Dicks: The Musical (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

How do you "score" a movie like this? It's not in any way conventional, so as to render itself as subject to a rubric. It aggressively eschews -- to the point of deliberate obfuscation -- any semblance of propriety or taste, almost daring us to try and assign a grade or ranking to it. Dicks is the kind of film that just exists for its own sake, with no sticky raison d'être beyond idiosyncratic expression and absurdist comedy. As the first musical film released by A24, we can't really have expected more than that, though I was shocked to learn during the credits that this film is in fact adapted from an Off-Broadway musical. Why did that shock me? Well, the whole damned movie is shocking to say the least, but it's just not the kind of thing you see on stage. Or in most films.

Perhaps for the first time in my life, walking out of the cinema after a screening of Dicks, I was keenly aware that I had just seen a cult classic in its infancy. It's always a bit annoying to call anything a classic when it's brand new, but the viewing experience of this film reminded me so strikingly of a few other experiences that it's all I could say about it. Do you remember the first time you saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show? What about Tommy? Or, for the discerning musical theatre weirdos out there, how about Reefer Madness? Maybe the first time you saw or heard the soundtrack for Evil Dead: The Musical? Dicks has almost terrifyingly similar energy and ideas, and it feels like a shoe-in on the same shelf. A disturbed -- and somewhat disturbing -- experiment in genre and tone that takes gender and sexuality (and, I guess, class, family, and capitalism?), wrings them through genre and narrative tropes, and finally turning them on their heads with postmodern flair.

It's an absolute mess of a movie, with old-fashioned and mostly lo-fi cinematography and editing but enchanting and offensive production design. Costumes are incredible throughout, even though they have no right to be, and hair and makeup must be intentionally bizarre. The music, while largely unmemorable, tends to make fun of music from musicals while assaulting us with uncomfortable and provocative lyrics. Choreography, when it happens, is delightfully earnest despite the deranged lyrics. The performances are universally unhinged and over-the-top; you could call it camp if it was about anything serious, but it's not serious and knows it isn't serious. In fact, the narrative itself is only about half a narrative, and even that is only about half-baked. Think of it more like a 90-minute SNL skit on uppers, that might help you contextualize the energy Dicks is serving.

People will either love this or hate this, and frankly I still don't know if I adopt either extreme. Personally, deliberately vulgar comedy like this doesn't usually tickle my funny bone, especially when there isn't much higher purpose. Absurdism, similarly, I can only take in small doses and usually only in a context that provides me other pleasures (for example, the Gothic and queer elements of Rocky Horror or the Arthurian adventure comedy elements of Monty Python and the Holy Grail). So, in and of itself, I didn't really care for Dicks, apart from seeing Nathan Lane and Megan Mullally absolutely losing their shit and loving every second. But a lot of the "bits" I found deeply satisfying, such as Bowen Yang as God and Megan Thee Stallion's unmitigated banger of a mid-show number. And the fact that a movie like this can exist, and be released theatrically, is so fabulous to me that I have trouble feeling negatively about it. Whereas Sausage Party just wanted to be offensive to anyone and everyone, this at least had the musical theatre element and the gender commentary that kept me going (and it helps that those elements aren't nearly as problematic as they could have been).

All in all, it's a fun time if you're into some trippy cinema. Truly, I felt high after only about ten minutes in, and it doesn't let up until after the credits are done (stick around for some bloopers to ice your cake). And, while the ending is knowingly icky, there is something to be said about its earnest call for tolerance and acceptance and celebrating everyone's self-expression. Who cares who loves whom, who's sleeping together, what we do for work or fun? Just be kind to each other -- don't be dicks -- because we're all just muddling through, after all. Maybe life is only worth living if we have fun along the way.

The Exorcist: Believer (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

How do you take something universally regarded as one of the most foundational, terrifying, and iconic cultural productions of all time and, several decades later, attempt to generate a fresh, direct sequel as the start of a new trilogy? There's no simple answer, but David Gordon Green seems determined to make legacy sequels his thing. He did it with Halloween, Halloween Kills, and Halloween Ends, a trilogy I dearly love and look forward to revisiting in a few weeks (it's also notable that Halloween II and H20 are also excellent parts of the series, and that I have no intention of ever watching any of the other installments or iterations again). And now he's doing something similar with The Exorcist, now in its 50th anniversary year, launching Believer as the start of a new legacy trilogy that ignores all of the other sequels. And while the infamous first sequel is not one I enjoy, there are significant and fascinating points to be made for The Exorcist III, Exorcist: The Beginning, and Dominion. I also strongly recommend the two-season series of The Exorcist, which aired on FOX from 2016-2018; a sort of legacy sequel in its own right, its brilliance and technical acumen makes it one of my favorite horror series and I very much hope that, at some point during Green's trilogy, he pays homage to it. Because it's great.

But so far, Green seems to be doing his own thing, for better or worse. This film, written seemingly by committee, tries to do a whole heck of a lot, and most of it makes for a fun time at the cinema. During the first half, which mostly serves to set up the premise and raise its own stakes, I was totally enraptured. Its slow pace and emotional introductions to characters reminded me more than a bit of Friedkin's original, to say nothing of the editing and sound editing and even some cinematography, all of which feel true to form from the original. Clearly these filmmakers have done their homework and are trying to make a spiritual and aesthetic sister-film to the 1973 classic.

I don't want to focus too much on plot, but it bears mentioning that the film starts off without clear ties to demons or possession at all, much like the original. There is a disturbing opening event in a distant country again, but that doesn't really add much to the mythos. The first half sets itself up as more of a mystery than anything else, and I quite liked that, though I'd have preferred something more along the lines of Prisoners or Picnic at Hanging Rock if we were going that route. During these scenes, the film's use of silence and negative space make for occasionally eerie moments that force us to wonder if there is already evil at work in the lives of our main characters.

As far as characters go, nothing can really match the Chris and Regan MacNeil dynamic (nor that of Merrin and Karras, for that matter), but there are some intriguing faces. Victor (Leslie Odom, Jr.) is the protagonist, whose past haunts him: his pregnant wife was killed during an earthquake on vacation in Haiti, though her child was saved. In the present, Victor is a great father to Angela (Lydia Jewett), though flashbacks and an eventual climactic revelation will throw it all into dramatic levels we didn't quite expect. Their relationship is pretty great; everyone else in the film feels shoved in, cobbled together, and largely forgettable, sadly. The young teenager Angela and her best friend Katherine (Olivia O'Neill) go on a "study break" after school, when they sneak into the woods and attempt to communicate with a spirit (presumably Angela's mother). When they disappear, Victor and the other girl's Catholic parents (Jennifer Nettles and Norbert Leo Butz) collide as they attempt to mount search parties and support each other.

I got excited when more characters were introduced who are not Catholic. Given the uptick in possession films in non-Catholic contexts, which has been lovely, it makes sense for an Exorcist in this day and age to be more interfaith. To that end, there's a nice fine line drawn between what this movie is setting out to do as opposed to other Catholic exorcism movies of late that seem to opt for the Grand Guignol approach to theatricality (think of The Nun and The Pope's Exorcist). Here, Green and his team seem more interested in the psychological and spiritual approach to the story and characters, resulting in a climax of interfaith religious leaders working together to fight the demonic force possessing the young girls. Over the course of the film, we see a female priest, a former nun (an underused Ann Dowd), a fearful padre, and even a witch doctor of sorts (Okwui Okpokwasili), all of whom join up to fight Pazuzu on multiple theological fronts. Multiple, that is, until the end of the climax, when it all boils down to pretty clearly Christian language. I had hoped for more and better, so let's hope the writers come up with something a little different next time.

Then there's Chris MacNeil, played again by Ellen Burstyn, who is utterly wasted in this film. She's brought in oddly as a sort of legacy aid, by virtue of her having published a book on her experience decades ago. As fallout from that, her daughter Regan has gone into hiding and cut off communication. But Chris seems willing enough to help Victor and Angela, so she leaves her oceanside retreat to engage with the devil yet again. When she arrives, she's treated like Father Merrin reincarnated, as if she's a spiritually battle-hardened champion ready to cast out her nemesis. It makes little to no sense, and the frail old woman is quickly subdued by the demon. One wonders how she'll be used moving forward, because this was pretty pathetic, and I'd say fairly insulting to a character (and actor) we all so dearly love.

Critiquing the first part in a planned trilogy is difficult, especially one meant to cater to fans of an original fifty years prior, because we simply don't know the big picture yet. But for what it is, Believer is a lot of fun on its own terms. I'd say it's a refreshingly solid -- grounded -- entry in the genre, one that prefers realism to gonzo spectacle. There are about two moments of CGI that prove paranormal activity, and I fundamentally disagreed with their inclusion in this film, but for the most part it's all pretty reasonable. Better use of legacy characters will be crucial moving forward, but at least Linda Blair might be back for that. And I hope that the next two movies more fully develop their thematic concerns, whether about various faith approaches to possession and exorcism or about how emotional connections to each other can help us resist evil and heal from trauma. Obviously two incredibly well-meaning priests saved Regan but weren't strong enough to defeat Pazuzu before; we'll need something better this time around.

Frankly, I wish this series would have more in common with the short-lived television series, whether by including those characters, continuing those plotlines, or adopting those themes and aesthetic. It's unlikely, but it might stop my head from spinning and squirting pea soup.

Saw X (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

If you had told me to expect actual entertainment from the tenth -- tenth -- installment in this particular franchise, I'd have laughed and probably asked what drug you're taking. The first is a work of brilliance, one of the best films of the 2000s, a puzzle box of horror and cleverness that is surprisingly tame; the following two are much more violent and "icky" but seem to create a decent story altogether. Beyond those, as noted in my review of the series, I have hated each subsequent entry, including its soft reboot Jigsaw and attempted spin-off reboot Spiral, which were basically more of the same tired format of the previous sequels. As such, I had no interest in seeing this film, until a friend mentioned its placing in the franchise and the return of an iconic character and I relented.

There's something about the rote nature of so many of these films I just can't endure anymore, from the angsty music to aggressive editing, which is annoying because at first they were original. But each sequel has gotten bogged down in the same ways: crueler and nastier violence, often inflicted on characters who don't deserve such awful punishments, that is increasingly meant to titillate viewers and further distance us from the actual narrative and potential themes. Each one hinges on some surprise reveal near the end about who the Jigsaw killer is this time, usually being an acolyte or apprentice of the original killer. It's clearly a fun gauntlet and aesthetic for some, given the sheer number of entries in the series, but it's not for me.

Saw X, however, does some pretty interesting things to disrupt the formula and cater to early fans. This movie is set between the events of the first and second films in the franchise, and it's made to somewhat reflect that visually. Director Kevin Greutert and his team slow the pace down substantially, at least for the first half, keeping character drama the focus of this entry rather than endless violence. They also flood certain scenes with colored light, saturating various situations with a hazy yellow or deep blue, apparently a tip-of-the-hat to the first film.

In terms of plot and character, this film is also a franchise disruptor. Set when it is, Jigsaw is still the sole mantle of John Kramer, and he's played once again by Tobin Bell. The first half of this film is essentially limited to his experience: we know that he is established as the Jigsaw killer, but we're with him on his journey as he receives his fatal diagnosis of cancer. While attempting to come to terms with this, utilizing group therapy, he learns of an experimental but life-saving treatment, for which he will pay a ton of money and have to travel to an off-the-grid facility in Mexico. Unfortunately, once it's done, Kramer comes to understand that the surgery was a fake, the providers scam artists, and that he himself is still going to die. The king of vengeance (and dubious justice) will not permit such a slight against himself, and so begins the second half.

It's nice (can we say that?) to follow such a straightforward setup, and to actually care about the characters involved. Well, "care" might be a stretch, but this film certainly strives to make us sympathize with Kramer's situation. By the time he starts actively hunting those fraudulent doctors, we're emotionally on his side, and we want him to teach them all a lesson. It's a sly move on the writers' part, and I'd say it works shockingly well. And Kramer is not alone, either, as fan favorite Amanda (Shawnee Smith) comes to help him wreak revenge on Dr. Cecilia Pederson (Synnove Macody Lund) and her co-conspirators. Their collaboration is actually kind of fun to see, although I was surprised more than once at how obviously they interact with their victims. Once they're all chained up together in the warehouse, John and Amanda pop in regularly to discuss their rules and games with the hysterical baddies. It kind of makes the Jigsaw audio tapes unnecessary, though it wouldn't be Saw without those!

And making him appear onscreen is a good thing for Bell, who fills every moment with nuance and dread; he seems to really enjoy getting to do some dramatically meaty material, and it's a pleasure to watch. Smith is also enjoyable here, especially as I don't fully remember her antics after Saw II, and her emotional relationship with John is impressively realized. And, really, this is why I liked this movie so much.

Eventually, the second half does dive headfirst into gory territory, as expected. Notably -- and I'd need a more dedicated fan to confirm this -- but I'd hazard that this is one of the bloodiest installments in the franchise. That's not to say it's to excess; indeed, unlike most of the "games" and "traps" in this series, here the punishments largely seem to fit the crimes, which also helps the plot feel more believable than in later sequels. Then again, the self-performed craniotomy was more than I could handle, and most of the violence I couldn't fully watch; it's just too intense for me, even when it feels clever or just in making the fake doctors perform real surgeries on themselves. Then again, I'm not sure that these particular traps are escapable; maybe that's the point, as Kramer does not want these folks to survive. But it does take some suspense out of the proceedings. And there's a renewed nihilistic streak to this film in that several of the desperate victims do complete their tests, but they fall just shy of their time limits, which is a bizarre and unfortunate element to this story I found perhaps the most disturbing. Surely extracting one's own femoral bone marrow should count for success, even if the exact amount would take a few more seconds to collect. But what do I know? I'm no sociopathic mastermind.

The Creator (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

All I knew of The Creator heading in was that it was a new science fiction thriller about artificial intelligence from director and co-writer Gareth Edwards. I've been a fan of Edwards since Monsters; his few films since then have all been major titles on my favorites list each year, including his revival of Godzilla and of course Rogue One, which is my favorite Star Wars film by far. Upon reflection -- and perusal of the film's credits -- it makes sense that this new film feels and looks a lot like Rogue One: Edwards previously worked with Chris Weitz to write both movies, as well as with cinematographer Greig Fraser (Dune, The Batman). As such, it's a complicated, rich experience of world-building in the vein of Blade Runner, Alien, or District 9, one that combines gritty, realistic science fiction with heightened concepts of humanity's purpose and doom.

We're told right away, during a brief but effective montage, that artificial intelligence has (in the fictional world here) been a crucial and helpful part of global culture for many years, from rudimentary robots to complex computer-controlled vehicles and surgeons. We are then suddenly introduced to 2065, when AI had dropped a nuclear bomb on Los Angeles and been banned from the Western world. In fact, the US seems to be leading the charge, and a new conglomerate of nations making up "New Asia" is the sole remaining holdout, all but worshipping AI and protecting its use. The US is seeking "Nirmata," which translates to "The Creator," the mysterious architect of New Asia's groundbreaking AI technology. The US uses NOMAD, a mobile space station that can launch devastating attacks on entire cities in its hunt to destroy AI in the Eastern world.

It's all a very heady setup, but in Edwards's capable hands and mind, it's not too overwhelming with sci-fi jargon. In fact, once you accept the premise of this film, the narrative and themes are surprisingly simple. After you get used to the sight of NOMAD, one of the most fully realized fantasy weapons of mass destruction in a film in ages, you realize it's just a Star Destroyer of a different shape. The story proper concerns Joshua, played by the always wonderful John David Washington, whose family has killed when LA was destroyed. Since then, he has worked undercover for the Army to locate Nirmata in New Asia; he fell in love and lived with Maya (Gemma Chan), believed to be Nirmata's daughter, until their home is attacked and Maya is apparently killed. Five years later, Joshua is recruited to find and destroy "Alpha O," a new weapon created by Nirmata intended to destroy NOMAD and save AI; he is needed because there is evidence Maya may still be alive and involved, and his success could grant her immunity and their reunion.

The film is riddled with mythic tropes and themes, which are best in this kind of speculative genre. Salvific hope (for either side of the conflict) rears its head in the form of an adorable, childlike character who could also be damningly dangerous for humanity. The longsuffering, world-weary protagonist becomes a sort of obligatory, reluctant father figure to the child. The protagonist is also drawn into a journey into a Heart of Darkness, if you will, which indicates its own literary history, though some of the strikes and general chaos on the ground in civilian villages seems meant to visually reference Apocalypse Now and the Vietnam War in general. As for other references, I was reminded of Aliens or Avatar in the characterizations of the tough and merciless US military officials (who include Allison Janney and Ralph Ineson). 

The film's odd use of AI, in light of the recent writers' strike and ongoing performers' strike, will garner some criticism, and rightfully so. Much like Ex Machina, the film refuses to really make a point so much as open up the dialogue and try to foster better understanding while underscoring everything with a palpable sense of dread and consequence. Regardless where you come down on the "debate" of AI, there will be long-lasting and potentially deadly fallout, so to speak. But Edwards is too savvy to remain fully aloof, choosing instead to embrace aesthetics over philosophy. He uses music to chilling effect, perhaps the best moment being Radiohead's "Everything in Its Right Place" during a haunting twilight raid on the compound believed to house Alpha O. And by the end, when Joshua risks his life on an absolute gamble of a massive climax, my heart was lodged in my throat, even though I wasn't completely sold on all the inferences and ideas whirling around. Edwards and his team sold me on the story, the characters, the visuals, and the ideas enough by that point that I was ready to embrace this utterly fresh and beautifully rendered vision for all its worth.

Chevalier (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

It's been a long time since I've seen a biopic this enchanting and thrilling, even a costume drama, and one about music to boot! Admittedly, it also taught me about a historical person I never knew about, which is arguably also the point of the film, making it that much more of a success unto itself. Chevalier is the rare perfect blend of style and substance, a shocking and timely story told through rapturous production design and seamless filmmaking technique. They pop up every now and again -- most recently, I'm thinking of one of a number of Jane Austen adaptations like Persuasion and Emma., and then Lady Chatterley's Lover -- but they've fallen a bit out of fashion, especially any not adapted from classics.

In 18th Century France, with Queen Marie Antoinette on the throne, a young man named Joseph Bologne works his way up the social ladder. He's an accomplished fencer, proficient violinist, and popular composer. In public, he's charming and charismatic, so much so that becomes an intimate friend of many in high society, including the queen herself. He's keenly aware of his ravishing good looks, considerable talents, and widespread adoration. Bologne is also of mixed race, the son of a plantation owner and his slave, and no amount of friendship with royalty will spare him from the racist and classist elites in Paris. Not with revolution on the horizon.

It's a fascinating story, one I won't recount here except to say his rise and fall feels less like a traditional tragic or comic arc and more as though Bologne was a lynchpin of sociopolitical anxieties during a turbulent period in French -- and world -- history. The filmmakers here, specifically director Stephen Williams and writer Stefani Robinson, seem to feel a sense of pride and urgency in sharing Bologne's story, which as ending text reveals, has been mostly lost to time since Napoleon's regime blacklisted (pardon the word choice) Bologne's name and music. The costumes and production design are beautiful, rapturously transporting us to the period in both its glamorous and decadent aspects. While the inclusion of the simmering French Revolution is arguably the film's weakest element -- shoehorned in after lots of steamy romance, emotional family drama, socioeconomic anxiety, and of course music -- the film makes a strong case for relating Bologne to major cultural and historical shifts and indeed reclaiming his role in the conflict in real life.

Educational in the best way, Chevalier is also intensely entertaining. Apart from the filmmakers' modern sensibility in terms of editing and dialogue (the film opens with a sort of violin duel in concert that, while somewhat fantastic, is certainly arresting), there is also the immensely intriguing title character. Bologne is charismatic and knows his attractiveness; he's also deeply conflicted and loaded with larger-than-life concerns, from being as excellent as his father charged him to be to relearning about his emotional roots when his newly freed mother (Ronke Adekoluejo) arrives. Kelvin Harrison Jr. plays the Chevalier (or "knight") de Saint-Georges with a grounded cockiness, an earned wisdom of the world that is nevertheless somewhat sardonic and even angry. One of my favorite moments for him, though, is in the quiet when he removes his wig and his mother cornrows his hair. He also has some fun -- read: hot -- chemistry with the queen (Lucy Boynton) and his sometime paramour, the white and married opera singer Marie-Josephine (Samara Weaving), whose anti-artistic husband (Marton Csokas) is utterly chilling on screen. But it's when things get really deadly during the final act that this movie lurches into something much more powerful than a costume drama about musicians vying for fame and favor. It's about them dying for freedom, and familiar as the narrative structure may be, you're not ready for its emotional assault.

The Covenant (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Another year, another war movie, although it's been a while since we had a solid one set during the late War in Afghanistan. In The Covenant, which came out earlier this year, we're introduced to Army Sergeant John Kinley (Jake Gyllenhaal, who continues to be un-typecast-able) in an opening scene that seems ripped from The Hurt Locker. His team specializes in recovery of explosives and the hunt for weapons of mass destruction; in conducting yet another routine roadside inspection of local vehicles, a bomb detonates and kills Kinley's translator and two other soldiers. It's sad, of course, but not the most tragic or even unusual thing to happen to soldiers in this region. It's, chillingly, part of the job.

Shortly after, Kinley takes on a new translator named Ahmed (Dar Salim in a wonderful performance), who hammers home in his "interview" the rote, almost mercenary nature of the job. The two men work well together, and while Kinley is arguably the protagonist, Ahmed wields the dramatic focus and intrigue of the first half of the film. He's mysterious and vaguely threatening, at least to his white teammates, but he does his job well if stoically. During negotiations and interrogations, he is comfortable and eager to go "off script," and when answering to Kinley he holds his own and is unafraid to speak up on his own behalf. Early on, Ahmed proves his mettle in saving his team, and Kinley admires and trusts him in the equally stoic way of hardened soldiers.

When another Taliban attack kills their entire team, Kinley and Ahmed escape on foot through the desert mountains; Kinley becomes wounded and Ahmed kills their pursuers before tending to Kinley and single-handedly pulling him through the wilderness to safety. Seven weeks later, Kinley, at home in California, knows Ahmed saved him but doesn't know how or even really why. Thus the title's significance comes into full effect, as Kinley desperately tries to procure visas for Ahmed and his family, who were forced into hiding after their exploits. Kinley then embarks on a return journey -- through the heart of darkness, you might say, to locate and rescue his savior and his family. 

It's a war story of brotherhood forged in battle, an unlikely pair who share a life debt together. Kinley's agony at the thought that he owes Ahmed his life yet can't get the help he needs in the form of visas is the kind of thing Gyllenhaal does best, and his return journey is a terribly evocative and satisfying climax. Eventually, Ahmed's hatred of the Taliban is revealed as much deeper than first supposed, and indeed his hiring into this position is more than just a paycheck to him. The two men make for a fascinating dynamic on screen, and if you like this kind of story, you'll be eminently satisfied.

While the title is annoyingly identified properly as "Guy Ritchie's The Covenant," it doesn't really feel like a Ritchie film. For the most part, it's very restrained and tuned in to nuanced, quieter moments away from the battlefield. Except for a few cinematographic and effects-riddled moments, it could be a Clint Eastwood film from back in his less-problematic years. Well, that, and its booming score by Christopher Benstead, although I actually like a war or adventure movie with an overpowering score; it just adds to the operatic intensity of everything else.

But I'm just not sure what the point of it all is, apart from the story of this commitment between the two men. Kinley's attempts at procuring visas reveal the failure of American bureaucracy to fulfill its promises to Afghan allies. I hoped Ritchie and his writers would lean into this aspect, critiquing American exceptionalism for its lies and emptiness, and establishing one of the first films of its kind to be really honest about the US failures in the Middle East. And how timely would that be, considering what happened two years ago (the film takes place in 2018, so the connection is clear) when America withdrew our troops from Afghanistan and many allies were executed by the Taliban. But instead of exploring these ideas with any active interest or even anger, Ritchie redirects his film towards sentiment, the bonds of brotherhood, and the thrill of wartime action. And that's how we're reminded it's a Ritchie movie, unfortunately.

Vesper (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Opening text tells us the state of the world, sometime in the future, when humanity's efforts to stop ecological crisis backfired, destroying the world's edible plants and devastating the human and animal populations. In this new Dark Age, oligarchs rule "citadels," closed and protected cities, while the outside world starves and scavenges what it can. The citadels trade goods, including seeds for produce that only yield one harvest. To help with the work, scientists have also developed Jugs, androids meant to be laboring slaves.

With this thick science fiction setting, I had no idea what to expect from Vesper, a European indie genre flick that arrived in the States with almost no fanfare. I'm not really of the opinion that "science fiction" is a genre so much as an aesthetic, but this film is generically a coming-of-age story for its title character, a young teenaged girl who lives in the forest with her paralyzed father Darius. In the dystopian, post-apocalyptic world, even the forest around her home is dangerous, so as she daily goes out to scrounge for seeds and food, as well as scavenge for power sources and materials to keep her house running and her father alive, we see her resourcefulness and determination shine through. She may be young, but she's already a hardened survivor. But she also wants love, and knows she needs companionship and care, as she clearly misses her mother, who left some time ago to join a group of "Pilgrims," though we are not told exactly what that means. Based on the feudal system of society, we can guess they are searching for life elsewhere more sustainable and free.

The film, written and directed by duo Kristina Buozyte and Bruno Sampler, is not your typical sci-fi experience. While it features more than its share of clunky dialogue, an unwelcome amount of genre lingo, and contrived plot points to push the whole thing forward while offering exposition, it also does some unexpected things. For such a young heroine in Vesper, the film works to emotionally and psychologically mature her before our eyes, underscoring the harsh truth that life can't be fully planned or controlled and that her struggles will be a part of her life in perpetuity. The playing field is far from level and almost never fair. As such, the film eschews token empowerment for its characters (though its heroes are notably young and female while its antagonists are mostly older men) and works hard to avoid much sense of hope or validation. Indeed, all of Vesper's actions are based on her own observations and scientific experiments on seeds, and we're never really given the option to entertain the fact that she is right. She is very possibly misguided or simply wrong, but it's her determined pursuit of hope that wins us over. It's really not until the very end -- I mean about the last three minutes or so -- that a tiny glimmer of hope shines into the film. And even then, it's only after the very worst has occurred to everyone Vesper cares about.

Which isn't to say many people. The bulk of the film is a series of unfortunate events that involve Vesper's predatory and violent uncle Jonas (Eddie Marsan), a crashed scientist's ship, invading citadel soldiers, and experiments to "unlock" seeds for more harvests. The actors are all fine, though acting is clearly not the point of this movie (nor is the dialogue). Vesper is best experienced as a surrealist fantasy, a visual trip through Cronenbergian production design replete with tendrils and mucus and membranes and organic fluids and violent bugs; warning for anyone with trypophobic aversions, this movie's textures are weirdly and disturbingly specific.

I don't want to spoil the specifics of the plot, but Marsan's character is clearly an amalgamation of what lengths desperate white men will go to for survival in positions of power, and his threat is at once mortal, material, sexual, and spiritual. Vesper won't be entirely alone in her tribulations, as she rescues a mysterious citadel refugee named Camellia (Rosy McEwan), whose partnership with Vesper is cleverly written and acted to avoid sentimental romantic or familial pitfalls. Their relationship is fairly unique in the genre, and it's beautiful to behold. The film's other strengths are primarily visual, with arresting design from props and set dressing to costumes and restrained use of digital effects. But it won its way into my head by virtue of not force-feeding us the typical YA dystopian journey to heroism; Vesper makes us survive alongside a young person who tries hard to succeed through hypotheses and experiments all on her own, while fearing that every step she takes could prove disastrous.

No One Will Save You (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Brynn's life seems pretty perfect. She lives in a house that's a little too picturesque, nestled away from any nearby neighbors. She spends her days sewing and building her miniature town, cooking and cleaning, and dancing alone; it's her best impression of what Rapunzel sang about in Tangled. As Kaitlyn Dever plays her, she's a bit anxious about connecting with others, and there's a hint of desperation to hold onto this life. After all, why is she alone? Who is the person named Maude she writes letters to? And what is she going to do when her house is invaded one night by a monster?

Writer and director Brian Duffield (who also wrote Underwater and The Babysitter) wastes absolutely no time getting into the horror of things, and I love that. This is a lean, mean survival movie, and that the home invasion starts so early is just the first of many tricks in his arsenal to ratchet up the tension. During that first encounter, she discovers her nighttime visitor is an alien -- the Grey alien type -- with powers of telekinesis. After a chase and some stalking, all of which is taut and raw in cinematography and editing, she is able to kill it. It's a surprisingly graphic moment for our young leading lady to outright stab her assailant, and it very much sets the tone of the film moving forward. This won't be the last monster in her house, and it won't be her final test.

Afterward, noticing that electronic devices aren't working now, Brynn heads into town past other ransacked houses and vehicles. Clearly her encounter wasn't unique. Her journey into town starts to reveal to us -- and possibly to Brynn, who may or may not be living in a private fantasy world -- the reasons for her self-imposed isolation and what happened between her and Maude. Once she gets back home, after being attacked by several other citizens who seem to be under the influence of malevolent parasites, she prepares for another round of invaders. They do indeed come, after a UFO seems to park above Brynn's house. 

In terms of planning and design, this is an expertly crafted film. The whole thing features one -- count it, one -- spoken line of dialogue, and it's a gut punch in context. The rest of the movie is nevertheless beautifully recorded in terms of diegetic sounds of Brynn's environment as well as Dever's relentless breathing, gasping, etc. Watched with attention and a good sound system, this film is terrifying and will creep under your skin right from the off. A primary reason for engagement, though, is Brynn's notable intelligence in fighting her assailants. Despite her silence -- and the clear fact she's not a seasoned fighter or ever been in this kind of situation before -- she's fierce and resourceful, smartly moving through her house without unnecessary noise or panic, finding weapons and using them to appropriate effect. There was maybe once where I groaned at what she chose to do, but the rest of the time I was fully rooting for her.

And even when the film's climax tries to do a little too much -- the repeated capture-and-release scenes pile up a little too quickly, to say nothing of the unearned sentimentality of the "big reveal" -- it's a breathless kinetic rush of ingenuity in presentational style and technical design in all aspects. Even the design of the aliens is cool and weird enough to be really interesting. While the ending left a little to be desired for me, as I'm frankly not sure what we're supposed to "get" from it (the need for some interpretation is fine and dandy unless we aren't given proper context in order to glean meaning), the rest of the tense, violent, and beautiful film more than makes up for it.

A Haunting in Venice (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

If you had told me I'd ever be grateful for Kenneth Branagh's Poirot series, I'd have called you unkind names. His characterization of the iconic detective is, to say the least, not my favorite version -- nor is it my favorite of his performances in general -- and it leaves a lot to be desired for longtime fans. His directorial efforts, too, tend toward the superficially spectacular, imbuing what should be "locked room" whodunnits with endless CGI effects, dizzying camerawork, thin dialogue, tepid attempts at social commentary, and inane action sequences. While these observations are all, in my opinion, manifest evidence in his (so far) three titles -- Murder on the Orient Express and Death on the Nile being the first two, the former I cringe to recall but the latter I thoroughly praise -- they also do not account for the sense of escapism, exotic splendor, and raw beauty he brings to the table while hopefully introducing new generations to Agatha Christie's important and significant body of work.

Now comes A Haunting in Venice -- familiar to fans as Hallowe'en Party -- a title (and setting) change from the source material I fully support, if only for aesthetic reasons. The original, published in 1969 and set in England, is not one I've read before, but I'm aware that this film adaptation -- the only one I know of, apart from the BBC Poirot series starring David Suchet -- takes place over twenty years prior to that, in a postwar Venice with a bunch of British expats making up its cast of characters. It's set, fittingly, in a crumbling palazzo, far too large for its inhabitants but suitably spooky for their Halloween party, filled with orphaned children celebrating (wartime orphans, both from the violence and the occupation). Once the children leave, though (at least, the living ones), the adults remain for a séance requested by the palazzo owner, former opera star Rowena Drake (a magnificent Kelly Reilly). Drake is in mourning over the apparent suicide of her daughter Alicia -- it's suggested she threw herself into the canal after her fiancé chef Maxime Gerard (Kyle Allen) ended their engagement -- who has seemingly been haunting the palazzo since.

The suitably Gothic setting, complete with spectacular thunderstorm and ghostly children running about, perfectly frames a truly scary story. Perhaps it's so chilling because it's one of Christie's less-familiar ones, so the element of unfamiliarity pervades each scene. But there's even some surprising violence (thankfully less "action," as Poirot would never!) that makes its PG-13 rating a bit hairy. The story isn't really anything new, just a reliable whodunnit murder mystery that ramps up as more bodies fall. Branagh and screenwriter Michael Green still work very well to modernize and pare down Christie's detailed and sometimes sprawling cases into more concise, direct, and thrilling escapades on screen, and I admire that they're bringing big budgets and A-list casts into a type of classic old film we just don't see anymore. Moreover, they yet again elicit a surprising theme from one of Christie's mysteries, this time about the futility of the violence of war: Branagh starts this story in early retirement, tired of death both personally and in terms of the second world war, dealing with broken psyches and weighing what had been won with its cost. The sinking city on the brink of rot is a perfect setting for this thematic conceit.

Enter celebrity medium Joyce Reynolds (a brilliant and chilling Michelle Yeoh), who plans to communicate with Alicia and maybe help her spirit rest. Poirot has been invited by Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey as an Agatha Christie stand-in crime novelist) whose sales aren't great and who desperately needs a big hit. Oliver is hoping to either discredit Reynolds or otherwise learn some secrets that will make for a profitable story. It helps that the assembled guests make for suspicious and eccentric characters: the Drake family's housekeeper Olga (Camille Cottin) who sees everything; PTSD-riddled war surgeon Leslie Ferrier (Jamie Dornan) and his charmingly precocious son Leopold (Jude Hill, Belfast) who seems able to see ghosts while caring for his father; the medium's assistants Desdemona and Nicholas Holland (Emma Laird and Ali Khan), war refugees and half-siblings; and of course and angry and mourning Maxime, just to make things spicy.

I'm curious now to read the book, because, much like Branagh's previous two films, I suspect much has been invented for this one, beyond the setting. Green, after all, is very good at writing inventive new stories based on beloved material to popular success (he wrote the previous two Branagh Poirot films, of course, but also Blade Runner 2049, Logan, Alien: Covenant, Jungle Cruise, and the series American Gods). Green imbues Poirot with a nihilistic sensibility I found perfectly suited to Branagh's interpretation and presentation of the character as he atheistically mocks the idea of consulting the dead while musing on the increasing cruelty and violence in humankind, perspectives not dissimilar from Christie's own near the end of her life. He's surrounded here by characters desperate for money and purpose, shell shocked from war and away from their homes without the means to either stake a new claim or return to the life they once had.

A final note, and one I'm admittedly unprepared to fully explore: Branagh's grandiose style has always been a bit "too much," and not just in this franchise. But this is one of the first times I really understand why he's been compared so often to Orson Welles -- apart from his Shakespeare adaptations -- and the influence here is palpable. His attitude toward Venice mirrors Welles's Othello, and he works with master cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos again to create a sumptuous world nevertheless in the expressionistic visual style of everything from Citizen Kane to The Third Man, including lots of Dutch angles, fisheye lenses, extreme high and low angles, extreme closeups, and excessive use of framing to isolate and block the frame. These shots are often edited to shocking and even humorous effect, making the whole experience a bit of a trippy "should I laugh or shudder" haunted house experience. Which, given the reworking of the source material, is exactly what we all hoped for and wanted. Bravo!

The Nun II (2023)

Score: 2 / 5

The Conjuring and its subsequent franchise are important, there's no doubt about that. But why the brilliant likes of James Wan & Co. would entrust their series to an incompetent artist like Michael Chaves is beyond me. Unlike the Saw franchise, which Wan and Whannell long since wrote off and disowned after their iconic first installment, they keep actively producing entries in this haunted-house-meets-possession series (along with Insidious), and I for one enjoy all of them so far. But Chaves's films -- starting with The Curse of La Llorona, then The Devil Made Me Do It, and now this -- are easily my least favorite of the bunch. His aesthetic style is almost nonexistent, his storytelling ability negligible, and his films dull between only occasionally effective jump scares.

And this from someone who really enjoys Valak, the "demon nun," who has become the primary antagonist of this franchise. She first appeared in The Conjuring 2, in some of its most terrifying moments, as a vengeful force determined to haunt Lorraine Warren. Valak has since made appearances in Annabelle: Creation -- which implies her involvement with the Annabelle demon Malthus -- and in her own spin-off The Nun. That film, a magnificent exercise in excess, notably attempted a new flavor of Grand Guignol camp in the genre that is rare (one that surely informed the aesthetic of this year's The Pope's Exorcist). And with something like a toothy, yellow-faced nun haunting cloistered abbeys, that approach was brilliant.

I had hoped that a sequel to that film would double down on this aesthetic, legitimizing it and continuing the titular nun's legacy as a spooky Halloween staple. But Chaves and his team, in slowing the pace, trivializing the story, and sapping the film of excitement and ingenuity, makes the film a miserable low point in the franchise while ensuring another film must be made. Granted, it's possible that the greenlit The Conjuring: Last Rites will wrap everything up, but either way, The Nun II proves itself a redundant and superfluous entry that adds fluff where it is neither needed nor wanted.

It begins five years after the first film, with Sister Irene (Taissa Farmiga) befriending novitiate Debra at a convent in Italy (Storm Reid) as they are tasked to investigate a string of deaths across Europe. Each murder, gruesome and violent like the immolation that opens this film, is enacted on religious leaders such as priests and are being attributed to the influence of a demon. Irene already has her suspicions that it's the one that got away. So to speak. On their travels, they learn a bit about Valak's demonic origins and learn that everyone being murdered is in some way related to St Lucy, patron saint of the blind whose eyes were kept as holy relics. Irene is also subjected to visions of Maurice (Jonas Bloquet), which lead her to France.

Intercut with these developments, we see Maurice working at a French boarding school as groundskeeper and maintenance man. He befriends a young Irish girl there, but we're shown several scenes of him speaking with an invisible force and acting, well, possessed. The girls play games in the attic that turn violent after they encounter a demonic goat that terrorizes them. Maurice's resistance crumbles until we become certain that Valak -- surprise! -- wasn't banished to hell at the end of the first film but instead, weakened, latched onto Maurice. Except this isn't a surprise to us, because we saw a sign of it on Maurice's neck at the end of the previous film. Another redundancy.

The incompetent screenplay by Ian B. Goldberg (The Autopsy of Jane Doe, Eli, Fear the Walking Dead) doesn't stop there. After an early conversation between Irene and Debra (who are both wonderful and deserved a lot more to do) in which a doubting Debra asks about the miracle of the Eucharist and transubstantiation, I suspected we'd be treated to some miracle about that. After much ado, and Irene finally unmasks Valak -- again -- she needs the blood of Christ -- again -- to vanquish Valak -- again. But the precious vial of it from the first movie is gone, of course! What is she to do? Lo and behold, we're spoon-fed the explanation (in case you didn't see it coming) that Irene is in fact a descendant of St. Lucy, hence her visions and Valak's obsession with her, and so she uses the relic to stall Valak. Renewed with faith, Irene and Debra pray together and the wine (the school used to be a winery after it was also a convent?) spontaneously explodes into the blood of Christ and drowns Valak back to hell.

Except that Irene is still suspicious at film's end, we're not given any reason to think it didn't work this time. Which is infuriating, as we know that Maurice is yet to be exorcised by Lorraine Warren (who, played by Vera Farmiga, is also revealed to be a descendant of St. Lucy, which is a nice consummation of the sisterly casting choice). So somehow Valak will return in the timeline before The Conjuring, and it's just annoying to have this middling story in the meantime, forcing us to tread water before something exciting actually happens.

My biggest gripes so far have been the story, and that is fair. The performances are all solid, no question, and some of the effects are exciting. I personally really liked the demon goat, although its introduction feels more than a little like something out of The Da Vinci Code or Indiana Jones. I was annoyed at the prevalence and pedestrian quality of Valak's presence; while she's arguably more mysterious (read: shrouded in darkness to the point of incomprehensibility) here than in the previous film, there's no inventiveness to her appearance or behaviors here. She's just there, and we're desensitized to her frequent, obvious presence. I'd have preferred the Grand Guignol approach to her, but if not, then something more like in The Woman in Black. Besides Valak, the film wallows in its inability to produce earned fear, overutilizing slow pans and exaggerated sound effects to occasionally startle us rather than eke out any modicum of actual terror. It feels like the editors and producers called the shots with a stopwatch, every ten minutes or so requiring a loud bang or pop-out in order to continue.