Dunkirk (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Who knew Oscar season would start so early? July it may be, but Dunkirk is unquestionably one of the best movies we'll see this year. Shall we begin nomination guesses? Best picture, director, cinematography, sound mixing and editing, screenplay, score, and maybe editing and production design. If it sounds like a lot, it should: This movie is also Christopher Nolan's masterpiece, something I didn't expect after the middling Interstellar.

Hailed by some as the greatest war film ever -- a claim I'd readily argue against -- Dunkirk recounts the awesome drama of the Dunkirk evacuation in France, 1940. Told in three parts that recount the events by sea, by air, and by land, the film weaves its way through time and space with amazing clarity. Ever the auteur, Nolan's command of this picture is absolute, eyeballing the spectacle with 70 mm film and immersing us in the horror from the opening sequence. Immerse, I say, because despite the film's non-linear narrative and wide scope, he places us in the thick of each dramatic twist with intimate visual and aural sensation. Though I didn't see it in IMAX, I would recommend that option, if only to really experience Nolan's vision.

Though certainly the vision alone is enough to make the movie great, Nolan has some other surprises up his sleeve. He cuts away the tropes and trappings of war films to unveil a relatively new subgenre. I thought this was going to be a wartime psychodrama, like The Hurt Locker or Apocalypse Now, but it's more an experiential war movie, one that forces us into its world before letting us emerge changed. Like Zero Dark Thirty or Fury, this picture narrows its scope enough that we can't see everything, we don't know everything, and so we're sitting on the edge of our seat while we absorb the violence, the fear, and the pain. Though, with our three vantage points of trooper, pilot, and sailor, we get more information than in those other examples, we're kept invested by the tight editing and compelling score, ticking away at our nerves like a timebomb waiting to explode.

And explode it does, though not conventionally. Nolan masterfully manipulates events so that our emotional reaction is similar to that of the characters. We aren't on the outside, feeling pity or sympathy; we feel isolated, fearful, and vulnerable too. The notices of imminent doom fluttering down on the town at the beginning are disturbing enough; the fighter planes start swooping overhead and firing at random made me flinch more than once; and when a band of boys find themselves in a grounded ship's hull while enemy troops are using it as target practice, it was all I could do not to scream. Which is exactly the problem for the characters. It's an exercise in intensity, one that makes the most of a mere 106-minute screen time. When the yachts and fishing boats come sailing in to save the day, it's the lone, glorious moment of sentiment in the whole picture, all the more rare because it actually works. I'd compare it to a similar scene in Australia, when the boat filled with children sails through the smoking harbor of Darwin to prove the Japanese soldiers did not win the day.

There's so much more to say about Dunkirk, but let's leave it there for now. It's an amazing film. I'm going again this week and probably will still have trouble being too objective. Do yourself a favor and go see it on the biggest screen available.

IMDb: Dunkirk

War for the Planet of the Apes (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Rise was a simple but effective sci-fi reboot of a series long-since defunct. Dawn was a brilliant expansion of possibility for the franchise, turning a simple (sci-fi, coming of age) conceit into a complex apocalyptic war drama. Now War has evolved into a grandiose medium of storytelling: Not unlike in other similar franchises, what started as basic ideas ("Apes together strong") have become iconic rallying points. Despite the title, the film is often more drama than war-action, and when the violence does erupt, it's tragic and mournful and consequences soon follow.

Several years after Dawn, when the simian flu had ravaged the human population and war erupted between the apes and factions of soldiers in California, the flu has mutated. Now those who contract it lose their ability to speak, thereby superficially reverting to a primitive, animalistic state. Of course, they still retain their humanity, as we see in one particular young girl who has been cast out of the human community. Once taken in by the apes, she proves an empathetic, brave, and resourceful vehicle for liberation. But the prejudice other humans feel for her and others like her is of central concern here, and none more than their leader's.

Woody Harrelson plays The Colonel, leader of the ruthless military faction called Alpha-Omega (yes, carrying all the biblical baggage, as we'll discuss later). He is an enemy distinctly akin to Kurtz in Apocalypse Now; apart from other similar images and plot points with that film in Dawn and War, here the comparison points double when we see "Ape-pocalypse Now" scrawled in graffiti, the colonel's rebellious, independent colony of soldiers, and his distinctive flair for torturous violence. The sadistic Colonel, having seduced some apes into serving his cause ("Donkeys" he mockingly calls them, i.e. Donkey Kong), sends out messages of fear and misinformation while undertaking guerrilla raids that muddy the waters of honorable warfare. His desperation, we learn, has also alienated him from other human communities, and the final climax of this film (SPOILER ALERT) is between him and an opposing army of humans, not apes.

The denouement here is super interesting and could take all day to unpack, because while his men are defending themselves from the other humans, and the apes he had enslaved are escaping the compound, the Colonel drinks himself to oblivion in his private room after learning he has contracted the simian flu and is mute. When Caesar approaches him, we see in his eyes the pain and fear of seeing himself, and he can't live with it. Yes, the franchise is still concerned with the dangers of playing God. Yes, it's still dealing with survival in a post-apocalyptic world. But in War we see how our desire for peace is undermined by our propensity for violence, and the toll it takes on everyone involved. It's also an arrestingly timely franchise: Apart from its complicated vision of racism (/speciesism?), it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the similarities between the macho, violent, wall-erecting colonel and our own current commander in chief.

Writer/director Matt Reeves continues his winning strategy from Dawn, breaking the mold of summer blockbusters and mixing genres: war movie, family drama, revenge allegory, social criticism, post-apocalyptic science fiction, psychological thriller. Sound like a lot? It is, but his pitch-perfect emotional intelligence keeps everything grounded and accessible. We're in the thick of the action, absorbed by the drama, from the get-go. It's definitely a war movie, but like Dawn, it concerns a war of ideals, morals, and hope more than one of guns and bombs. We see the toll war takes on its key players, and when Reeves takes us up close and personal as the firelight flickers on characters' faces, the movie sings. And if that's not enough, he hangs biblical references on his characters and situations, ramping up the scale so that this series might become an epic before all is said and done.

Andy Serkis deserves an Oscar nomination. Caesar, haunted by breaking his "ape shall not kill ape" law, sees visions of Koba reminding him of the cost of violence. After the colonel slaughters his family, Caesar embarks on a mission of revenge while the surviving apes set out to find a new home. He wrestles with his love for the humans, bitterness and hatred of the war, aging, building a family, protecting his friends, and his ideals of mercy and revenge. Before long, Caesar transforms into a Moses-like figure, a mythic war hero who prefers peace, a somewhat unwilling leader of a nation, a murderer who values life, haunted by the loss of a family and determined to save his people from incarceration and death. Ultimately, he leads his people to a paradise in the desert and succumbs to his fate before entering himself. Overkill? Maybe, but it's damn effective anyway. I know I'm watching a CG image, but my heart doesn't accept that; there's not a moment we don't see Serkis peering out at us with those big watery eyes that stole our hearts in The Two Towers. He didn't win big then, but I'm hoping he'll at least get the recognition he deserves here for a stirring, resonant performance unlike any yet this year.

The most memorable character, however, is Bad Ape, played by Steve Zahn. Initially little more than comic relief, his character develops quickly into a fascinating show-stealing chimp whose eccentricities belie a sweetness and insight that reinvigorates the movie about halfway through. His struggles against self-doubt and his sincere ambivalence between self-preservation and liberating the apes is the stuff of modern politics. No less astounding is Maurice, played by Karin Konoval, who was a sort of minor moral guide in Dawn but now asserts himself (herself? We're never exactly sure) as a leading player in advising Caesar and caring for a young human girl affected by the simian flu.

We have to wonder: Is this the end? It certainly feels like a finale, especially with the death of its main character. With such a strong sense of purpose, character, and place, the series could easily continue its streak of technological magic and dynamic storytelling. This film has the balls to bring the series to an end, perhaps continuing on with the old original films of apes living in a desert land like Mad Max. I'm certain, though, we'll see more of this successful franchise, simply because unplanned series don't usually end on their highest note (sad but true, no?). I hope the filmmakers stick to doing what they do best: making challenging, provocative, intelligent entertainment that evolves like its subjects.

IMDb: War for the Planet of the Apes

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Score: 3.5 / 5

After seeing two previous cinematic incarnations of the character, my Spidey senses were tingling heading into this flick. I suspect Disney/Marvel Studios execs were even more nervous, judging by the excessive advertising and merchandising for their newest flick (in the middle of a year with two other big-budget sequels). We knew the villain from promos, we've already met this Peter Parker (in Civil War), and we've been disappointed in the character before. And while Homecoming is neither my favorite version of Spider-Man nor even one of the better Marvel Studios films, it boasts some inspired choices that might affect the successes of future MCU pictures.

Tonally not unlike Ant-Man, this flick knows how to have fun. Sweet and funny in an uncomplicated way, Homecoming panders to a younger audience. Though its basic comedy won't please everybody, it's executed with such precise timing and earnestness that it pulled more than a few chuckles from my throat. More important, the movie is uplifting and even gleeful in a way almost no other superhero movies are. Most of the credit for that goes to the writers. While movies written by committee aren't usually impressive, the six writers here focused their energies on changing the very structure of the genre. The superhero arc is a mere plot device; the movie works because it's a coming of age story and a high school comedy. This might just signal an evolution in superhero cinema: Maybe superhero movies have to be something else too.

Of course Tom Holland deserves his credit, too. This Spider-Man bothered me as a fan (Why are we changing MJ's name? Why are we changing Aunt May's character?), mostly because of how ridiculously high-tech his suit is. The cool thing about Spidey is that he's young and witty, yes, but it's just him. The kid with tingling senses who can climb walls and made his own web-shooters. Here, half the movie is him battling with the tech in his suit (given to him by Tony Stark, whose films feature the same gimmick). Holland, though, manages to work around all that and staking his claim in a character who, in his hands, just loves being Spider-Man. His wide-eyed wonder and innocence infects us until we're as happy with his situation as he is. And though you can take or leave the high school drama he faces, we believe his struggle against realistic, believable stakes every minute along the way.

While Tyne Daly and Donald Glover are memorable but woefully underused (especially Glover, whose character is the Prowler -- a personal favorite hero/villain -- and the uncle of Miles Morales, suggesting a future POC Spider-Man in the franchise's future!), Zendaya and Jacob Batalon make fabulous turns as Peter's friends. Michael Keaton as the Vulture, however, steals his scenes with a down-to-earth energy and unusual charm for a villain. Can we even call the character a villain? He's a hardworking, average guy who just wants a slice of the good life, to provide for his loving family and reap the benefits of his many years' toil. The movie could have done more in exploring the socioeconomic dynamics of him and his journey, but even as it is, Adrian Toomes is one of the most surprising and believable characters in the franchise. Sequels may or may not include Keaton's Vulture, whose final scene is a real shocker.

Fair warning if you're feeling that superhero fatigue: We'll be seeing more Spider-Man solo movies. This flick gives the character a clean slate and lots of room to grow. It establishes his part in the MCU without making him another Avenger (thank heaven!) and makes a pretty strong statement about that decision (the scene where Tony Stark offers him a place in the team is jaw-droppingly audacious). With its youthful energy and themes, Homecoming offers a different sort of dish for us to chew, and will undoubtedly affect the flavor and texture of forthcoming installments: Consider the final scene featuring Cap, a big "Eff you" to the convention of post-credits teasers. Whatever happens next, we can hope that the movies keep as strong a sense of place as this one does (it's basically a love letter to Queens, and it's beautiful). And I'm still keeping my fingers crossed for a Mysterio appearance.

IMDb: Spider-Man: Homecoming

Baby Driver (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Oh, Baby. I haven't seen Edgar Wright's previous work, but now he's on my list.

Baby, a young getaway driver, is almost done. His next job for criminal mastermind Doc (Kevin Spacey) will be his last, as his debt will finally be paid. But this heist may be the most dangerous, and the new ragtag crew Doc assembled seems determined to tear each other apart. Baby's involvement gets even more complicated when his deaf guardian/friend is threatened by a thug, and when his new romantic interest Debora (Lily James) plans to run away with him.

While far from original in structure, Baby Driver more than makes up novelty points in delivery. It's all in the details, the little interactions between characters, and the moments when our hero is alone with his music. This flick is half soundtrack, half car chases, which doesn't sound so appealing to some of us, but the two mesh perfectly in Wright's capable hands. He combines breakneck action thrills with slick comedy and earnest young-love drama with the surety of a master craftsman; that is to say, he lets the beat of the film develop into a stylish joy ride. He knows exactly what he's doing even when we don't, and I'm itching to go see it again to catch the things I missed.

The soundtrack, it's true, threatens to overwhelm the movie at times, but Wright's strong screenplay ensures nothing is taken for granted here. He allows each actor to flesh out his or her character (though some, like Jon Bernthal, are just not used enough), and keeps the action relevant to the dramatic arc of the story. The music creates a second layer, an aural level to the story that both heightens the drama and grounds it in a directly accessible medium of storytelling. More importantly, the spectacle of car chases and fabulous music keep us more thoroughly entertained than any movie yet this year. This is what a summer blockbuster should be: unapologetically fun with style. It proves that fast-paced action flicks can be smart, and be better for it.

IMDb: Baby Driver

Beatriz at Dinner (2017)

Score: 4 / 5

In the grand tradition of dinner parties gone wrong -- Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Carnage, this year's The Dinner -- Beatriz at Dinner starts innocently enough before descending through awkward humor, black comedy, social satire, and ultimately a sort of nihilistic melodrama. As everyone drinks and reveals more about themselves, the more they begin to hate each other. More accurately, the one outsider in their midst becomes hated by everyone else, who are more or less mirrors of each other, even though she warmly welcomed everyone with hugs and offers of free massages. But the film takes what would normally be a marginal moment -- the Latina maid rolling her eyes at the rich white master's silly prejudice and then returning to her assigned role -- and unpacks it into a whole film. Really, this flick is more of a play, and indeed might be more effective on stage (with more dialogue, which the film would have benefited from), where the spectacle of food and drama mix so very well.

This dinner tosses ethnic prejudice and class inequality into a blender filled with capitalist hierarchy and environmental violence and processes it until the gooey paste chokes our awareness of what's really happening. In a very real sense, we are seeing the proceedings from Beatriz's perspective, where all these elements are interconnected, and as the meal progresses we sympathize with her anger and indignation and we get as bewildered until we want to lash out as she does. In fact, during her feverish revenge fantasy at the film's climax, I heard one young woman cheering from the back of the theater. It's hard not to cheer; after the verbal sparring and rhetorical vitriol of the dinner, it only makes sense that the poisonous backstabbing becomes physical in some way.

While Beatriz may not be on par with the indictment of racism in Get Out, for example, but it serves to paint a fairly accurate portrait of early 2017 anxieties felt by Trump's America. We have the oily man who loves violence at the head of the table (John Lithgow, whose knowing performance never winks at us, to his immeasurable credit). We have his sycophantic supporters seeking their own social promotion (Chloe Sevigny and Transparent's Amy Landecker and Jay Duplass). We have the white liberal elite whose commonplace hypocrisies allow them to be comfortable without sacrifice (American Horror Story's Connie Britton). And we have the lone Other (poor, ethnic, female whose religion and lifestyle are distinctly marginal) who is forced into awkward and dangerous situations, ganged up on by the others, and ultimately bereft of the hope that has sustained her. Salma Hayek (Frida) plays the stripped-down, grounded Beatriz with earnestness and honesty, though her eccentric presence in the polished white film might make you chuckle at times. But she's not a clown by any means; her out-of-place figure is one of sympathy for us. It's an awesome performance of a child of the earth who loves to love and who profoundly feels everything. And, while all characters are easily described here, the actors all play expertly and knowingly in the sweet spot between realism and caricature.

In retrospect, I'm not even sure who the real villain is in this flick. It's easy to say Lithgow as the mogul is the big baddie; he even spits out several lines that could have been taken from Ted Levine's Warden in Shutter Island about violence and the death of the world. Can we really blame him though? He may be fiddling while Rome burns, and his predatory corporate devastation is at sharp odds with the film's pastoral images of life on a tropical river, but he's the devil we know. The movie's stab at the heart is delivered by Connie Britton's Kathy, the rich white "friend" who insists Beatriz stays for dinner and involves herself with people any sensitive person would know are not her friends. Her lack of perception gives way to open shame and eventual passive-aggressive cruelty, and her self-deception and betrayal of Beatriz are so complete that she doesn't even feel sorry about her behavior. Take note: If the scene hits you a little too hard, it means you have some soul-searching to do, too.

Its too-brief duration on screen has the taste of melodrama and dark comedy, befitting the tradition its furthers, but in the last twenty minutes or so the filmmakers lace the brew with shocking horror and Greek tragedy. Whether they are trying to reference Kate Chopin or a transcendent earth religion, the last scene bothered me because it spells defeat for our heroine. Yet at the same time, we completely understand her pain and loss of hope; it's a love letter and a fierce warning for those of us in despair over the state of our country and our world. Beatriz, in her loving and sacrificial way, loses hope so that we don't have to.

IMDb: Beatriz at Dinner