Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I know this was technically released in 2019, but it wasn't available widely until 2020, so that's where this is getting grouped.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire, the new French queer romantic drama, begins with a beautiful young woman, Marianne, teaching a painting lesson to a group of girls in the late eighteenth century. One of the girls asks about an old painting of hers -- the one that gives the film its title -- and Marianne becomes visibly upset. When it started, I was a little annoyed that the film would use such a crude framing device to launch its story, for indeed we are immediately thrust into the past. Just because it's old-fashioned doesn't mean it has to be archaic. But I was soon to learn that this perfectly sets up the themes of loss, memory, and value in a romance that ends not in a pairing but in a painting. Which would, ultimately, last longer.

Previously, Marianne was hired and summoned to a rocky island on the French coast in order to paint a portrait of Heloise, a young woman recently brought home from her convent. The countess, Heloise's mother, is marrying her off to an aristocrat in Milan and has commissioned Marianne to paint her daughter's portrait. The problem is that Heloise does not want to sit for a portrait; we initially suspect she may be hopelessly spoiled or even mentally ill, a suspicion strengthened when the countess describes the death of Heloise's older sister, who fell from the cliff on the isolated island. Suicide, murder, or an accident? We never really know. The countess keeps Heloise under lock and key now, and charges Marianne with memorizing her daughter's features while acting as her companion, and painting in secret.

It's hard to know where to start discussing this film because its peaceful facade belies a deceptively complex work that deals with, I think, unusual themes for a romance. Writer and director Céline Sciamma effortlessly floats between genre here, setting up romance, Gothic drama, feminist history, and even a comedy of manners, but keeping everything clear and sensual in each frame. Much as Marianne labors to capture the beauty of her subject, Sciamma turns every shot into a work of art that draws special attention to the empty spaces of rooms, beaches, and between bodies. Art is always intimate, but art that requires watching and studying other people is especially so -- even obsessive -- and when tied with the tactile nature of painting, it's easy to imagine transgression.

Here, we don't need to imagine it. Marianne and Heloise indeed develop unspeakable feelings for each other and finally act on it while the countess is away. But despite their romantic tension bursting into sexual passion, Sciamma doesn't dive into pornographic scenes (this is, thank heaven, not the deeply troubling French Blue is the Warmest Color from 2013); in fact, this film seems a gentle but firm rejection of that exploitative male gaze. In fact, Sciamma has seemingly made the film remarkably absent of men -- when they appear, they are out of focus or shown only in part, with one pointed and unwelcome exception -- and equally of the male-dominated attempts at period romances, lesbian or not. Near the end, we learn Marianne occasionally sends her paintings to exhibits under her father's name in order for them to be shown. So much of the film is wordless, caught in looks and gestures, and there is almost no music except during a witchy dance around a beachside bonfire in the film's climactic scene from which it takes its titular inspiration. This movie tries hard to surprise you in an understated way, one that silently grabs hold of you and refuses to let go.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire might be a manifesto of the female gaze, as Sciamma has declared, but it is also a consummate work of art that, yes, dooms its characters to a broken-up romance a la Call Me By Your Name. The final scene of both films nails that point home. But we also learn by the end a lesson about art therapy and the ways in which art, encapsulating memory, freedom, ambition, tradition, and of course love, is a creative balm that will last far longer than any fleeting romance. The painting Marianne creates reminds her of her valid feelings and memories. The experience of the film, for its characters and for us, is that of female solidarity, one that never panders to its 2019/2020 audience even as it comments on abortion, queer rights, gender inequality, inaccessibility to work, etc. But it is in the film's consideration of what Heloise calls "the poet's choice" that the film works unexpected magic: tying the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice into their hearts and minds, the characters make a breakthrough realization of the central problem of that story. Doing so, they turn their own story into high art.

The Red Sea Diving Resort (2019)

Score: 1 / 5

What a disaster. I can forgive a fictionalized account of real events. I can forgive a simplified, action-heavy story if it's important. I can forgive non-representative casting. But put it all together into a boring mess of wasted talent, forgettable plot, confusing filmmaking, and irresponsible storytelling, and The Red Sea Diving Resort marks a miserably low viewing experience during this quarantine season.

The story concerns a group of Mossad agents who purchase and operate the titular coastal resort in order to smuggle Ethiopian Jews out of the country and to safety in Israel. I feel embarrassed to admit I know nothing of the plight of this population of Jewish refugees in real life, however this film does less than nothing to educate me. In fact, I feel more bewildered after having watched it. There seems to be a vague Muslim threat -- the  but this bleeds into what appears to be less-than-casual racism in which a bunch of white actors portray the Israelis and black actors play either the victims or the villains. Accusations of racism are nothing new for writer/director Gideon Raff (who is a fascinating person but has yet to make anything worth watching, at least anything accessible to Americans).

The opening sequence makes my case for me. With no explanation or context whatsoever, a bunch of Ethiopian villagers are fleeing gun-toting Ethiopian (or perhaps Sudanese?) soldiers. As they pile into waiting trucks, a mother cries out for her missing child, who is obliviously playing in a nearby field. Help her, Chris Evans, you're her only hope. Enter the hero himself, who grabs the boy and makes it to safety in the nick of time, as gunfire rips the air apart in his wake. Leave it to the white savior to save the little brown baby and get this movie off to a jump-start.

After some bizarre scenes of Chris Evans -- a Mossad agent who has returned to Israel to debrief with Ben Kingsley -- sleeplessly angst-ing about his friend and the other Ethiopian Jews who need his help, he is directed to assemble a team of avengers. Oh, no, I'm sorry, that's wrong. He gathers a group of other (possibly former?) Mossad colleagues and they go to the titular resort on the coast of Sudan, purchased for them by Israel. They plan to use the resort as a front for their operation: housing refugees and shipping them to an Israeli ship off in the Red Sea. It's all very Underground Railroad of them until tourists show up actually wanting to use the resort for... resort-y things.

Scenes like this that could be funny or tense are squandered by a truly confoundingly stupid screenplay. Characters describe each other and their situations, motivations, and explanations in point-blank terms, proving that the writer didn't think real people could emote or an editor could make sense of the action. What could be compelling characters become dullards, played blankly by actors who are otherwise beautiful to look at (Michiel Huisman and Alessandro Nivola can get it, to say nothing of Haley Bennett). Chris Evans proves again that he's a waste of an actor (excepting his turn in Knives Out), if a brilliant action movie star.

And then there's Chris Chalk, who is actually quite chilling as the movie's villain, because of course there has to be one in an action movie. A historical drama this most certainly is not. He plays a Sudanese soldier who torments the Ethiopian Jews waiting to flee his grasp with a menacing presence, but even he is undermined by Raff's bizarre storytelling. The film's midpoint is a lighthearted sequence of the Mossad agents revitalizing the dusty resort to better disguise their covert operations. It's inspired by a mostly naked Chris Evans waking up on a sunny morning and seeing the resort tenants doing tai chi on the sand before chatting nonchalantly with a speedo-sporting Michiel Huisman. It's funny and cute and sweet, feeling like it belongs in a very different movie altogether, spliced together in a retro montage underscored by Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf" (did I mention this movie takes place in the '80s? Because it constantly reminds you of that). It cuts abruptly -- and unearnedly -- to a scene of Chris Chalk murdering Jews while he interrogates them, a tasteless and offensive turn that pulls you so far out of the movie it is impossible to get back in.

The story might be wonderful, but I need to look up the historical record. This movie taught me nothing about what really happened. It turns real-life heroes into caricatures, and then attempts to make them into action movie heroes. It's not memorable, educational, inspiring, or even entertaining. Well, except the beautiful white heroes in their beach-wear.

Clemency (2019)

Score: 5 / 5

Perhaps the greatest cinematic tragedy of 2019 is that this movie was not widely released and its was all but ignored during awards season. Clemency tells the powerful story of the dangerous balance of a woman's soul whose duty is to watch over the incarcerated and put them to death. Few movies have the conviction or clarity of vision to attempt a character-driven drama about an executioner, and even fewer find a starring actor able to carry that weight with insight, honesty, and dignity. And then there was Alfre Woodard.

She plays Bernadine, warden of death row, who at the start oversees her twelfth execution. In a chilling opening sequence, the procedure is clinical and cold, almost silent in cool efficiency, with Bernadine hovering nearby like the Angel of Death. She simply watches, but it's clear she's in control of the situation; until, that is, the execution goes horribly wrong. The camera and editing views it all with a level, uncaring method we're meant to experience in terms of the rigid institution; it's hard, too, not to equate Bernadine with the almost sociopathic lack of humanity as blood spurts and the dying man writhes and she calmly controls the increasingly worried staff. This technique forces us into the atmosphere of traumatic, emotional horror we'll be experiencing over the next two hours.

And yet, from the outset, writer/director Chinonye Chukwu makes sure we know that, mechanically routine as Bernadine has become, she is not without hope of redemption. The opening sequence shows her walking down the hall of death row alone, and the barred gate shuts behind her in the foreground. She is as imprisoned as her wards, and her home life does little to help her fractured state of mind. She bolts upright in the night and cannot explain her emotional torture to her husband (Wendell Pierce); he tries to rekindle some affection and romance but is repeatedly rebuffed (she even recoils from his touch in one scene). Little wonder that she has probably had an affair with her deputy (Richard Gunn), an otherwise standard melodramatic turn that is expertly handled by Woodard's impossibly beautiful ability to nonverbally tell an entire backstory with a shrug, a smile, and those big wandering eyes. We get the idea that she is trying to protect her husband from the horrors of her reality, but she cannot communicate that to him. She tells him, "I am alone and no one can fix it," and we're not sure if she's articulating her soul to him or if she's reciting her self-imposed duty.

This revelation allows us to understand Bernadine's character as a double for the central character in this stage of her life. Anthony Woods (an amazing Aldis Hodge), imprisoned for a homicide years before, at first seems to be the plot device that fuels this otherwise static character drama. It is telling that both characters are black, and though little is made of race in this movie, there is a fundamental horror to the reality of black men automatically and unjustly shipped to prison for lengthy terms. Doubtless, part of Bernadine's tormented experience in this movie is due to her attempted justification of her complicity in his terminal punishment. Further, as Woods's tired, aging lawyer (Richard Schiff) continues to recite, there is plenty of reasonable doubt in his client's case. Woods is very probably innocent, and so the film focuses not on legal details but on his profound optimism: he decorates his cell with drawings of birds flying to safety in an image that reminded me immediately of To Kill a Mockingbird.

And yet the tragedy of his doom breaks him first, and we see him weeping and in the throes of shock as Bernadine coldly describes his impending death. She's just doing her duty as she asks him what he wants for his final meal and which family members should have access to claim his remains, impossible questions no human should have to ask, much less answer. And then, in a brief and shattering scene, he meets with his estranged wife (Danielle Brooks), who is also framed in such a way that suggests her own imprisonment. This scene contextualizes, for the first time, Woods as he was a free man, as he is a captive, and as he will (hopefully) be remembered. His legacy, though won't only be with his son but with the crowds of protesters outside his jail, people he cannot and will never see but who are using him to fuel their righteous rage.

In the end, it's Woodard who steals the show as she watches over the state-sanctioned murder of Anthony Woods. In a grueling long take, we experience his execution through Bernadine's face and nothing else. We watch her heart and brain battle and her facade slowly crack. We can see the poisonous dosage being injected not into Woods but into his warden; the twelve prior deaths she has witnessed finally devastate her soul until it too flies away from her body as Woods flatlines. It's the iconic moment of death, but this time it's of someone who is still alive.

If this movie had been released sooner or widely, I'd have added it to my Top 10 of 2019 list. Give Woodard all the damn awards already.

The Silence (2019)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I tend to favor horror movies even when I shouldn't, and this one definitely tested my mettle. The Silence is one of those unfortunate flicks that has the right recipe, tasty ingredients, a few shocks for spice, and ends up collapsing in the middle. It leaves you feeling hungry instead of satiated. It made me want to switch over to another, comparable, movie called A Quiet Place; I did not, because then I would have been even more distraught over the delay of its sequel.

But The Silence is remarkably similar to John Krasinski's 2018 major horror success story. It features a deaf girl and her family -- especially her father -- fighting to survive in a post-apocalyptic world overrun by monsters that hunt using heir sense of hearing. This movie is based on a Tim Lebbon novel from 2015, so I guess you could ask which came first; the more crucial point is that Krasinski's film feels more intentional, more polished, and less problematic than this one from John R. Leonetti.

After a nauseating bit of handheld nonsense in the prologue -- a spelunking team opens a cavern filled with the monsters -- we cut to a teenage girl named Ally and her family in Pennsylvania. Ally became deaf after a car accident that killed her paternal grandparents; she lives with her parents, maternal grandmother, younger brother, and dog. Apparently the monsters, called "vesps", are so numerous, fast, and deadly, that they are quickly devastating the eastern seaboard. The government declares a state of emergency and orders people to stay quiet and indoors; the media goes underground before anyone really knows what exactly the threat is. Ally and her family decide to head out of town and into the less populated, quieter country.

Of course, the vesps follow them for unknown reasons (are all the cities destroyed already, driving the predators to more rural areas?), and we finally see them shortly after the family attempts and fails to travel off-road, resulting in the death of their traveling friend "Uncle Glenn." The vesps -- small, bizarre mixes between a pterosaur and a xenomorph -- swarm overhead, attracted to the sound of the car wreck and the dog barking, and in what may be the film's most tense sequence, the family sacrifices their dog and escapes on foot.

This is about where my interest in the movie faltered, for multiple reasons. It's annoying to have a hearing actress, Kiernan Shipka, playing the deaf girl Ally; it's nearly unforgivable that Shipka seems bored and uninspired the entire time. The plot itself dully follows suit with the many post-apocalyptic / road / monster movies that have been released in recent years with almost nothing to show for it. Stanley Tucci and Miranda Otto are utterly wasted casting choices, as they play the parents and are given almost nothing to do. And then there's the bizarre finale, which introduces the Hushed, a cult of tongueless thugs obsessed with abducting Ally to procreate with her in the hopes that her deafness will save the human race. At least, that's the impression I got. There is not much by way of explanation, and the logic at this point has been thrown out the window. The climax devolves into a weird home invasion that mixes The Strangers with The Birds during a dark and stormy night, and thank goodness the movie was almost over.

I didn't hate the experience of watching this movie, and a few moments were genuinely chilling. Leonetti seemed to be trying to make things work by adding a few grisly scares and some surprisingly cruel violence. But when all you want to do is move on to another movie in the same genre, you can't help but feel disappointed and annoyed at what might have been. If A Quiet Place is temporarily out of the question, Bird Box would be a viable option.

Malevolent (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

There's an effective chill to Malevolent, one of those Netflix releases that appeared two Octobers ago with no pomp or circumstance. I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't marketed at all. Not because it's "less than" in any capacity, though some might disagree, but because it's an economical slice into the haunted house genre that becomes a joy to watch mostly as a result of how unexpected, unpretentious, and delightfully wicked it is. I had absolutely no expectations and, now having seen it, I feel that served me well. So if you are willing to just dive in and live with this movie for its 90-minute run time, I urge you to stop reading now and take it for what it is meant to be. That is, a spooky little horror movie meant to be experienced without prior knowledge.

But it you have seen it, or don't care, let's talk! We're in 1986 Scotland and our main characters are two young charlatans. Angela and Jackson are American siblings that run a small paranormal investigating team dedicated to their distressed or bereaved clients looking for answers, peace, or even an exorcism. The conceit of two nonbelievers entering challenging situations is no new trope, but what makes this relationship special is that Angela apparently has some sixth sense about her; she hears voices and sees ghosts just like her mother, who has committed suicide after being driven mad by her abilities.

There are some interesting parallels in this movie about people being out of place. Obviously ghosts are by definition out of place, and the revelation that they are in fact real underscores the titular meaning: this is a classic ghost story, meaning that these are ghosts of people who died badly and are malevolently seeking vengeance. Angela and Jackson are also out of place, as Americans in Scotland, callously appropriating the culture and exploiting the people; they are out of place because Jackson seems to doubt their mother's very real affliction and Angela experiences life-altering fear as the visitations manifest before her. There's a great moment early on where we focus on her face as she sees a ghost appear before her; the ghost is in the foreground but we are only seeing her face as she registers that this is an uncanny moment.

But, ultimately it is Florence Pugh who made this movie enjoyable for me. The scares are fine, the atmosphere is spooky enough, and the story is interesting if not terribly original (maybe don't go into a haunted foster home?). It's a ghost story, sure, but remember that these ghosts died badly, which means somebody is to blame. Celia Imrie (a delightful surprise) and Ben Lloyd-Hughes are solid in their roles, but Pugh carries the movie with her typical strength and grace. I was pleasantly shocked by the sudden turn after the first hour, and things get shockingly vicious by the climax. If you're ready to get a little spooky, a little bloody, then think a bit, and soon after call it quits, this is the movie for you.

Little Evil (2017)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Netflix has gotten really savvy with some of its feature film choices, and Little Evil might be one of the most exemplary of both its brilliance and shortcomings in choosing to pump out these pictures. Movies made-for-streaming is still a pretty new phenomenon, but there seem to be a few key points to hit if they are going to be watched and appreciated. They can't be too lengthy. They have to be either blatantly funny or deadly serious. They should have a recognizable cast.

Frankly, I think Netflix has produced some really beautiful movies; even ones I wouldn't call favorites I still think of fondly and would be willing to watch again. Little Evil is one of these. Sharp and witty, briefly frightening but ultimately charming, it's a thoroughly pleasant thing to watch even on a small screen, and it only lasts 90-something minutes. Its tight editing and relentlessly fast pace keeps it moving at the speed of a self-aware television sitcom.

Adam Scott, who really should be the reigning scream king of today, serves up major daddy vibes while carrying this fun little flick. He plays Gary, a man recently married to Sam (Evangeline Lilly) and attempting to bond with her five-year-old son Lucas. Lucas is quiet and generally ignores Gary, preferring to talk with his hand puppet in the shape of a goat. It's weird, but nothing out of the ordinary, until Lucas's voice starts to change as he speaks the voice of the goat and can be heard whispering a strange, threatening language by night. Then his teacher kills herself. A clown at his birthday party lights himself on fire. Gary finds out all Sam's ex-boyfriends are dead.

But The Omen this is not, exactly. You might be tempted to read this movie as a parody of that 1976 classic, and you might be right to do so. It definitely references little Damien, along with several other supernatural horror films that involve wicked, victimized children, notably Poltergeist and The Amityville Horror. But I found that the movie's meta commentary on the genre that celebrates even as it pokes fun was more endearing than gimmicky. Moreover, the heart of the movie really is quite warm and concerns the delicate relationship between a step-parent and a young child who may not fully understand who they are or who their family is.

As Gary and Lucas embark on their father-son trials, we do not expect it to end well. Gary becomes convinced that Lucas is the spawn of Satan, the Antichrist determined to bring about the apocalypse. How do you bond with a kid like that? His temper is murderous, his mannerisms creepy, and his obsession with channeling demonic voices disturbing at best. Things reach an ugly peak when Gary tries to put the kid to bed and ends up being buried alive in his backyard. In order to save himself and the world -- and for some healthy revenge -- he plots to kill Lucas at the water park. But after a dubiously divine sign convicts him, he saves Lucas and the two apologize to each other. Their bond was surprisingly emotional for me, and the rest of the movie rejoices in the budding father-son dynamic of this unlikely duo.

Sweet, funny, and clever, the movie  doesn't demand much from you and won't be remembered for any unique brilliance. But it gets a lot of things right, from its diverse cast and characterizations -- when was the last time you saw a skinny, straight white man on a demon-hunting mission with a butch lesbian and a midget? -- to its affecting emotional intelligence. Its bit parts are cast well too, including Clancy Brown, Sally Field, and Chip Zien. And, really, if this is the basic output from Netflix, we're all in for a good time during this quarantine season.

The Hunt (2020)

Score: 3.5 / 5

One of the most complex and controversial movies of our age has finally been released and nobody knows what to make of it.

A group of strangers awaken in an unfamiliar forest, locked into their gags, in broad daylight. Fighting panic, they gather in a small clearing around a large wooden box that feels like something between The Hunger Games cornucopia and the plane at the beginning of Lost. The opened box contains a wealth of weapons (along with a pig that might as well scream Lord of the Flies) that the confused and now excited people claim for themselves. Suddenly and violently, they are attacked by bullets from unseen assailants and run for cover, hoping to avoid the booby traps around them. Once they scatter, one by one they begin to realize they are being hunted, and the hunting grounds are being watched by drones, radio waves, and people in disguise. But humans, it would seem for those who don't already know, are the most dangerous game.

So what the heck is this much-maligned movie all about? What was it that made Trump paranoid and angry enough to tweet about it (even though, at that time last summer, no one had seen the damn thing yet)? What was it really that caused Universal to delay its release over half a year? Well, the basic premise is that these people being hunted are conservatives; their hunters are liberals. But labels here are more important than any basic human element -- in a story that works by dehumanizing people, the only things that matter are ideas and ideals -- and this isn't a story about normal people of certain political persuasions. These are distinct caricatures of extremists, all murderously angry about the state of the union, all frighteningly eager to enact the vitriolic hatred they spew onto social media. Sure, the MAGA-supporting "deplorables" are nominally the victims here and the wealthy, condescending "elite" seem to be the villains, but that's only a means to pit the two groups together. It could just as easily work the other way around, and there would be no thematic difference.

I find the beginning of the movie to be sorely miswritten and misdirected, because the opening two scenes paint broad pictures without allowing us time to think through the ideas puked out at us. We begin behind a shadowy figure leading a group text -- it's Hilary Swank's voice -- that coolly references a Manor, a Hunt, and deplorables. We have little context to all this, but we're immediately sure that these are "liberal" folk callously preparing to do bad things. We shift suddenly to a luxury jet in which caricatured liberals are contentedly served with caviar and booze, en route to this Hunt with some drugged, unconscious conservative people are stashed in with the baggage. One of these wakes up, staggers out asking for help before being slaughtered in the main plane cabin. It's more gruesome than funny, but because we don't really know what's happening we have little choice but to chuckle.

But after the scene with the pig, the box, the weapons, and the first murder of the Hunt, the movie kicks into what it's really about. It's a skillfully delivered thriller, designed to capture its absurdist black humor and extravagant gore from a perspective of surprisingly accessible neutrality. The cinematography and editing are grounded, tight, and clear, often so much so that I would pause and wonder if the whole movie was meant to be in earnest. But with the constant stream of hashtag-jargon and meme-worthy soundbytes coming from the archetypal characters and the constant Eli Roth-esque splattering of blood, you're reminded fairly often that this is the way we often treat the Internet, too. As a deplorable runs for his life, he eagerly spits out his disdain for refugees; as an elite prepares to murder someone, he is criticized for cultural appropriation and micro-aggressions. Some people take everything as a joke (until it's clearly not), while others take everything seriously (and eventually make fools of themselves). So much is lost when we forsake open and curious communication.

Which is, no doubt, writer Damon Lindelof's primary axe to grind here. It is no coincidence that his (again, nominal) victims here are angry trolls on the Internet who have spread hate and cruelty though chat rooms and comment sections, fueled by their insane conspiracy theories. Lindelof's magnificent work has been repeatedly maligned online by angry fans who essentially forced him off Twitter after Lost and before The Leftovers allowed him to prophesy our cultural future. This movie isn't Lindelof at his best, but perhaps his most dangerous: he effortlessly captures the kind of humor you see on SNL and repurposes it into a stew of dryly funny horror that he serves up with his typically self-aware dialogue and thrilling twisty narrative.

Lindelof places a woman named Crystal at the center of his story as the most mysterious character I've seen on film in a long time; that is, she is hard as the gem, if nowhere near as crystal-clear. Once she shows up -- seemingly she was one of the abducted and now hunted -- we know she's in it to survive. Ex-military and especially good at hand-to-hand combat, she seems coded as a conservative. Betty Gilpin plays Crystal with as much muscle and sass as you could hope for: she's as cool and quiet as classic-era Eastwood but ekes out jaw-droppingly brilliant moments of comedy with a simple jerk of an eyebrow or tilt of her head, an unwillingness to look at (or care?) about the people around her, and a strangely high-pitched sound occasionally escaping her otherwise locked jaw. She's cool and badass and utterly unreadable.

Especially at the end, and this is where I'll leave it all. While Crystal remains a mystery, a few things happen to complicate matters, especially when she finally confronts Athena (Hilary Swank), the leader of the Hunters, and surprises her with a few tidbits about herself. Namely, that she is far more educated than expected -- her practical application of Orwell's Animal Farm to her newly met adversary is truly chilling -- and that she was mistakenly abducted in place of the intended victim. Moreover, the climax, which consists of a brilliantly choreographed and photographed fight scene, includes a huge twist I absolutely did not see coming. And by the denouement, I was so hopelessly lost in the complicated implications of this apocalypse that I still have no idea if there is even a discernible moral to The Hunt. Other than, I guess, don't be an asshole?

Onward (2020)

Score: 4 / 5

There's a lot going on in Onward, so much so that I found myself mindlessly swept up in its energetic adventure. While it's not got any genre-bending, mold-breaking, or especially innovative new ideas, this movie manages to do a lot of pretty cool things. It aims for a certain kind of fanbase largely overlooked by Disney animated features, finally cracks open the door for certain types of families and relationships, and strengthens the recent push from Disney movies to ignore romance in favor of lasting ties between siblings and family.

Set in a world of myth, populated by elves, centaurs, and pixies, this movie is a sort of fever dream for kids who grew up playing fantasy adventure games like Dungeons & Dragons. Or, at least, I can only assume as much based on comments I've heard and my own recent first experience with D&D. Of course it's a PG-rated version of that fantasy life, but it works hard to fuse that mythos with real suburbia. The story centers on two elf brothers, but this isn't Tolkien; these characters have cell phones and ramshackle vans. They try to fit in at school and spend their days worrying about helping their single mom in the town of New Mushroomton. Helping her, that is, but also steering somewhat clear of her uptight new boyfriend, a centaur police officer named Colt Bronco.

When, on Ian's sixteenth birthday, their mother presents the boys with a gift from their father -- who died shortly after Ian's birth -- Ian's older brother Barley is overcome with excitement. Barley's love for a certain roleplaying adventure game is something of an embarrassment to Ian, who just wants to fit in despite longing for a father he'll never know. But Barley's enthusiasm peaks when their father's gift is revealed: a magic staff and a spell that can bring dear old dead dad back for one full day. Barley works hard to activate the spell, but the magic just doesn't seem to work.

It's a potent opening crisis for the story, a heartbreaking foundation of hope: to see a departed parent again, even for a single day. Ian, crushed that his coming-of-age birthday gift was fruitless, casually attempts to use the spell when he's finally alone in his room. This time, it works! At least at first, that is, because his father materializes from the feet up. But the awe of real magic and the impossible dream of seeing dad are cut short when the special crystal is depleted and the spell is interrupted. They have half of dad -- precisely from the waist down -- and the clock has started ticking on their 24-hour timetable. Barley draws on his wealth of magical lore to launch them on a Quest to locate another crystal, finish the spell, and get 100% of their father back before their day is gone.

It's not the most original story, and as the plot careens kinetically from one fraught episode to another, the breakneck dialogue and abundance of visuals feel like perhaps too much icing on a cake. The sweet confections pile up quickly and although the film effectively balances the laugh-out-loud humor with genuine nostalgic adventure tropes, it can be a hard multi-layered dessert to swallow. It helps that the voice cast is so familiar and endearing: Tom Holland and Chris Pratt are eminently likable, as are Julia Louis-Dreyfus and an all-star comedic cast of bit parts that includes Lena Waithe, Octavia Spencer, and Tracey Ullman.

Funny and nice but somewhat standard, the movie whisks along until the finale, when a single heartrending scene wreaked havoc on my tear ducts. I don't want to spoil it too much, but let me just say that if Disney insists on more of these "true love is found between siblings" themes like in Frozen and Brother Bear, my heart will give out much too soon. It's such a quiet, profound, and ultimately devastating catharsis that it saved the rest of the movie from being somewhat forgettable. And yet, it's really not sad; in the way only the best Disney or Disney-Pixar flicks can be, the finale brings heartwarming affirmation and pure joy out of a dire situation.

Come for the cutesy cult-fanbase references and what-if premise. Stay for the emotional payoff you did not know you desperately needed. A new Quest awaits.

Saw (series)

Saw (2004) ----- Score: 4.5 / 5

There's a cold, brutal brilliance to this movie that I will never shake. It's utterly original (if perhaps loosely inspired by Se7en) and fiercely conceived, wound tight as a knot of barbed wire, in which every scene is connected and every beat suggestive of potential (and potent) psychological horrors. The pale gloom of fluorescent lights and backgrounds awash in green and blue create an atmosphere as grimy and unpleasant as the sets and dressing, littered with debris, sharp angles, and lots of spiky metal. Dismal, violent, and wickedly intelligent, the film torments us along with its characters even as we are made to begrudgingly appreciate the horrors we see. Things really aren't taken to their gory extremes here, and we're drawn in by the build-ups and the aftermaths if not always the climactic moments of death or dismemberment (thank goodness). In this way -- that is, both aesthetically and in terms of pure storytelling -- the first Saw is less exploitative than you might expect, except for its delicious, cruelly nihilistic ending, and far more cognitively entrancing.

Saw II (2005) ----- Score: 3.5 / 5

Saw III (2006) ---- Score: 2.5 / 5
The next two installments are fun enough continuations of the story established by the first Saw. In the second, Tobin Bell is fleshed out a bit, making the character more than a creepy puppet and invisible criminal mastermind. You might expect him to be less terrifying in the flesh, and perhaps he is, but Bell's performance is surprisingly chilling. Moreover, the story here is rather deliciously sadistic, pruning off the slower and more dramatic impulses of the first film and ramping up the suspense, gore, and psychological torment. It doesn't work as well for me, but it still a bloody good time.
In the third, what might be seen as a sort of finale to Jigsaw's trilogy, things get a bit weirder. Specifically, Tobin Bell returns but is given precious little to do, other than suggestively tormenting his apprentice, a repeat survivor-turned-acolyte named Amanda Young (Shawnee Smith). The central plot device -- that is, excuse for gore-porn -- is of a man obsessed with vengeance on the man who killed his son while drunk driving. He goes through several trials which mostly involve watching other people suffer and die in the name of hoping to finally get his revenge. Obviously there's a lesson to be learned, but this movie is notably more somber and less entertaining. The violence finally does feel exploitative and the lessons by now are not original or interesting. This movie is the death of Jigsaw and, for me, the franchise.

Saw IV (2007) -----Score: 1 / 5

Saw V (2008) ----- Score: 0.5 / 5
In what I suppose was meant to be a clever follow-up by the same director, the story of Saw IV weaves its way around previous installments. It's an extended epilogue that feels like a sicko's fan fiction based on the premise that Jigsaw had "games" planned for after his own death. Apparently he had collected more victims-turned-friends (acolytes) who had been trained (brainwashed) into helping him spread his gospel (torture and murder), and the revelation of those folks is the mission of this movie. Other than the gruesome and notably uninspired death traps, the film falters in basic cinematography and editing techniques; it's almost incoherent in convoluted plot twists around characters we never know or care about. The only worthwhile thing in this movie is its very handsome leading man, Lyriq Bent.
We get more of the same crap in the fifth film, which follows the "hero" (last man standing) of the fourth into more traps and more sadistic games that make less sense as time continues. It becomes increasingly clear that someone is toying with him, and it's very probably a fellow officer (spoiler alert from the previous flick, which means the suspense in V is nonexistent: it is, and our hero is going to be the victim and scapegoat). I almost kind of liked the subplot this time around, in which five people are forced through a series of communal tests like in II and fail miserably. The dialogue is laughable, editing bizarre, and grimy aesthetic worn and unoriginal. This is grindhouse trash at its most base, and there's nothing here worth wasting your time.

Saw VI (2009) ----- Score: 0.5 / 5

Saw 3D: The Final Chapter (2010) ----- Score: 0 / 5
I suppose 4-6 constitute the sequel trilogy to the first three Saw flicks, and it's just disappointing, following Jigsaw's successor Hoffman working hard to continue the sadistic criminal legacy. The sixth makes pretensions to be relevant and interesting regarding the necessity of health care reform in America, but this isn't The Purge. Relevance in Saw is about as immaterial as the characters' lives; they're all only so much meat and blood. And then there's the seventh installment, a monstrous waste of time that insults long-time fans as well as its general audience. Its 3-D attempt at novelty squelches beneath muddied aesthetics and muddled storytelling, leading up to a finale that might have been a weirdly cool idea (Cary Elwes is back!) except that it's the exact same plot contrivance featured in every single installment of the series: someone "unexpected" is the real killer, a Jigsaw apprentice trying to carry on the sadistic legacy.
The series should have said "Game Over" a long time ago.

Jigsaw (2017) ----- Score: 1 / 5
Seven years later and almost no steps forward. When Jigsaw starts, I was expecting something a little different. The camera feels fresh, the atmosphere is a bit lighter, there's more explicitly stupid-funny dialogue. The kills are less gory and more absurd -- one involves being stuck in a silo, buried in grain and various sharp farm tools -- and I thought we might be in for a solid reboot. The story is structured in the same way as others in the series, with one plotline following a group of individuals getting tortured and murdered, and the other following law enforcement chasing down the big baddie. Unfortunately, this movie is exactly like the others -- read: more of the same trash -- in its excessive exposition, unwieldy plot turns, and pointless intrigue that leads to a climax in which yet another new accomplice or apprentice is unmasked. It doesn't help, this time, that there are major contrivances with the franchise timeline, as if that makes it more profound or interesting. Spoiler: it doesn't.

Emma. (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

There are those adaptations that only work well if you are a fan of the source material, and then there are those that seem catered to wider audiences. We tend to think of film adaptations as needing to be widely accessible by definition, and in this process the "original fans" -- of books, usually -- tend to think of these as watered-down, less insightful, or even overwrought bastardizations of their beloved novel. Adaptations of Jane Austen's works, however, seem to be generally blessed with favorable reception, whether through the medium of PBS or BBC specials, direct cinematic translations, or even modernized, loose versions inspired by her characters and plots.

Though I am by no means a huge Austen fan, I've enjoyed her novels enough and most film adaptations a bit better. And with the exception of Joe Wright's magnificent Pride & Prejudice in 2005 -- and perhaps another or two, including Love & Friendship (2016) -- Autumn de Wilde's new Emma. might be one of my favorites. I make this distinction for several reasons, primarily that de Wilde's aesthetic is so pure and she carries it through with such integrity that I occasionally forgot this was Austen material. It feels more like an arthouse comedy, an offbeat indie flick made as a hyper-stylized period rom-com, and in that regard it is magnificent.

I'm grateful to have recently read Emma -- a local theatre is producing it this month -- because Austen's many plots and characters hopelessly interweave in my memory. The story is, essentially, about the proud and selfish title character who decides to meddle with the lives of people around her. Specifically, she thinks she has a knack for matchmaking and manipulates everyone around her, friends and otherwise, into enacting her perverse romantic whims. Her schemes fail more than succeed, and she is suitably punished by the climax before all is forgiven and all comes to a happy ending. Well, an arguably happy ending; Austen doesn't really have fairytale conclusions, and her portraits of love are not quite idealized.

Though I personally find Emma a troubling character, here she is portrayed by a magnificent Anya Taylor-Joy (brilliant leading actress of The Witch) as a wickedly intelligent, surprisingly well-intentioned young woman who has the impeccable timing and social strength of any Internet "influencer" worth her followers. Her every beat is calculated, every expression measured and controlled. She imbues the spoiled brat of a character -- unlikable even in the novel, Emma is pampered and wealthy to the point that she herself feels no need to marry but determines to match up everyone she knows -- with surprising earnestness and even a certain innocence I found fabulously intriguing, if not quite endearing. Taylor-Joy's ability to combine smug self-righteousness with absolute incompetence breathes new life into the character and, by extension, the film.

The same may be said for director de Wilde, who approaches the proceedings with a pretty straightforward period piece method. In fact, while she captures a fine blend of humor and manners as in any worthwhile Austen adaptation, she manages too to make a profoundly charming work of its own merit; gorgeous costumes, bright lights, brilliant performances, and sharp editing buttress a film that presents its warm heart on its sleeve. It builds pieces and routines that at first feel a bit odd, but by the end are comfortably pleasant. Alternately cold and warm when it needs to be, the camera nevertheless views these characters with humanity and honesty, daring us to treat these characters -- almost caricatures in their universal ridiculousness -- as our friends.

But de Wilde complicates this by presenting them to us behind a veneer of rigid and distractingly artificial Regency society. Bold colors and textures, enormous feathered hats, and sometimes true-to-life unflattering clothes awe our eyes even as we see the damaging (and damning) suppression of real emotions and fruitful communication. In this way, this film feels more authentic and true to Austen than other adaptations I've seen, yet also feels more urgent, immediate, and accessible than others. Without, that is, sacrificing anything to modern sensibilities or pop culture.