Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The most aggressively weird movie in a long time, the latest from Daniels is a doozy. It begins as one thing, shifts into something wildly different, and by the halfway point is unrecognizable as a coherent film. And then, by the end, I found myself so awash in feelings and sensations I've never felt in a film before that I stood with my friend outside the cinema and we just giggled and cried and kept shrugging our shoulders because we just couldn't figure out what we were feeling. Everything Everywhere All at Once is, I promise you, not like you might expect. No summary or synopsis can do it justice. I'm not even sure watching it can do it justice. Think of it like an SNL skit -- about everything and about nothing at the same time, so specific and so absurd at once -- pulled into a two-and-a-half-hour arthouse genre flick. Then you'll start to grasp what's really going on here. Maybe.

It begins with the sardonic wit of reality, as first-generation immigrant Evelyn Wang (Michelle Yeoh) struggles to keep her laundromat afloat. They are under audit by the IRS after having incorrectly filed taxes, and her husband Waymond is passively trying to serve her divorce papers; her daughter Joy is pushing for her family to accept her girlfriend, and her typically patriarchal father Gong Gong has recently arrived for a visit from China. Evelyn's life is a bit chaotic at the moment, and it only gets worse when they visit their auditor, Dierdre Beaubeirdre (a hilarious Jamie Lee Curtis). I wondered how long the movie would dwell on this; its tone suggests something a bit more commercially approachable than David Foster Wallace's The Pale King but with the same sour humor. 

It doesn't last long here, as shortly after arriving at their appointment, Waymond is seemingly possessed by a Waymond from another universe. He tells a fantastic story about the other universes, all of which are parallel, and all of which are now in jeopardy because the daughter Joy from his universe has created a black hole, possibly out of spite. It's up to Evelyn to save everyone. But she doesn't have the time or the desire to help. The hilarity of her situation is rather short-lived, at first, because the evil Joy's minions appear and start attacking. Evelyn must "hop" between universes to learn skills and knowledge from alternate Evelyns to fight back. Thankfully she can draw on an Evelyn who excels at mixed martial arts and even an Evelyn with long slappy noodle hands; with all these extra experiences and abilities, she gets spinning a lot, questioning what she thought she knew about her life, the possible lives she could have led, and the value of her family relationships.

As we hop between universes, I was pleased to note that the film is utterly original in its exploration of the multiverse, at a time when this will be the dominant sci-fi trope and will surely be beaten to death by the MCU and DCEU. It is original, that is, even while actively and hilariously nodding at other films and franchises. For example, there is an alternative universe modeled off Ratatouille, ones like The Matrix, even one uncannily like 2001: A Space Odyssey. In one, Evelyn is a movie star earning awards and fame; in one she is a rock watching a wasteland. Even the real world -- most of which takes place in an IRS building -- becomes a strange place in which enemies fight with kung fu and moves out of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or even, yes, Shang-Chi. The cubicles become an endless hallway of doldrums that contain an endless supply of bizarre weapons, culminating in usage of an "auditor of the year" award becoming a butt plug. The cinematography and editing change with each universe; sometimes even the aspect ratio changes. The film handles its internal chaos beautifully so that even as things exceeded my conscious comprehension, I could follow its emotional lines through to their payoffs. I'd like to revisit the film sometime, or at least read its screenplay, to appreciate and understand it better. I know I missed significant portions of dialogue as I held my splitting sides.

Michelle Yeoh is amazing, and I teared up more than once watching her masterfully guide the film to its sticking places. Her action-movie prowess is always stunning, but here we can really see what she does with a feature-length feature that very much relies on her role to convey human experience. And she delivers all of them plus some! Using dry wit and biting humor she embraces the comedic aspects even as she uses almost imperceptible facial muscles to convey entire manifestos with a single look. Her talent shines on the top tier, and this is the kind of movie that will help people recognize her brilliance.

No less amazing is Stephanie Hsu, who plays Joy, a role I initially thought little of but who I think probably carries equal emotional weight in the film. Joy's thematic locus rests on an otherwise undefined but strongly emphasized generational and cultural divide between Evelyn, her father, and her offspring. Joy's queerness and feminism are foreign to Evelyn, who feels growing disappointment that Joy isn't embracing the opportunities Evelyn's hard work has made possible. Similarly, Evelyn's lifestyle and values are a far cry from her father's (who is played by the wonderfully voiced James Hong), and these restive tensions come to a head when the black hole -- spoiler alert: it's an everything bagel -- spirals its way into our universe. Thankfully, according to the film's apparent logic, the destructive void of generational disconnect and regret and disappointment can be ended when we choose to love and accept and learn from each other, especially those of us in different generations. I'm not sure if that's the main message of this film, or really a valid one, but it's the one that stuck out to me after a single viewing and I'm running with it for now.

Come for Michelle Yeoh. Stay for the chaos. Enjoy the novelty and beauty and hilarity and weirdness along the way. It's a unique and fabulous experience for your senses.

Ambulance (2022)

Score: 2.5 / 5

It's pretty much what you'd expect from the trailer, or by knowing that Michael Bay is directing again. Thankfully, this one doesn't call for the outlandish over-reliance on special visual effects that made him famous with the Transformers franchise, but beyond that it's very much a Bay blockbuster effort. His trademarks here manifest in exhilarating chase sequences, massive explosions and gunfights, and bewildering editing and dizzying kinetic cinematography. And despite some heavy-hitting star talent, it's also a pretty unremarkable film that might have been better as an extended episode for a serial drama like 9-1-1. 

Struggling veteran Will (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II of Candyman, The Trial of the Chicago 7, The Matrix Resurrections) is in a bind to finance his sick wife's life-saving surgery. He asks his adoptive brother Danny (Jake Gyllenhaal) for help, and gets roped into a bank heist. Danny knows what he's doing -- his latent sociopathy peeks through occasionally in a masterful performance that could easily have been single-note -- but even the best-laid plans will go awry when players are blinded by the love of money. After sudden violence and graphic bloodshed, the brothers are forced to hijack an ambulance as a getaway vehicle, keeping as dubious hostages an EMT nurse Cam Thompson (Eiza Gonzalez) and a slowly dying police officer. Yeah, the nurse is Latina and the brothers are black and white and the camera lingers on the cop's badge more than once; it's a typically performative bit of diversity and hot topic-baiting that doesn't end up meaning much.

But this movie isn't a riveting psychological thriller or fraught social commentary piece. It's an action movie, and Bay knows what he's doing in that arena. Ambulance is indeed a roller coaster to watch, wild and kinetic in its palpable adrenaline rush. The opening sequence is arguably its best, balancing bits of multiple characters and their stories and bouncing between them to show their interplay and inevitable collision. Once the actual heist devolves into bloody chaos, the film's stakes are pretty much ratcheted up to their apex; things shift a bit as the hostages consider fighting back and the cops pursuing the brothers attempt to negotiate, but it's all held at a plateau that feels more like a test of endurance than one of maintaining interest.

The film reaches a particularly contrived but effective climax when, during the final chase, Cam is performing open surgery to save the cop while his blood gushes like a fountain and Will serves as a human blood bag and Danny is driving the wrong way on an overpass being chased by helicopters. It's completely insane, and everything goes wrong, and it's all just a breathless flood of images and deafening sounds and dizzying camerawork. I said it felt like a roller coaster, and it's telling that a repeated moment in this film is what appears to be a drone shot, zooming up the side of an LA skyscraper and then zooming back down until the audience's collective stomach is in its throat. There's nothing profound or meaningful or moving about Ambulance, but it's still a fun time in the cinemas before we head into summer blockbuster season.

Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin (2021)

Score: 2 / 5

Do franchises ever end anymore? When I heard Christopher Landon was returning to write a new installment of Paranormal Activity, I confess myself a little excited but mostly bewildered. The franchise spent a lot of time and money in 2015 to fully end the cycle Oren Peli had created in 2007. The Ghost Dimension, which split fans due to its heavy reliance on CGI and poor narrative focus determined to tie up some of the loose ends that had dangled for far too long, effectively ended the franchise on a note divergent from the material that made the franchise so spectacular and effective. As such, it was popularly considered a disappointment. Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that someone wanted to create a course-correcting new entry.

But Next of Kin is a shockingly bizarre entry that nobody wanted and probably even fewer have actually seen, much less appreciated. I had my doubts when it was announced as a Paramount+ exclusive film, but I was willing to give it a try anyway. But there is essentially no connection between this new film and the previous six, not in plot, character, setting, or even aesthetic. None. Sure, it carries the appearance of a found footage film, one shot admittedly with some beautiful cinematography, but the logic is completely gone. The excessive edits of the film bounce back and forth between what appear to be multiple cameras (often in unlikely places) when there is really only one in use. Repeatedly in the film I guffawed aloud as the edits revealed impossibilities in in-world camera techniques that made it impossible to suspend my disbelief entirely. By the climax, I was a but accustomed to the bizarre unbelievability, and director William Eubank (Underwater) did start to embrace the visual chaos he unleashed, but I was too far gone at that point to relate to the terror experienced by the protagonist.

Margot (Emily Bader) recently discovered that her mother -- who abandoned her as a child -- was a member of an Amish community. Curious about her past, she has enlisted her boyfriend and friends (for sound and camera capture) to help make a documentary. One wonders if her "documentary" is for YouTube only. But upon meeting the community members, her suspicions are piqued: her mother was clearly a controversial figure among locals, as several refuse to talk about her or cast dark looks upon mentioning her name. Perhaps this uptight community conceals the reason why her mother let her go. And where is Margot's mother now? The film's earlier scenes are clearly well-researched on Amish people (the reactions of the children to seeing outsiders are especially accurate, to a chilling and mildly comical level), but it also heavily relies on Othering them to create a somewhat icky "Scary Amish People" dread for most of the film. Even when -- spoiler alert -- this community is revealed to be not Amish at all, the taste is still bitter.

It's not an original idea. I thought multiple times of similar movies like The Village, The Ritual, The Visit, and even The Wicker Man and Midsommar, to which this one is clearly related aesthetically and thematically: Outsiders enter a sacred community whose religious or social ties antiquate them and who harbor a terrible secret. Here, there is a supernatural element not far off from The Blair Witch Project or the previous Paranormal Activity films, but the actual plot points and setting have nothing to do with the existing franchise. The only connection is the ultimate presence -- you guessed it -- of the same demon whose behaviors gave the series its title. Asmodeus (also called "Toby" in previous installments, a wry reference to the biblical/apocryphal Book of Tobit in which the demon prominently features) is indeed the being to whom this religious community devotes itself, and he's causing problems again as he tries to incarnate or manifest himself. Other than his presence, and the loose found footage format, Next of Kin felt keenly like an original story that was hijacked or repurposed by the studio and rebranded with Paranormal Activity ideas. With some work, it could just as easily have been a sequel to any other film I've already mentioned here.

Morbius (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

I'm so tired. Fandoms can be nice places to meet people and see creativity blossom in support of franchises that mean a lot culturally and personally, but increasingly they seem filled with toxic, hateful people who just want to tear other things apart in cruel and hypocritical ways. While the MCU is currently blessed with a fairly solid fanbase, almost all others suffer, even those adjacent to that behemoth. Take Sony's repeated attempts at breaking into Marvel properties, each of which I have thoroughly enjoyed. Its most recent attempts seem bent on exploring the villains as antiheroes, hence the Venom series and upcoming Kraven the Hunter film. The latest, based on one of my favorite characters from the comics, is very much in line with the odd aesthetic choices Sony has cultivated, and I am totally here for it. Apparently not everyone has been, but as usual, the clamor online largely sounds like angry children decrying the film as "bad" or "terrible" without actually stating reasons for their hatred and without acknowledging that their opinions aren't objective. So let's talk about Morbius.

The "living vampire" here takes the form of Jared Leto, who for the first time in several years actually looks and acts kind of normal on screen. He's recognizable, despite lots of effects to make him initially appear sickly and frail, and it's refreshing to remember he can actually perform when not covered in prosthetics and hiding behind caricatured mannerisms. Surprisingly physical here, his Dr. Michael Morbius is instantly believable in the film's early scenes, desperate to cure himself of a rare blood disease. His previous work has resulted in blue, artificial blood that works for many people, including children with similar illnesses, and has won him a Nobel Prize that he rejects early on. He just wants a better life and permanent salvation.

Anyone could guess that he'll end up getting the opposite. And soon enough, after collecting vampire bats from Central America and experimenting on them, he ends up splicing genes and fusing blood with them, transforming himself into a super strong, super fast vampire. Most of the middle of the film, as with many origin stories of super people, occupies its time with its protagonist learning the limits of his powers, which include echolocation and, somehow, a keen ability to fly. His bloodlust is sporadic, and it occasionally turns him into a monstrous gargoyle-like creature; at one point he says "You won't like me when I'm hungry" and it's unexpectedly hilarious in a delightful, metafictional way. The film's mythology leaves much to be desired, but then, don't most of these stories? As Morbius himself once notes in the film, there isn't as much "science stuff" to it as he first thought, and I think the screenwriters included that little gem just to piss off the hecklers.

With Leto's tortured performance in the middle of all the chaos -- and trust me, the plot is pretty chaotic, to say nothing of the action -- I found a lot of surprisingly thematic meat to chew on. Much like Tom Hardy's nuanced and vaudevillian turn as Venom, Leto digs into physical movement and earnest emotion as Morbius, questioning the extent of illness or addiction as it relates to his behaviors. Less effective is what the visual effects crew does to him; his appearance is great, but the CGI around him never quite manages to make sense. Smoky trails of residue follow him around when he moves quickly, in effects that feel ripped from these kinds of movies in the late '90s or early '00s, and when his ears prick up, they look rippled and pulsing like cords on a harp in an effect that had me actually retching in my seat. It's uniquely horrid.

If he's a hero, why do his attempts to help others result in murder (especially graphic murder)? Why, in the film's early scenes, does no one blink an eye that Morbius's ethically shameful and completely illegal experiments lead him to international waters for the deed? But then, does it matter? It allows for some fun nods to other vampiric fiction, such as the drifting ship littered with bloodless corpses (Dracula) named the Murnau (director of Nosferatu). It also allows the characters to return home changed, a crucial moment in any superhero film, which sets up the primary external conflict for the plot. Enter Matt Smith as Morbius's surrogate brother, jealous and wealthy man with the same blood disease who takes the same "cure" but embraces the more monstrous side of his new identity. He's the primary villain, apart from Morbius fighting with his own impulses and lusts, and Smith is really wonderful in the film. 

I love that we finally have a superhero film that is an honest-to-Stan-Lee horror film. I don't love that it's only PG-13, like Venom, and so can't quite give itself over to the necessary elements that could make it fabulous like Deadpool. It's never quite as dark as it wants to be, though I felt suitably icky with dread multiple times, such as when a nurse walks down a hallway with motion-sensor lights and gets stalked by a vampire. It's not nearly as gory or violent as it should be, and most of the action is sadly unwatchable due to uninspired cinematography, an excess of VFX, and bewildering edits. But it's still a fairly good time, despite a general lack of humor, and hopefully a suitably dark entry in the burgeoning Sinister Six franchise for Sony.

The Lost City (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

I don't usually go for comedies, especially ones that combine adventure and romance, but The Lost City was the unexpected delight of the season for me. In no ways does it try to reinvent anything, yet its familiarity breeds ingenuity and joy. Essentially taking what we all love about middle-aged rom-coms and silly adventure flicks and mashing them together, it works as fairly mindless and fun entertainment. In the hands of the directors and this stellar cast, and a screenplay laced with gold, it's a lot smarter and a lot more heartfelt than I expected. I'd compare it tonally to Isn't It Romantic in that way, even though it looks and feels more like Romancing the Stone or countless other adventures with varying degrees of romance and comedy (Jumanji, The Mummy, The African Queen, Jungle Cruise). It's a movie that knows exactly what it is and who its audience is, and gives what we want and expect while still delighting us each step of the journey.

Loretta Sage (Sandra Bullock) is trying desperately to stay afloat. The famed writer of smutty romance-adventures, she has grown disdainful for her own work since the untimely death of her husband. Her grief has made her reclusive and misanthropic, and she's hit a writer's block with her new book. When her agent Beth (Da'Vine Joy Randolph) pushes her into promoting her latest book on tour with the wildly popular cover model Alan (Channing Tatum), Loretta suggests that she's done writing stories in this series. The agent, the model, and the fans won't have it; they love the hunky Dash McMahon too much. We get many hints, too, that Loretta's stories contain nuggets of gold in them; she actually did archeological research with her deceased husband to inform her fiction.

After successfully derailing a public appearance with "Dash," Loretta is abducted by a fan. Well, a fan who is also a criminal in the form of Abigail Fairfax (Daniel Radcliffe), an eccentric and vengeful billionaire who wants his own fame, fortune, and glory. Fairfax has located the titular lost city from one of Loretta's books and needs her to translate clues that might lead them to a hidden treasure. Time is ticking because, of course, the treasure is located near an active volcano. Why not? This is a highly contrived plot, but by the point the plot is properly laid out in the first, let's say, twenty or thirty minutes, we pretty much know every beat the movie will hit. And it does, in spades. What a pleasure.

The doubtful and resistant Loretta has no intention of helping Fairfax, but he takes her anyway (while destroying the world's largest charcuterie display, tragically). Alan, who seems to be somewhat smitten with Loretta -- or at least desperate to keep his famed character alive and popular -- gives chase with the help of a former mentor and meditation guru/fitness trainer Jack Trainer (Brad Pitt). And so ensues the rollicking, somewhat swashbuckling adventure that takes our cast to a remote Caribbean island in search of love, treasure, and themselves. Once they all reconvene, in one of the film's best action sequences to the sound of "Red Right Hand", things really kick into high gear. A principal joy here is the acting from stars who are simply doing what they do best. Tatum keenly understands his own appeal as a caring and slightly stupid hot guy; Bullock has made a career out of understanding her own appeal as a sexy, disillusioned, and somewhat awkward intellectual with walls to tear down. Together, they share some of the best chemistry I've seen in a comedy in years.

Everything about this movie is charming. Its supporting cast works well, though Radcliffe's character feels underdeveloped and sometimes forced into a narrative that clearly just needed a caricatured villain (though Radcliffe himself delivers admirably). It's bright and cute and often laugh-out-loud hilarious. It's also exciting and rousing and sexy and surprisingly emotional. It's everything you want from this kind of movie, and it's smart about playing itself accordingly; the Nee brothers are simply taking an old recipe, using A-list ingredients, and injecting it with fresh and jubilant energy. This is one of those movies I enjoyed so much I could have happily watched it again shortly after the first screening, and will probably stay on my repertoire of date night/sick day/rainy day flicks, and it would pair beautifully with tequila cocktails or any shade of wine.

X (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

How do you take two forms widely considered the lowest of its type, and revive them with appeal to both arthouse circuits and mass audiences? I don't know, but Ti West just did it with his latest. His exploitation film, combining horror and pornography, may be aptly titled X, and while it's certainly not for the faint of heart, it's actually surprisingly tasteful in its delivery of genre thrills and weighty thematic concerns. The latest A24 film might cause some rumpled feathers due to content, as the studio's name has become synonymous with more high-brow or "elevated" horror. As the first proper slasher for the studio, this one comes with enough cerebral candy to woo some of the jaded Gen Z-ers who decry the genre, but only time will tell if it'll be embraced. For the rest of us, though, X represents a whole lot more.

Opening almost point-by-point like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, I wondered early if this film would be an homage to Tobe Hooper. And in many ways, it is. An odd group of misfits in a large van roll their way through Texas in the middle of a scorching summer. Arriving at their destination, an all-but abandoned farm run by two elderly people, the group sets about exploring and insulting the locals. It doesn't take long for things to get sexually heated and violent. The locals are about to fight back. Hooper's filmography was weird, and while this film clearly takes its inspiration from Massacre, it also draws from some of his other works. Most notably, the beast lurking in the nearby pond and its cheap effects are ripped directly from Hooper's Eaten Alive.

Without being too specific about the plot, the group of young folks includes burgeoning scream queen (and wonderful actress) Jenna Ortega (5cream, The Fallout, Studio 666), Brittany Snow (Prom Night, Hairspray, Pitch Perfect), Owen Campbell (Super Dark Times), Martin Henderson (The Ring, Little Fish, Everest, The Strangers: Prey at Night), Scott Mescudi / Kid Cudi (Crisis, Don't Look Up), and Mia Goth doing her best work yet (A Cure for Wellness, Marrowbone, Suspiria, High Life, Emma). A prime pleasure of this film in the first hour or so is learning these characters and their interactions; they bicker and discuss the movie they are going to make. At least two of them are horny and just want to have sex on camera for what will surely be the best porno ever; their director and his techie girlfriend want to make a legitimate arthouse film that nevertheless includes sex. By the time one character blatantly asks about Psycho -- Hitchcock's groundbreaking genre classic that combined explicit sexuality and psychology with slasher conventions (that he also sort of created in doing so) -- I realized that X may be earnest about some things, but it's also keenly aware of what it's doing.

Like Wes Craven's Scream franchise, these characters know they're in a movie. It's a film about filmmaking, specifically of an indecent and transgressive kind. Craven (like so many horror filmmakers) started his cinematic career in independent, low-budget exploitation with The Last House on the Left, and evolved to a place of metafiction that now defines the genre. When the director and producer agree that they are making a porno, not a horror picture, a dark chuckle rumbled through the auditorium, and the film almost pauses for the laughter because it knows what we know.

And that seems to be the film's purpose in general. Its first half is a foreboding dark comedy mixed with some nostalgic drama; the old couple who live on the farm are very strange, but clearly not aging well. Howard, the old man, can't walk or talk well, and he repeatedly mentions that his heart is weak even as he huffs and puffs his way around. Pearl, the old woman, is apparently senile, confused and wandering around. In a few intimate moments, such as when Pearl spies on the young stars having sex on camera, we see that Pearl longs for that kind of sexual fulfillment again; Howard denies her, suggesting he could die from that much exertion. It's tragic, and you feel bad thinking about the shame and ridicule our society places on older people having sex (Grace and Frankie for the win!). But they are still weird and creepy enough to carry us through the tense, deliberately paced first half of the film.

Then, as we might expect from psycho-biddy films or similar projects like The Taking of Deborah Logan and The Visit, things take a violent turn. This is where I'll stop with plot details because the second half is a straightforward slasher horror film, and it's endlessly pleasurable to experience raw, so to speak. Even the first big kill is as much a testament to the film's love of low-budget indie filmmaking, as the spraying blood cleverly changes the cinematography and lighting in fully theatrical fashion. Writer and director West knows exactly what he's doing, and what he's saying in generic context, and the audience he wants to entertain, and his playfulness with genre tropes and imagery are intoxicating. Costume and hair choices, cinematography and setting, sound mixing and editing, and direction of actors all feel pointedly informed by fairly specific referents, and West does not shy away from embracing those influences.

Thematic concerns beyond independent filmmaking include a consideration of elderly sexuality, sexual dynamics in a radically shifting industry, and commodifying youth in a burgeoning home video market. Howard and Pearl never really feel like believable characters as such, but their defining traits are clear and very real; and if we're being honest, how many killers do we ever really get to know in the first film? To quote one of Craven's killers, "Did Norman Bates have a motive? No. Did we ever find out why Hannibal Lecter liked to eat people? Don't think so!" I suppose we'll find out, because the post-credits scene is actually a trailer for a forthcoming prequel, starring -- well, I won't spoil it. But the casting is brilliant and should cause you to double check the cast list for this movie. It's a doozy.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022)

Score: 1.5 / 5

Requels are great until they're not, and we've had some great ones lately. Between Scream, Halloween, and Candyman, we're in a golden age of the fairly recent genre phenomenon. It was only a matter of time before one revamped its respective franchise without the respect or "legacy" aspect the requel format requires, being both a reboot and a sequel (usually to the original classic). I was partial to Evil Dead (2013) and Friday the 13th (2009) during the early 2010s, although some fans weren't, and I think those paved the way for the last few years of our renaissance. Unfortunately, the latest horror requel (at least, before David Gordon Green's Halloween trilogy ends and his upcoming Exorcist requel is finished) misses its mark repeatedly.

Much like Green's project, it feels that the producers of Texas Chainsaw Massacre decided to make a direct sequel to Tobe Hooper's original 1974 film and ignore the long series of sequels and remakes and prequels that have littered the franchise. I've actually quite enjoyed each installment since 2003 (I hate the original three sequels), and I was still excited for this new vision, despite its unceremonious debut as a Netflix original film. But the new one from director David Blue Garcia is a bit of a mess, and I don't mean that in a good way. What goes wrong? Let's dive into the blood bath.

As a standalone film, it's pretty mediocre. A group of young entrepreneurs travel to Harlow, all but abandoned, to auction off property and create a new town of young influencers deep in the heart of Texas. A bus of influencers is about to show up, so they need to check out downtown; they run into an isolated woman and what appears to be her son who refuse to leave their place in the middle of downtown. When they force her out, we know it's only a matter of time before her "son's" rampage begins. The supposedly cautionary tale about gentrification hits us pretty hard over the head, though it's never really explored beyond that, just punished in gleeful fashion. Similarly, the new protagonist is immediately established as a final girl when she reveals that she survived a school shooting. The problem with this is that the screenplay treats this a bit exploitatively rather than substantively, and it's annoyingly obvious (when she meets the trigger-happy open-carrying Man of the Town, who is admittedly a studly man) that she'll have to overcome her hatred of guns and use one by movie's end. It's very Chekhov. It's also weirdly pro-gun (I kept waiting for the "only a good man with a gun can stop a bad man" line, but this was never so simply verbalized), which doesn't fit current discourse in the genre or in real life. On the other hand -- much like the original film -- this movie is really quite beautiful to watch, and the colorful, inspired cinematography by Ricardo Diaz makes up for a lot of the film's shortcomings.

As a sequel, the film started with some promising tidbits. Its opening sequence with voiceover narration was effective in putting us back in the feel of the franchise. We meet the new young people who populate the film -- their names don't matter because they're all chainsaw fodder, and especially in this film they all make unforgivably stupid choices again and again -- and as they head into what appears to be western Texas, they stop at a convenience store filled with Leatherface tchotchkes. It's kind of cool, Scream style, to see the iconic killer as a pop star with t-shirts and corkscrews honoring his legacy. And then there's the gore, which is wonderfully disgusting. The violence itself is only occasionally brilliant (the film's first kill is sudden and shocking and definitely scream-inducing), mostly because the characters are insufferable and there is basically no tension, but the gore is thoroughly satisfying. In fact, I felt that this might be the first time in the franchise where we actually see the title's promise played out in a single scene. The "bus scene" will be surely talked about most in this film, as its terrified passengers film the onslaught with their phones as they drown in the ungodly massacre. It's a pretty great sequence.

As a legacy sequel, the film utterly fails. The whole point of legacy is to bring back the same characters and the same actors, right? Unless there's a major problem like untimely death, I suppose (thinking of our beloved Carrie Fisher in the Star Wars requel trilogy). But Marilyn Burns, who played the original survivor Sally Hardesty, passed away in 2014, and now the character is taken over by Olwen Fouéré, who looks the part well enough. The problem is that Sally was never a compelling character, nor even a true final girl (other than that she indeed survives); the aged Sally we meet now is too similar to Laurie Strode, a survivalist and veteran Texas Ranger always ready to hunt Leatherface and his family down. It doesn't ring true to the character, who we last saw driven to insanity and screaming from the back of a pickup truck. You've got to at least try and build off what came before. And then for the film -- SPOILER ALERT -- to kill her off after so little screen time made me angry. I mean, I was fine with her demise, but then why include her at all? The only hint is that she somehow survives long enough to shoot off another round into her foe before telling the new protagonist not to run "or he'll haunt you forever." Which I guess is a nice sentiment, but we've already had a more compelling feminist drama about overcoming trauma in a slasher movie, and it's not this.

As a reboot, I'd argue it fails on similar grounds. Gunnar Hansen, who played the original Leatherface, died in 2015, and is here replaced by Mark Burnham, who plays the character (perhaps we can't blame him so much as the producers and director) with far more intelligence than he should. This Leatherface has apparently been taken in by the town orphanage, though the story is conspicuously thin on details or exposition, and his bond with the current house owner Ginny (Alice Krige) is suggested to be important and possibly intimate but isn't explored at all. Moreover, this Leatherface doesn't feel like the psychologically challenged and/or mentally ill character we initially met in 1974, who screamed when intruders materialized in his house and changed his mannerisms drastically with each new mask. Instead, this one is almost superhumanly brutal -- the first kill involves a single-handed forearm break and a stabbing with the compound fracture -- and plans some of his creative kills in advance. Leatherface should be reactionary, not exploitative. Which is weird for a franchise built as grindhouse exploitation, but here we are.

The Fallout (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

HBO always pushes the limits when it comes to content -- just look at Euphoria, or don't -- and it seems that adolescent trauma is the name of the game when it comes to one of their latest original dramas. The Fallout drew me in because its star, Jenna Ortega, is suddenly a bona fide movie star doing surprising and prolific work (Scream 5, X, You season two, Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous). And while Ortega completely nailed this complex and nuanced role, the film itself surprised me in wonderful and challenging ways. Writer and first-time feature director Megan Park centers on her versatile star to tell a difficult story that smacks of authenticity in almost every frame. She's not playing an easy game either, choosing to tell the story not of the climactic events that predicate her film but of young people coming to terms with those events.

I had no idea what this film was about when I clicked on it, but within a few minutes of its beginning -- which sets up an otherwise typical bildungsroman for a high school girl teasing her younger sister about her first period and staring at a local influencer in the bathroom with curiosity or jealousy (or lust?) -- the relative tranquility is shattered as gunshots ring out in the school halls. The two girls jump into the nearest stall together, lock the door, and climb atop the toilet. Vada (Ortega), a short and baggy-clothed malcontent, pulls out her phone but is shaking too much to use it as the rapid fire gets closer; Mia (Maddie Ziegler), a tall blond dancer, drops her bangles on the ground and slips out of her heels, which end up in the bowl. We're locked in the stall with them, and the sound mixing forces us to breathe frantically with them as the bathroom door opens and footsteps approach. It's Quinton (Niles Fitch), who hides in the next stall before announcing himself. The girls invite him to crawl into theirs; he does, leaving streaks of blood on the white tiles. He checks himself for bullet wounds before breaking into panicked tears and mourning his brother, who presumably died in front of him. The three wait in horrified sorrow until the police arrive.

It's a hard introduction to the film, but Park's sensitivity lies in its focus on these students and their experience. The rest of the film deals with their ability -- or inability -- to cope with the tragedy and continue to live despite the trauma. The honesty with which she portrays each subsequent scene is profound: while Vada's family sits in stony, shocked silence at the dinner table, the camera lingers on Vada's catatonic face. When the news reports updates on the incident, which we hear mostly off-camera in bits and pieces, we center on Vada's face as she texts Mia and Quinton, students who were probably not her friends before their shared survival story. The "outside world" is a nebulous force, one that only occasionally reminds us (or Vada, or Mia) that it's there. Our experience is bounded by a fuzzy screen, one that limits the sound and sight of much beyond awkward, mostly silent interactions. Vada and Mia start spending time together, acting like best friends always on the verge of courting each other; they drink wine and talk, smoke a joint and float in the pool, and sneak out of their houses to connect when they start to feel panicked.

Even the experiences of other students begin to feel "other" to her, such as her gay friend Nick (Will Ropp) who becomes the media face of the incident and speaks at rallies to condemn the NRA and governmental inaction over these tragedies. Park is determined to avoid telling the, sadly, familiar story of traumatized teenagers who become famous activists; she's interested in the silent majority of teenagers who live through the same experiences and don't become famous as a result. Vada has to go to therapy (with Shailene Woodley, in a bizarre casting choice), where she feels nothing; she has to return to school eventually, and when she does she gets high on ecstasy just to make it through the day. 

Park's sensitivity in direction only increases from the inciting incident, and as Vada navigates her own psyche and the halls of her school, we're treated to a smorgasbord of bittersweet scenes that seamlessly combine dark, uncomfortable drama with raw humor. Several scenes aren't arguably "necessary" for the furtherment of any negligible plot, but the general aesthetic of this film seems to toe the line with a "slice of life" approach. It's a fascinating way to handle the traumatic issues raised, and it does so -- I think -- in an extraordinarily dangerous and effective way. The film works to normalize the shooting and its aftereffects even as it criticizes that same phenomenon as it happens in real life. We're normalizing mass shootings, especially in schools, as a culture, and doing so -- Park rightly sermonizes in this film -- only increases and exacerbates the trauma experienced by the (often young) people most immediately affected.

Umma (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Even the most familiar stories can be powerful when told with the right conviction.

Isolated in rural Americana, a solitary apiarist homeschools her daughter and supports herself by selling organic honey. Amanda (Sandra Oh) is a first-generation Korean-American who abhors technology; their pastoral life is only ever intruded upon by a local shopkeeper (Dermot Mulroney), whose occasional friendly visits represent Amanda's only social interactions as well as her only means of making money through selling her organic honey. Her teenage daughter Chrissy (Fivel Stewart) doesn't seem too troubled by this arrangement, and tells us fairly early into the film that Amanda has some kind of intense sensitivity or unusual allergy to electricity. They don't have phones or cars, and at night they rely on candles and oil lanterns. We get the impression there is something traumatizing in Amanda's past -- based on a nasty opening flashback -- and it feels like the two women might be in some kind of witness protection program.

That's not quite the case, which becomes apparent when a mysterious car drives right up to their house. Amanda's Korean uncle pops out, informing her that her mother has passed away. The camera lingers on Amanda's face, and really this is where we must express gratitude and joy that Sandra Oh is our star. She deserves so much more starring screen time than she's ever gotten, and this film capitalizes on her profound ability to convey so many complex emotions in wordless looks. Her dedication to this role and this story saves it from tipping over the brink into typical B-movie vagaries. Amanda's complex reaction to her uncle's news is short-lived as her uncle -- without any ado at all -- shames her for her estranged relationship with her Umma (Korean for "mother") and her apparent abandonment of her culture. Then he gifts Amanda with a suitcase containing Umma's ashes with a morbid warning that her spirit is angry and will be until she is properly laid to rest.

Amanda's bitterness is left unexplained for a while, but when she unceremoniously dumps her mother's urn in the basement, we know it's only a matter of time before something dreadful happens. Almost immediately, Amanda is woken by nightmares of her past; her waking life doesn't fare much better when she discovers that Chrissy has been secretly requesting more information from colleges she might attend. The multiple generations of women now in the same house will unravel in the whirlwind of expectations and behaviors that lead each to question the extent to which they are turning into their own mothers. Some generational curses hit a little closer to home than we expect.

As a horror movie, Umma is pretty typical of its genre. Each beat is predictable, from the foreboding portents of the uncle's visit and the oddly edited dream sequences (that feel lifted out of early '00s ghost flicks) to Umma's eventual attempts at possession. Director and writer Iris K. Shim handled the jump-scares well enough to keep me on the edge of my seat in an otherwise comfortable way, and the effects are pretty darn effective for being, one imagines, quite low-budget. But where this one rises above is in its casting -- may I continue to praise Sandra Oh? -- and in its heart. Shim clearly feels passionately about this story and works hard to hitch the film to Oh's emotive power, reigning in what could be flyaway terror and spectacle to make this film more about the delicate lines between three generations of women of color. This movie is more about the aftereffects of immigration, assimilation, and family trauma than about a vengeful ghost.

With so much on its mind, I might have preferred a longer approach (this one clocks in under 90 minutes) that wouldn't have sacrificed so much potent drama. I certainly would have liked a bit more exploration of its weighty themes and a few more chances for Oh and the rest of this solid cast to shine. In fact, having recently watched Minari again, which is remarkably similar in many ways, I'm imagining an odd crossover that makes both films more satisfying to me.

My Top 10 Favorite Films of 2021

I have finally seen all the feature films on my yearly watch list, and so now, as awards season draws to a close, I present to you my ten favorite films from 2021, along with several honorable mentions that almost made my list here: everything hyperlinked to one of my reviews was in the final running for my list, and each counts as a personal favorite. Please note that I designate 2021 films based on when they were widely released and accessible!

Special Mention: The Fear Street Trilogy
Okay, before we get started, I just really need to pop this one in here. It may not have a place on my actual list, but the audacity of dropping three whole movies on Netflix this year that were all part of the same cycle and depend on each other for coherence is stunning. And then for those movies to be intelligent, terrifying, hilarious, stylish, and a ton of fun? What a fabulous and inspiring cultural product from writer and director Leigh Janiak, who adapted the stories from R.L. Stine with no small amount of debt to everyone from Wes Craven to the Duffer Brothers, and from Steven Spielberg to Ryan Murphy. But these movies are very much their own thing, and through their meditation on time and place, I found them, together, to be one of the most entertaining and intellectually satisfying pop-horror productions I've ever seen.

10. Raya and the Last Dragon

Disney didn't do much for me this year (outside of the MCU, which is consistently killing it), but this movie rang in 2021 with one of my new all-time animated favorites. Hilarious and heartwarming, it tells the story of an empowered young woman rising to the task of uniting disparate political factions, saving the environment, and learning how to trust others. Some of the timeliest and most daring topics right now -- and, obviously, in March 2021 -- are couched comfortably between major star turns from actors, animators, and designers in a movie as feel-good as it is challenging. I really loved Barb & Star Go to Vista Del Mar for its escapism and good humor this year, and it was sorely needed as 2021 got off to its rocky start, and I also loved Don't Look Up for whatever the opposite of escapism and good humor is because it felt like a hilarious and terrifying way to end a very weird year.

9. Candyman
This requel might be the best we've seen yet. Not only does this Candyman honor the significant legacy of the 1992 original, it actually helps make the loose ends of that film make more sense. It turns the Candyman myth, which once felt limiting in its specificity to location and culture, into an endlessly accessible and fraught vehicle to deliver nonstop horror. Brutal emotionally as well as viscerally, Candyman triumphantly rises above expectations and breaks through its walls into reality, turning its central premise into as hot a topic as many in our headlines, where saying the names of victims of racism and police brutality invokes a charge as old as our country itself. As much as I loved The Forever Purge, A Quiet Place Part II, and especially Halloween Kills, nothing scared me as much as Candyman did this year. But don't say his name five times, whatever you do!

8. The Night House
For me, the best horror movie of the year was also the star turn Rebecca Hall has long deserved. Understated until it's not, the film is a profoundly deep meditation on loss, grief, and suicide in such literal terms that it is often hard to endure. I'm still not entirely sure the extent to which it is allegorical and generic (meaning typical of haunted house genre, not that it is in any way a typical film), but it is definitely both at once, each informing the other interpretation. Lean, mean, and with every moment utterly crucial, it's a terrifying descent into despair and, finally, an empowering guide back into the light. Other crucial female-led horror films this year included Last Night in Soho and The Woman in the Window.

7. House of Gucci

Greed, especially in the family business, causes loyalties to fray and civility to dissolve, and Ridley Scott's masterful exploration of the phenomenon makes this movie sing. Taking the true story that is essentially soap and eyeing it with the veteran panache of operatic excesses, Scott forces us into a parable dressed in drag, a high camp fever dream determined to push buttons you didn't even know you had. It's a messy, brazen, glamorous cocktail of sin and style, as audacious in its faith to storytelling as it is to its own sickly beauty. I loved the similarly theatrical style and chameleonic performances in The Eyes of Tammy Faye, but this was by far the top queer movie of 2021.

6. Nightmare Alley

Uncanny in its timelessness, Guillermo del Toro's latest feature feels like a throwback to films noir of the 1940s even as it absorbs our senses in a visceral and urgent way. A character study of antiheroes, a stylistic meditation on circular narratives, a haunting parable about losing yourself to your vices, this sumptuous, sensual movie has it all. Two of the most interesting fictional characters on screen this year, played by two of our best actors at the height of their careers, and some of the year's best filmmaking to convey their odyssey into the dark heart of avarice. I also loved Being the Ricardos and The Father for acting (and the latter for production design and casting), but there's just not much that compares with this Gothic beauty.

5. TIE: Justice League / Spider-Man: No Way Home

A year of superheroes, mostly brought to us via MCU streaming specials and new characters, would not have been nearly as spectacular if not for us finally getting Zack Snyder's Justice League. And it completely blew me away in surprising and devastating ways. A stunning, glorious monument to storytelling, style, substance, and pure unadulterated entertainment, this was the vindication I've longed for while being a fairly vocal fan of the DC film series all along. The third installment of Spider-Man matched my feeling of elation, and its techniques that bothered me were largely smothered by the amount of perfectly executed, sensitively developed fan service that brought together the disparate parts of Marvel cinematic efforts over the last two decades.

4. The Last Duel
Despite a few questionable choices, Ridley Scott's first film release of this year has stuck with me like few others. It's a damning condemnation of toxic masculinity from a filmmaker often accused of sacrificing female perspectives and stories to that of men, and yet it reinforces the simple fact that no one does period war dramas better than Scott. It makes a case that no one does better than Scott in a lot of ways, but between this and House of Gucci, he ruled awards season this year in my books. The barbarism of medieval gender politics here feels far too relevant, and the film's grayscale grittiness brings a dark level of urgency to the story that I did not expect. I also really loved The Harder They Fall this year due for its similar historical revisionism in a crime drama determined to raise hackles across the board; but what can I say, I prefer the Gothic film.

3. TIE: In the Heights / West Side Story

It's amazing that these two films were made in the same year, and that both were uncommonly -- impossibly -- perfect movie musicals. One was a brand new vision that transported us from stage to screen and then directly up to cloud nine, the other was a remake that actually improved on the original groundbreaker. Both feature transcendent cinematography and production design, eye-popping choreography, Spanish language without subtitles, and extraordinarily talented young and old performers. They feel like companion films about hope, perseverance, overcoming prejudice and poverty, and dealing with loss of loved ones and of identity. Just amazing.

2. The Green Knight

A consummate story, David Lowery's latest film is a myth about mythmaking, a story more about storytelling than about its own narrative. From its title, curiously blurring its protagonist, onward, the film's brilliance manifests in every single shot, and sometimes even between shots with editing that constantly challenges our expectations of period films, adventures, fantasies, and action films. Some of the best scholarly writing of the year will surely come from this, as each scene seems pandering to scholars and theorists with ambiguity and metaphor. I'm rarely this shocked, mesmerized, and consistently frustrated by films, and even after four separate viewings, The Green Knight still holds me under its spell. I also really loved The Power of the Dog, which similarly examined the bildungsroman through competing masculinities, the influence of nature and life on the edge of civilization, and what we learn during the passage of time.

1. Judas and the Black Messiah

This one may cause a ruckus, as it was formally awarded things during the last cycle, but since it was widely released in 2021, I've waited a year to honor it on this damn blog. Judas and the Black Messiah is a timeless film, one that feels ancient and urgent at once, yet so clearly reflects the time of its subject that it feels more like a documentary than a drama. Much like last year's The Trial of the Chicago 7, the film concerns William O'Neal, the Judas to Fred Hampton's Jesus, during the formation of the Rainbow Coalition and J. Edgar Hoover's COINTELPRO efforts to eliminate perceived threats to the status quo. I also really loved Passing this year for its incisive look at racial dynamics in the 1920s, but the compelling real drama, in Shaka King and the Lucas Brothers' hands, of Fred Hampton's revolutionary life and its tragic, untimely, and downright evil end has devastated me for an entire year.

What were YOUR favorite movies this year? Let me know and we'll chat about some stellar cinema!