributes a dark sense of humor to this story, finding an absurdity in the apparent unlikeliness of these connections, and mining comedy from some well-timed quotes. That's a good thing because, otherwise, “Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat” would be a dispiriting watch. This is, in many ways, a tale we all know by now. The end of World War II changed the balance of power for the entire globe. Continents that had been chopped up among European superpowers decades before we're left on their own, many immediately turning towards left-wing politics. And that was a threat to the United States and their war against Communism, necessitating the CIA to step in and destabilize every people's revolution they knew of.

That's what we were told anyway. However, by digging right down into the motivation for these actions, “Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat” thoroughly demystifies the Cold War era. It was about money. It was always about money. The U.S. and its allies didn't want to let go of the valuable resources of these nations they controlled for so long. The plan they utilized just happened to cause untold suffering and death for millions of people. It's nothing we shouldn't know by now. However, to see how truly petty the spymasters and heads of state were, to show how much greed and bigotry truly drove international decisions with ramifications on countless lives, certainly makes an impact. With enough distance, the 20th century can't help but play as dark comedy, the viewer forced to laugh at the unending absurdity and boundless cruelty of it all or else go insane.

Impressively, Grimonprez cut the film together with commercially available tools like Adobe Premiere and DaVinci Resolve. Kind of makes you feel like you could make an Academy Award nominated movie in your own free time too, doesn't it? However, it probably wouldn't hurt to be an expert in a myriad of topics, allowing for a similarly clever linking of ideas and a downpour of information. In a time when the term “video essay” is most associated with people recapping episodes of children's television, it's nice to see someone actually use the format for something subversive, clever, and genuinely educational. [7/10]

OSCARS 2025: Black Box Diaries (2024)

Japan is a country that has given us immeasurable gifts over the years, as one of the leading global forces in pop culture for decades now. Then you'll hear a news story about how someone had to invent a phone app simply to lower the rate of women being groped on the subway by some small degree. See, this is why you shouldn't exoticize and idealize another whole-ass country, full of complicated human beings and social injustices all of its own! Not to generalize or anything but, from my admittedly limited perspective as an outsider and ignorant American, it seems the women's right movement has struggled to establish itself over there. One of this year's Best Documentary Feature nominations directly addresses this issue. "Black Box Diaries" is a deeply personal film that covers one woman's journey to recover from sexual assault, expose the man who attacked her, and find something like justice and resolution in an extremely public sphere. 

Shiori Itō is a Japanese journalist. While interning at Reuters' Japanese branch in 2015, she met Noriyuki Yamaguchi, a prominent writer and the official biographer of then-Prime Minister Shinzo Abe. After drinks at a bar, Itō claims that Yamaguchi took her back to his hotel room and raped her. Reporting the crime to the police proved difficult, as she was discouraged from filing an accusation, repeatedly warned not to speak out, and forced to re-enact the assault with a life sized dummy. After the case was dropped without explanation, Itō publicly announced what had happened at a press conference. She quickly became the face of Japan's #MeToo movement and a target for harassment and public discourse. She would publish a book about her experience, called "Black Box." "Black Box Diaries" is a film Itō made during the process of writing the book, releasing it, the fallout and subsequent civil lawsuit, and how her life changed completely during these events. 

"Black Box Diaries" isn't abstractly about sexual assault and the abuse of women. It is an extremely personal documentation of one woman's attempts to process and heal from this traumatic experience. That means Shiori Itō essentially filmed herself working through this terrible thing that happened to her on-camera. She frequently loses her composure, slowly breaking into tears. While discussing that simply seeing a sliver of a picture of her attacker – or noticing that she hadn't thought about the cherry blossoms in years, as they were blooming that night – you can tell this woman is doing everything she can not to have a panic attack. Not to get too personal here but I know how that feels. I'm a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I know what it's like to catch a stray thought that randomly sends you spiraling back to that time and now your whole day is ruined. You have to suck it up, keep this panic internally, because explaining it to anyone is more of a mental strain than you can take at that moment. When she discovers that the police have dropped the case, the stunned look of total hopelessness on her face is all too relatable for anyone who has lived through similar events. The courage it took for Itō to record herself in this incredibly vulnerable position is truly extraordinary. 

Why Shiori Itō would allow herself to be filmed during such an upsetting, difficult time is self-evident. Throughout "Black Box Diaries," she reads vile hate mail from strangers who claim she is trying to destroy an innocent man's life or that she was a willing participant in her own humiliation. That she should have kept her mouth shut. At one point, Shiori encounters a woman ranting on the street about the case at hand. During the #MeToo era, any time a woman goes public about being assault by some famous or powerful man, it is inevitably followed by people accusing them of lying for attention, fame, or revenge. That stock response ignores an obvious fact, that a woman gains nothing by accusing a man of rape. The chances of her attacker being brought to justice or facing any consequences is unlikely. By speaking out, she makes herself a public figure about one of the most private violations someone can experience. She makes herself a target for a noise machine of hate, ever-ready to jump to the defense of any man, primed by an outrage driven news media of right wing agitators. If someone you love was hurt, wouldn't you want to see them receive some sort of release from that pain? It seems like basic fucking human empathy to me. A lot of people, however, have been trained to throw away – or have willingly discarded – that part of their soul because they think life is a game of trying to score points against the other team. "Black Box Diaries" provides a first person perspective of trying to navigate that trial and still maintain some sort of dignity. 

Shiori Itō does this, endures this, puts herself suffering on-camera, because she knows what happened to her isn't unique. She knows that millions of women and children have been victimized like this. She knows that standing up and simply announcing that you have survived this too, gives a voice to people who can't speak up. There is joy in "Black Box Diaries" too. I'm not sure how Itō can muster it but we see her experiencing happiness at completing her book or getting it published. We see some sort of excitement on her face as she attempts to publicly confront this man. I doubt I'd have the strength to do that, to find the will to tell my own story and create in the face of something so personal. To realize that my story could mean something to other people, to understand that it's important to say and do these things. By the end, there is a scene of Itō speaking at a conference for a women's rights group in Japan. I hope her courage gave people some solace, some sympathy, and perhaps some strength needed to push through change. 

Because we all know too well that society is extremely resistant to change. We've seen men accused of dreadful things bounce back, get to complain about "cancel culture" while still having a platform, or get elected president. Throughout the film, Itō speaks about how power creates a structure to protect people from their own actions, that ripples down through every step of society. We certainly see that exposed in "Black Box Diaries" as this woman faces resistance and difficulty at so many levels simply from trying to report what happened to her. Shortly after the film starts, we are shown footage of a clearly intoxicated Itō being all but dragged into a hotel by Yamaguchi. That should be enough. Instead, being friends with the Prime Minister keeps Yamaguchi from ever seeing real consequences for what he did. If "Black Box Diaries" should be applauded for the courage it took Shiori to show herself in this difficult time, and to provide a chance for other survivors not to feel so alone, then it should also be applauded for pointing a camera at the specific ways those that commit wrong are shielded by their positions of power. 

"Black Box Diaries" is an exhausting watch, for the clear emotion toll it took on Itō and for how infuriating the injustices it's about are. I had to take a few breaks from this one, despite it being less than two hours long. Movies are sympathy generating machines, that deepen our understanding of other people and their experiences, and thus our own experiences. "Black Box Diaries" does that by having the guts to put extremely personal pain and the journey to move past it, on-screen. It's an important film and I hope those that need to see it the most get a chance too. And I hope Shiori Itō someday finds some peace and freedom from these events. [9/10]

OSCARS 2025: Maria (2024)

When I went into Pablo Larrain's “Jackie” back in 2017, I expected a typical biopic like what the Academy tends to favor. Instead, I got a bracing exploration of how fragmented a traumatic event leaves the human mind. Five years later, Larrain would direct “Spencer,” another biography of an iconic woman and frequent fixture of tabloid reporting, which delved further into the realm of psychological horror as it showed the crushing pressure of being a constant source of public scrutiny. I don't know if Larrain always planned it this way but he definitely had a theme going. Last year, he would release what seems to be the final part in his trilogy of movies about beloved and debated famous women of the latter half of the 20th century. That would be “Maria,” a movie about Maria Callas... So, uh, who is that? Well, for people – like me – who do not follow opera, Maria Callas was one of the most popular, beloved, and controversial sopranos of her time. The more niche subject matter might be why “Maria” didn't receive quite as high-profile a reception as Larrain's earlier biopics, scoring only a single Oscar nomination for its cinematography. 

The film follows Maria Callas in the last seven days of her life. The once celebrated opera singer has become a recluse. Her behavior is erratic, often going days without eating and popping pills of many different types. Her ability to sing has atrophied, contributing to Callas' depression. She considers a return to the stage, after many years away, but her health prevents her from having the operatic range she once did. A young filmmaker worms his way into Maria's home and asks her about her life, her past, and her present. She reflects on her traumatic childhood, how she first began singing, her history of prima donna behavior in the opera, and her on-again/off-again romance with billionaire Aristotle Onassis. 

Pablo Larrain would really shake up the biopic genre with “Jackie” and “Spencer,” attempting more to capture the headspace of his topics and not merely replicate the facts of their lives. This expressionistic style of biography brought these women more to life than a traditional approach would. Those two films also created a tone of nerve-wracking anxiety, delving deep into the trauma Jackie Kennedy and Princess Diana might have lived with. “Maria” does not go that far in capturing the frantic thoughts of its heroine. “Maria” is still a non-traditional approach to the biography. The events of Maria's far past are depicted as black-and-white flashbacks or Super-8 recordings, her memories often weaving in and out of her present. At least once, we see her fantasies come to life on the steps of a famous building. The tone is reflective, rather than tense, as Maria is far more resigned to what her life was and what it is now at this point in her life.

That's not a bad thing. However, “Maria” plays out in a fairly slow and contemplative manner. There's not much forward momentum in the story, as the film is largely composed of Callas hanging out around her home. The device of a filmmaker interviewing her – which also allows for a few fourth wall breaks – is an attempt to force some structure on a rather shapeless story. The most outwardly exciting thing that happens is when Maria cusses out a man who reminds her that she cancelled a performance at the last minute. Otherwise, we get a lot of scenes of her walking around Paris, talking about her life, trying to sing again, and communicating with her overworked staff. It's not that the story doesn't have stakes. “Maria” bends towards the rather melodramatic reveal that its title character will literally die if she sings again. However, “Maria” can't create the kind of unnerving energy that was present in “Jackie” or “Spencer,” having more humble goals in mind. 

“Maria” is nominated for its cinematography and it's easy to see why. This is a ridiculously pretty motion picture. Edward Lachman bathes the film in warm, earthy colors, as if furthering the image of Callas as a woman frozen in amber. The camera often takes super-wide angles, confining its characters as far-off figures in ornately detailed environments. The approach recalls “Barry Lyndon,” with the way it suggests both a scientific exactness and a painterly expressiveness. The sets and costumes are all top-notch, elaborate and stylized, full of living details that were clearly meticulously researched. “Maria” is the kind of movie you could pause at just about any point and have a gorgeous image. I don't know how much Netflix and the five separate production companies with logos at the beginning spent on “Maria” but every dollar of it is on-screen. 

At the center of the film is Angelina Jolie. This is clearly the kind of actor and material pairing that seems designed to attract award season attention. I'll admit to being split on Jolie's talent as a performer, often not finding her as magnetic as many do. However, she does find a good match for her acting style in the character of Maria Callas. Callas was, after all, a literal diva. This gives the few sequences of Jolie becoming especially upset or emotive some extra meaning. She's muted through a lot of the film, instead adding a great deal of sardonic energy to the role. It makes sense, as this is a person at the end of their life weighed down by a world of regrets. Jolie alternating between understated emotions and bigger, showier scenes balances her out nicely. That so much of the film is composed of Jolie playing off other actors further keeps her from either over or underdoing it. Larrain utilizes his star well.

Ultimately, “Maria” can't make the mark that the previous entries in this thematic trilogy. It doesn't seemed designed to do that. Instead, it's a far calmer and more elaborate film, happily awash in details. It's quite a lovely viewing experience but not one that resonated with me all that deeply. It certainly didn't make me more interested in opera as an artform, though good on anybody able to do something that enormous with their voice. Larrain continues to be a talent to watch though. By the way, JFK appears in this movie too, so you can pretend that Natalie Portman as Jackie is in the next room or something, if having a Sixties Sad Famous Woman Cinematic Universe is important to you... [6/10]

OSCARS 2025: I'm Still Here (2024)

The past predicts the future, or so some say. In the sixties and seventies, in order to crush a rising tide of socialist politics, the United States covertly supported a number of military coups throughout South America. These regimes would rule into the next decade, leading to untold atrocities and the torture, imprisonment, and murder of thousands. It would seem that South American filmmakers, in the last decade, have become interested in looking back at this era. No doubt because of fascism coming back into vogue in Brazil, Europe, and the U.S. If things get as bad in the near future as I fear they might, I imagine life in that America might resemble life in Brazil in the sixties and seventies. Society will continue to function and many will get through it unscathed but an increasingly militarized police force targeting private citizens, amid the suppression of opposition and the administration's enemies, will be commonplace. “I'm Still Here” – the latest film from Walter Salles, of “The Motorcycle Diaries” and, uh, the English remake of “Dark Water” – explores this contradictorily tone, of living in a country that is seemingly free while being fraught with repression. The film has unexpectedly broken out of the foreign language film bubble, earning a surprise Oscar nomination in the Best Picture category. 

Rubens Paiva, a former Congressman who opposed the military dictatorship, returns to Rio de Janeiro with his family. That means his devoted wife Eunice and their five children, moving into a spacious home near the beach. Following the kidnapping of a Swiss diplomat by revolutionaries, the Brazilian government begins pursuing perceived enemies to the state more harshly. A group of men appear at the Paiva household and escort Rubens out. Little explanation is given and Rubens does not return. Eunice and the couple's teenage daughter is taken, held for several days in deplorable conditions and asked to identify other subversives. After being returned home, Eunice and her family remain under government surveillance. She hears through rumors that her husband is dead and struggles with whether she should tell the children. Eunice begins to realize she is going to have to start her life over again, without her husband. 

“I'm Still Here” goes out of its way to establish, in its early scenes, a sense of warmth and normality among the family. The patient first act is devoted to getting to know the Paivas. We see the kids playing, adopting a dog off the beach, and how Rubens and Eunice's passion for each other remain very much alive twenty five years into their marriage. There is a kindness to these moments, watching the father play foosball with his son or the siblings hanging out and bonding. When Vera, the oldest daughter, travels to Europe for school and sends back letters and recordings of her journeys. Getting to sit around with these characters and watch them enact their own history, Adrian Teijido's cinematography capturing it all with an intimate angle. The idea is truly to make you feel part of this household too. 

There's signs early on, however, that this domestic bliss is not going to last for very long. News reports on television warn of political unrest. Vera and her friends are harassed by cops at a mandatory checkpoint. Rubens goes about, in secret, helping his leftist allies. When Eunice spots a truck full of soldiers driving through the street, that is the true sign that “I'm Still Here” is about to take a sharp turn. This is a film concerned with the secrets we keep from our loved ones. Eunice only has a vague idea of what her husband gets up to. After the husband's abduction, she tries to protect her children from the news of their father's death. This includes leaving out the part of a letter from Vera, asking about her concerns. Such attempts can only be held together for so long. One of the girls spies on Eunice after she's let out of imprisonment, washing her filthy and bruised body in the shower. It's a sign of how a parent does what they can to keep their loved one's safe but the truth inevitably comes out.

Femanda Torres as Eunice does an expertly job of depicting this, a woman who is holding it together as best as she can. Torres' eyes convey such a deep sadness but also a sense of frustration, as it becomes increasingly clear that her life has irrevocably changed forever. We watch as Torres depicts Eunice's exterior stability starts to crack up. During an especially upsetting scene, she blows up at the government agents parked outside the house. Later, however, she quickly hides her tears from her kids. Even when at the mercy of military police in prison, Eunice remains sturdy enough not to break. However, Torres strikes an ideal balance in her performance, never seeming like an untouchable action heroine. Instead, she's a normal person who is doing the best she can in extremely difficult circumstances. These sequences are “I'm Still Here” at their most chilling, as the signs of what is truly going on in this building – far-off screams, blood splattered on the floor – slowly become apparent. 

“I'm Still Here” is certainly a compelling motion picture through most of its runtime, powered mostly by Torres' heartbreaking performance. The emotions remain understated throughout. As a story of attempting to hold it together during a personal crisis, that's the correct approach. However, it does lead to a slow pace and a deliberate lack of catharsis that is mildly frustrating. Interestingly though, “I'm Still Here” continues past the point where most films would end. Instead, there is a lengthy postscript depicting Eunice's life after leaving Rio. In these scenes, “I'm Still Here” becomes a far more touching depiction of how we learn to live with grief, how our memories can't be taken away even when everything else can. I'm not going to lie, the final scene had me a bit misty-eyed. The film manages to capture a lot of emotions through its quiet conclusion.

I probably should've mentioned before now that “I'm Still Here” is based on a true story. Rubens Paiva would become one of the most notorious examples of the Brazilian dictatorship “disappearing” someone. Eunice Paiva would become a human rights lawyer, fighting for the land rights of indigenous people, while their oldest son Marcelo became a notable author. “I'm Still Here” is adapted from one of his books. Knowing the true story behind the film is not necessary to enjoy it. Torres' performance and some clever cinematography – which uses different film formats in an interesting way – is more than enough to recommend the film. Those final thirty minutes, however, make it a deeper and more powerful statement. A mixture of a character study during a hard time in someone's life and a reflective observation on memory, “I'm Still Here” is a quietly touching motion picture. [8/10]

OSCARS 2025: The Six Triple Eight (2024)

From his origins on the so-called "chitlin circuit" to his seemingly limitless list of movies, TV shows, and stage plays, Tyler Perry's work has been defined by broad comedy, straining-to-the-rafters melodrama, overbearing sentimentality, and Southern Baptist moralizing. This combination has made Perry extremely wealthy and popular but never well received with the intellectual crowd. In fact, he's come under quite a lot of criticism from other black filmmakers for perpetuating stereotypes. Spike Lee referred to Perry's work as "coonery buffoonery" and it was viciously parodied on "The Boondocks." All of this is to say that the Academy has never come calling for Tyler Perry, despite his attempts to catch their attention. Perry's cultural dominance has long since fallen past its peak, especially now that most of his movies are easily ignored Netflix productions. Despite that, in 2025, one of his films has finally earned an Oscar nomination. Perry's latest feature film, "The Six Triple Eight," grabbed a nod for Best Original Song. This is mostly thanks to the music branch's running gag of nominated song-writer Diane Warren every year and refusing to let her win but I'm sure Perry is bragging about the occasion in one of his massive properties or strangely empty writer's rooms. 

As you might anticipate, "The Six Triple Eight" is based on an inspiring true story. Lena King, a black girl, and Abrams David, a Jewish boy, are fearful of pursuing their romance in 1940s America as World War II rages overseas. After Abrams dies in combat, Lena enlists against the wishes of her mother. Becoming part of the black Women's Army Corps, Lena makes friends and faces discrimination from white authorities. Led by the fiery Captain Charity Adams, the battalion is not deployed until a particularly difficult objective is found for them, to confirm the bosses' racist conceptions about black women. That would be to sort through the millions of letters sent to the front that have been left undelivered, a seemingly insurmountable task. With only six months to complete the task and based in a run-down French boarding school, the women of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion do everything they can to complete the arduous task before them. 

I'll be honest, I'm not that familiar with Tyler Perry's output. Watching about half of "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" on TV was enough to confirm to me that I am not the target audience for his creations. Despite my limited exposure to the director's trademarks, "The Six Triple Eight" does nothing to dispel the preconceived notions I have about his work. Perry works at a staggering rate. This is his twenty-sixth directorial credit and his third to be released in 2024, which can be added to the list of seventeen TV shows and twenty-four plays he's directed since 1993. If you wonder how one man can be behind so many productions, "The Six Triple Eight" quickly reveals the answer. The film's characters do not have inner lives. Each one is an immediately understandable archetype. Lena is a virginal heroine, so pure that she resists the gentlemanly advances of a handsome black soldier until she has properly grieved Abrams. Her mother is tough, only seconds away from making a stern "mmmhmmmm" sound. Captain Adams falls into a similar role, the fiery black woman who refuses to back down from any challenge nor to apologize for her own existence. There's also a big sassy black woman, whose profanity scandalizes her bunk mates and is introduced being unable to squeeze her irrepressibly curves into a standard military uniform. 

That Perry reduces real life people, with histories and complexities like any human being, to such broadly sketched stereotypes should be unsurprising. "The Six Triple Eight" operates as a hackneyed melodrama at every turn. I have no doubt that the real life 6888th Battalion faced unspeakable levels of discrimination and prejudice. At the same time, the white antagonists of the film are so cartoonishly evil. Dean Norris plays the racist general as utterly flabbergasted at the existence of women of color, while also making him a mumbling figure of slack jawed incompetence. The movie also includes a horrible white chaplain, who derides Captain Adams as sinful from his pulpit. This leads to Adams giving a shouted and inspiring speech about her will to succeed, resulting in a slow clap from her cadets. That's the kind of tawdry emotional exaggeration that informs the entire movie. The WACs are put down every step of the way until they are heroically lauded for their actions. Any given scene is liable to burst into swelling strings in the soundtrack and blubbering tears from the characters. 

In execution, such a glurgey script feels more akin to a cable network movie of the week than an Oscar-nominated motion picture. Perhaps that's another answer to how Perry is able to crank 'em out the way he does, that he brings a television-like production style to his movies. "The Triple Six Eight" certainly looks like a TV show. The cinematography is warm but flat, with little in the way of notable colors or striking camera movements. This stale visual sense is most apparent during the few times "The Triple Six Eight" goes to the battle field. Tyler Perry and his team do not show much competence at creating thrilling, visceral, or intense combat sequences. Heavy-handed CGI is used whenever there is an explosion, sending soldiers flying into the air like video game avatars. A horribly unconvincing dummy puts in an early appearance during an awkward run through a war zone. That inexperience with pyrotechnics appears again during an ostensibly suspenseful moment in which a truck drives over a landmine. That scene ends in a blast so silly looking, I laughed and immediately felt bad about it afterwards. 

The only way you can tell that "The Six Triple Eight" wasn't made for Lifetime is the presence of recognizable movie stars. Kerry Washington plays Captain Adams, practically shouting all her dialogue at a faux-inspirational pitch. Washington is a good actress but any subtly or wit is smothered by the treacliness of the material. Ebony Obsidian, previously of the understated "If Beale Street Could Talk," plays Lena as a delivery machine for weeping emotions. Lena is so totally defined by her bawling grief that her dead lover appears to her in fantasies or visions, somehow the corniest touch in the movie. Still, I maintain that Norris is given the worst treatment, mugging non-stop at the evil white general. Perry's BFF Oprah Winfrey stops by for a cameo and Susan Sarandon appears as Eleanor Roosevelt for some reason. 

"The Six Triple Eight" is all too aware of how inspirational it wants audiences to find it. The film ends with an extended tribute to the real women of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion. That post-script goes on so long, as if Perry and his team really want you to understand how important these women – and the movie he made about them – truly are. Maybe that pre-credits teaser is so lengthy because it also showcases Warren's song, "The Journey." It's a perfectly cromulent ballad, its emotions as overblown as the movie it accompanies but considerably shorter. As far as random movies I had to watch because Warren wrote a song for it and the Academy can't stand to leave her out every year, "The Six Triple Eight" is at least less inexplicable than "Tell It Like a Woman." It's an embarrassingly shmaltzy melodrama, bereft of subtly and depth, that smothers a good true story in Hollywood bullshit. Yet I won't remember anything about it in twenty-four hours either, so I'm not too offended. See ya next year, Diane. [5/10]

OSCARS 2025: September 5 (2024)

In September of 1972, the Palestinian militant organization Black September took eleven Israeli athletes and officials hostage during the Munich Olympics. The German police would badly bungle a rescue attempt, resulting in the militants murdering all eleven of the hostages. The event would become known as the Munich massacre. The incident received considerable media attention, pushing the word “terrorist” into the front of the public's mind. These events have inspired at least two critically acclaimed films already. 2024 would bring with it another take on the true events, entitled “September 5.” Right now was probably not the best time to release a fictionalization of this topic, what with Israel trying to ethnically cleanse Gaza and all that. That's probably why “September 5,” in spite of strong critical reception, has been mostly ignored during the awards season. The movie received only one Oscar nomination, in the category of Best Original Screenplay. 

The 1972 Summer Olympics received the highest tech news coverage of its day, footage and results from the games being broadcast all around the globe from Munich via then cutting edge satellite technology. The ABC Sports room team performs a carefully choreographed operation to keep coverage of the games running smoothly, under the leadership of Roone Arledge. The international team work through the night... But something is different on the morning of September 5th. Gunshots are heard in the distance. Police begin to gather around the Olympic village, as it becomes increasingly apparent something has gone wrong. By the morning, it has become clear that the Israeli sports team have been taken hostage by Palestinian militants, their demands being made public. The ABC Sports team insist on covering what they know will be historical events. 

In order to distinguish itself from past films about the Munich Massacre, director Tim Fehlbaum and a writing team led by Moritz Binder touch upon an intriguing gimmick. “September 5” doesn't actually play out in real time, condensing about two days worth of events into a compact 97 minute runtime. However, the movie absolutely feels like it is unfolding minute for minute as the real events did. This is accomplished with an incredibly tight screenplay that immediately introduces its setting and cast. That pairs with whip sharp editing, leaping effortlessly between the different characters as they take in every new bit of breaking news and try to keep coverage running along. “September 5” accurately captures the flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants feeling of being in a news room during major events, of a tightly knit team of experts and working professionals committed to their job of recording what is happening near-by and telling the world.

Fehlbaum uses this set-up as the foundation for what plays as a gritty thriller. Befitting the early seventies setting, cinematographer Markus Förderer accurately replicates the look and feel of the paranoid thrillers of that decade. The camera work is claustrophobic, drawing attention to the cramped and dim interiors of the news studio. The big analogue monitors, chunky buttons, massive walkie-talkies, and endless cords sticks us in this time and place quickly. The cast is populated with character actors, all of them absorbed by period accurate clothing, hair, and make-up. The closest thing the film has to a name star is Peter Sarsgaard, as Roone, who I did not recognize until the end credits rolled. The film goes out of its way to make the viewer feel like they are in that newsroom too, uncertain of what might happen next and simply doing the best they can to keep up with the startling events as they unfold. There's an electricity to “September 5” from the moment it starts, making it a hell of a thriller. 

What also makes “September 5” such a tense experience is that it sees the characters asking hard questions, making tricky choices, in a life-and-death situation. Roone insists on covering the hostage crisis, despite it being outside the normal reach of a sports department. Various news anchors call them on this, the reporters insisting that they are the closest to the action. They have to balance network agreements, ABC and CBS squabbling over commercial breaks and agreed-upon broadcast times, in order to keep the footage rolling. This points towards questions about what role the media should play as history is happening. The news coverage of the German police inadvertently reveal covert attention to the militants. Facts mix with rumors, split-second decisions forced to be made. More than once, it's questioned whether the reporters keep going because it's important to get the word out... Or because they want bragging rights, they want to be part of history. 

In fact, the brutality of death and violence colliding with the frivolity of the Olympic games adds to the tension in “September 5.” One of the newscaster is left speechless by cutting between reports of the on-going competitions and the details of the hostage, saying that they are returning to “the real world” when going back to coverage of the hostage situation. The weird push-and-pull between the theatrics of the Olympics and actual world events floats under every scene in “September 5.” The former site of the Dachau death camps are near the Olympic village, the focus of a pre-recorded segment that Roone questions the taste of. The shadow of the Holocaust hangs over much of what happens in Munich, the German government eager to put the memories behind them. However, it's hard to let go of such preconceived notions. The Olympics are suppose to be about international cooperation yet the workers in the newsroom, from different corners of the continent, are often separated by petty differences. The high-minded ideas the Olympics are meant to represent are often at odds with the behind-the-scenes strife that made them happen, much less the actual bloody business of international relations. 

While “September 5” clearly has thoughts about the legacy of the Holocaust over these true events, it doesn't seem to consider what effect other global events might have had. There is a brief scene where it's discussed whether “terrorists” is the proper word to describe the militants, the newsroom ultimately going with it. One can't help but see that as an omen for what was to come, of the American media dehumanizing any and all Middle Eastern forces with the term for years to come. What this also means is that the film never once questions if Israel's treatment of Palestine might have prompted these attacks in any way. The Palestinians are never portrayed as anything but far-off spectres, masked figures that are a source of violent terror. This is a side effect of the film's intentionally narrow viewpoint of events. I actually admire “September 5” sticking to its guns and not breaking immersion, insisting on keeping its focus entirely within the news room. However, it's not going to dispel any notions that this is Israeli propaganda, another attempt to use one genocide eighty years ago to whitewash the motives of a government performing an on-going genocide right now. 

I guess it's not fair to criticize a movie for what it isn't. “September 5” is actually an extremely well made and very tense motion picture, that makes foregone historical conclusions into a captivating thriller. If one can put this movie in a bottle and not think about the real world events – then and now –  that informed it, it gets high marks all around. While impossible to overlook such a stain, I do highly respect and admire the craft on display here. In some ways, maybe focusing in on the reporters and technicians covering the hostage situation was the most responsible thing to do. It's not like they had much to do with Israel's actions as a country. Propaganda aside, “September 5” is mostly an expertly assembled and chilling experience. [8/10]