Welcome to Marwen (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

I really think this movie would have worked better had it not given away its entire story and spectacle in marketing.

Robert Zemeckis does his typically brilliant directorial work in visualizing the story of Mark Hogancamp (played by Steve Carell), an artist who was brutally attacked by five men and left with severe PTSD and precious few memories. As he cannot draw anymore, he creates a small town of miniatures and photographs them as his therapeutic practice, calling the town Marwen. Its citizenship of dolls share uncanny likenesses to people in Mark's life, though the town is set in Belgium during WWII. Mark's artistic successes belie a man attempting to cope with debilitating pain and disorientation, but the film depicts his journey to a sort of self-actualization when he can finally stand up for himself and function in society again.

There's a lot going on in this picture that we could spend hours discussing. Mark's identity as a cross-dresser, for example, is curiously specific yet largely unexplored by the film, which never uses terminology beyond his attempt to get close to women's "essence". The men who attack him repeatedly call him "queer", and the women he develops intimate relationships with befriend him with great kindness and sincerity; one, though, perhaps thinks he's gay until he proposes to her. It's a fascinating dynamic that is never fully realized; then again, this might be a fabulously non-judgmental portrayal of transvestism that is almost never seen on screen.

Too, we might analyze the questionably feminist tendencies of the film. The cast of mostly women are wonderfully diverse, in ethnicity and culture as well as personality and performance of womanhood. All are strong, though, and their love for Mark is infectious. His love for them, though, is occasionally questionable, and Zemeckis's focus on their bodies (especially breasts and shoes) arguably serves to fetishize their bodies. It's not incompatible with Mark's fixations -- we see him enjoying pornography, his collection of 280+ women's shoes, and miniature scenes of an often erotic nature -- but create an ambiguous tone that battles between the male gaze and the dialogue and themes, which repeatedly praise empowered women.

And while these elements are worthy of discussion, they are also largely matters of lenses and preference. The film as a whole is a mess of such lenses, and we're lurched between what could (and probably should) be an ensemble drama and what is, in fact, an intensely personal character study. Mark battles drug addiction and antisocial tendencies, incarnated by one of his dolls named Deja, a witch whose turquoise color she shares with Mark's pills and whose jealousy of other women keeps Mark perpetually alone. The climax of the film comes when he vanquishes her, letting her disappear in a time machine he built (that is basically the DeLorean time machine, thank you Zemeckis) and washing his pills down the drain. He attends the sentencing of his attackers and proclaims that he'll "be okay," aiming for a future of reality more than fantasy.

Speaking of which, the real joys of the film come from the astounding visual magic when his dolls come to life. Their little adventures weave seamlessly into and out of Mark's life (though the film itself is not seamless, their integration is a thing of wonder), making our experience of him something between reality and fantasy, much as Mark experiences life. As they kick Nazi ass -- another element worthy of hearty discussion, elsewhere -- they help him make decisions and make sense of his own tragedy.

There's a lot to admire here, if you can stay on track with a meandering screenplay and a strong split between narrative focal points.

IMDb: Welcome to Marwen

Aquaman (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

What a fabulous flick.

It's become cool to hate DC films, and I simply do not understand why. People suck their teeth and shake their heads and say words like "bad" without giving any evidence, let alone articulating why they simply didn't like the movies, which is their real complaint. Maybe because I don't like hopping on hateful bandwagons, or maybe because I'm not a big DC fan anyway so creative liberties in new adaptations don't bother me, but I've never felt less than thoroughly entertained in a DC superhero film. And Aquaman is no exception.

If you, like me, knew precious little about the hero, I'll give you a quick rundown. Son of a lighthouse keeper and the princess of Atlantis (Nicole Kidman), Arthur Curry embarks on a mission to save the world. A year after the events of Justice League, the reigning king of Atlantis, Arthur's half-brother Orm (Patrick Wilson) sows strife among humans and sea-dwellers to justify his preparations to launch an attack on the surface world. Warned of this plot, Arthur begins a quest to find the lost trident of Atlantis, a magic weapon that will establish Arthur as the rightful king and master of the oceans.

It's not an original story, and this Arthur seems to be a curious mixture of Hamlet and King Arthur searching for his Excalibur. Combine it with the visual wonder, though, of a James Cameron film and the rollicking energy of the very best fantasy/action pictures, and suddenly this Indiana Jones-meets-Avatar adventure launches itself into a memorable new stratum. Director James Wan gives us an underwater world like we've never seen, bright and vivid, teeming with life and creativity, completely absorbing in its every detail. There's everything from soldiers riding sharks and seahorses to an octopus playing the drums. What's not to like?

Aquaman provides the DC franchise with a fresh aesthetic and energy. Though elements of its plot are needless or needlessly complex and contrived, it's an engaging story that knows it's running on tried and tested ground. Its novelty doesn't even lie with its hunky hero, Jason Momoa, whose swagger and haunting eyes lead the picture with incredible star power, nor with its other stars, of whom Nicole Kidman is easily the brightest. Rather, this movie works best because it simply has fun with every single moment. An infectious sense of joy bursts out of the screen at you, flooding you with wonder and good humor.

I was enjoying myself, I'd like to note, until one scene right before the final third of the film. In this moment, when Arthur finally enters the Trench, where monstrous hordes were thought to have murdered (eaten) his mother. Escaping the snapping teeth, he enters a portal to the center of the earth. There had been a Jules Verne reference early in the movie, and here it comes gloriously alive as dinosaurs -- yes, dinosaurs! -- swoop over a secret beach, and Nicole Kidman is revealed as the lone warrior who helped Arthur escape the Trench. It was at this moment I stopped enjoying the movie and grew to love it. It's emotional and beautiful and exciting and basically everything I wanted. Oh, and not long after, Arthur gets his magic trident which is guarded by a Kraken-like monster voiced by Julie Andrews. I mean, honestly, does it get any better?!

I'd also be lying if I didn't add that this movie gives me hope for a quality live-action remake of The Little Mermaid.

IMDb: Aquaman

Mary Poppins Returns (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Mary Poppins Returns, and in a big way. Even for someone who was never a big fan of the 1964 original film, this long-delayed sequel is an amazing movie experience. In fact, I liked this one so much that I'll be revisiting the original with a much lighter disposition. The Broadway musical was great, but this film exploded any and all expectations I had for the character and franchise.

The story takes place twentyish years after the original, when young Michael Banks (Ben Whishaw) has lost his wife and now fathers three adorable motherless children. Helped by his sister Jane (Emily Mortimer), though she's quite busy organizing labor activism, and their housekeeper Ellen (Julie Walters), Michael works for Fidelity Fiduciary Bank and has squashed his artistic aspirations in favor of making ends meet. Yet his dreams do not survive the Great Depression, and the Bank's greedy president (Colin Firth) threatens to take the Banks home.

Remembering their father owned shares in the bank, the Bankses frantically search for proof, and in comes Mary Poppins, floating in on the kite that ended the original film. Emily Blunt is utterly magnificent as the iconic character, at once vain and proper but bubbling over with magical joy. Director Rob Marshall seems infected by this energy, and this movie becomes a sort of sensory overload in the best possible way, forcing you to forget about your troubles and simply enjoy the endless pleasures offered. It's a spoonful of sugar, and then some: vivid colors, mesmerizing effects, glorious dancing, and gorgeous costumes are matched by a score that could have been written by the original musicians. I was tapping along to songs I've never heard before, and humming them as I jaunted out of the theater. That is some damn good movie magic.

Yes, the cast is brilliant and yes the film is a masterclass in what Disney can get so, so right. But what struck me and stuck with me was the absolute genius of this film. Structurally, it is Mary Poppins. The original. Instead of sweeps, we have lamplighters who dance, yes, but underground instead of on the roofs. We have Mary's first number not with cleaning the nursery but with cleaning the children themselves. We have cousin Topsy (Meryl Streep) whose home spins around her, rather than Uncle Albert who floats around his home. We have a chipped china bowl to adventure within, not a chalk painting before the rain. We have balloons instead of kites, given by none other than Angela Lansbury. And Dick Van Dyke shows up for one of the most purely entertaining moments I've ever seen on screen.

If it all sounds like a cheap ripoff -- and it does -- fret not! Nothing here is cheap or forced. In fact, it's all done with such an eye for authentic nostalgia that it even won me over. Unlike The Force Awakens that relied on forced nostalgia and plastered fan service, this movie is a pure work of fans for fans and for everyone else. It's a celebration of childhood, of beauty and creativity, and there's not a moment I wanted the movie to end.

I have absolutely no complaints about this movie except that it did, unfortunately, end. It's pure and sweet and fun and creative and intelligent and everything you could possibly want. We can only hope Mary Poppins will be back.

IMDb: Mary Poppins Returns

Mary Queen of Scots (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

This was a perfect companion for The Favourite on a double-feature date night with myself. Highly recommend the pairing, though lots of wine would have been nice.

While The Favourite was easily, well, my favorite of the screenings, Mary Queen of Scots has a lot to offer. Though arguably a remake of the 1971 film of the same name -- starring the incomparable Vanessa Redgrave and Glenda Jackson -- this new film owes a lot to its time and place. It's the sort of revisionist history porn that we all love feel guilty about, but keep indulging anyway. Think I'm wrong? Look at The Tudors and the host of shows it inspired and that keep making history sexy and soapy. Look at one of my favorite flicks, The Other Boleyn Girl, and the extent to which it obsesses over style and smut while sacrificing history at the altar. It's a magnificent aesthetic, one that loves history so much that it allows itself to take liberties.

Don't forget, these are films. Not history books. So get off your high horse.

Mary Queen of Scots begins with Mary Stuart (Saoirse Ronan) returning home to Scotland after being the Queen of France and widowed at the age of 18. Everything is set against her ruling in her homeland, from the Protestants taking over to her cousin Elizabeth (Margot Robbie) having assumed rule over both England and Scotland. The film focuses of course on Mary, establishing her household and plans for domination in spite of overwhelming opposition and open violence. The two queens regard each other from afar, admiring and testing their strengths while timidly seeking for answers. The world of men they inhabit is dangerous, and they know that far much more than their crowns are at stake.

Politics and religion, money and laws, rebellion and warfare aside, the film seems most interested in the private lives of these women. Though some will argue it's more fanciful than realistic to fantasize thus about the sexual exploits of these women, the film works because of its fascinating split between private and public realms. Just look at their costumes, inviting appraisal as well as interest, or the constant use of windows and doorways as frames for us to view both the inner and the outer. We're assaulted by endless facades, from the thick white makeup on Elizabeth's face to the translucent sheets adorning the barn in which our queens eventually meet.

Their adventures through worlds of men and sex seem awfully timely for this era, and the film is deeply queer in its attitudes. Leave it to screenwriter Beau Willimon -- developer and showrunner of House of Cards -- to acutely examine this most fascinating of boundaries between high politics and eroticism, suggesting that major points of history were dictated by a man eating out his queen or by the same man seducing another man in her retinue. Set in a crumbling castle in the exotic highlands, it becomes weirdly difficult to imagine anything else having happened in reality. Why shouldn't we review history as sexy? Otherwise, it's all too depressing and boring.

IMDb: Mary Queen of Scots

The Children Act (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

The High Court Justice Fiona Maye is in a crisis. But then, as a family law expert, she's used to that.

The Children Act begins by showing us her steely demeanor in the courtroom, ruling on a complex case involving the separation of conjoined twins -- the death of one for the life of the other -- that results in controversy. It would seem such cases have taken a drastic toll on her personally, for though she outwardly presents a flawless facade of professionalism and intelligence, she is also trapped in what appears to be a cycle of workaholism, resulting in a sexless marriage.

Emma Thompson stars as Fiona, and she delivers a typically stellar performance as someone maneuvering high-stakes work with no less weighty personal matters. The story really kicks into gear when we are introduced to the two main men in her life. One, her husband, played by a quiet Stanley Tucci, wants her permission to carry on an affair; Fiona counters with an ultimatum threatening him with eviction and divorce. The other is her newest case: Adam, a young man played by Fionn Whitehead, suffers leukemia and is dying. As a Jehovah's Witness, his belief system will not allow him to be subjected to blood transfusion, as it will pollute his soul; his parents actively support this, and so the doctors have taken them to court. Only a blood transfusion will save his life, and though Adam is underage, both he and his parents are united in their refusal.

Fiona meets Adam in an unorthodox hands-on approach to the case. The two experience a profound connection, and Fiona cannot bear to let Adam die under her watch. She allows the doctors to perform as they see fit, and Adam lives after a blood transfusion. He seeks her out, sending letters and leaving voicemails for her that she never answers; he begins following her, earnestly wanting nothing more than to be friends with the woman who saved him. He questions his religion and seeks a parental figure other than those who were willing to martyr him to their faith.

The film works best because of Thompson's performance and Ian McEwan's recreation of his own novel; we are entirely caught in Fiona's internal story as if the film were shot from her perspective (it is not, thank heaven, and so we can see the beautiful woman in all her glory). We see a powerful, professional woman who has made a career of subduing her emotions and keeping personal conflicts at bay. Her cool-headed exactitude cracks under the strain here, though, and the character's repressed feelings bleed out before she even knows what they are. It's a powerful character study mixed with a cerebral journey through hot topics, though it never really means anything beyond that.

IMDb: The Children Act

The Favourite (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Yorgos Lanthimos does it again with The Favourite, a brilliant comedy-tragedy that might also be his most accessible film yet to those not familiar with his auteurship.

The year is 1708, but that's mostly incidental, and the characters are based on real historical figures, but that's almost an afterthought. You don't need to know about Queen Anne's reign, her confidant and lover Sarah Churchill, and Sarah's cousin Abigail who rose in power and became the titular favorite of her majesty. I certainly didn't, although apparently it's been extensively documented through letters, memoirs, and even a lengthy biography by Sarah's descendant Winston Churchill. Ignoring, as I do, did, and will, the political and historical details about their biographies, we're left with the film as a masterful portrait of women in power and loving every moment.

The ailing Queen Anne, falling apart from gout and miserably forsaking her own crown in favor of eccentric indulgences, relies fully on her adviser Sarah, who is immediately seen to be the real power behind the throne. Sarah manages the household, the country, and, yes, the Queen's sexual appetites as well; she's also strong-willed and proud, manipulative but not sycophantic, and so tension follows in her wake as sure as sin. Olivia Colman deserves accolades for her role as the queen here, in the kind of powerhouse role women usually dream of and never get. She cries and screams and throws herself around with reckless abandon, speaking to the spoiled monarch in all of us. Meanwhile, Rachel Weisz plays her cards close to the chest, rocking some intensely androgynous costumes with stony-faced intelligence.

Enter, then, Emma Stone as the once and future favorite Abigail, who starts earnestly enough to situate herself in the queen's household. Despite her hostile work environment, she climbs the ranks before we (and her endangered cousin) realize she may be climbing with malicious intent. Her performance doesn't quite match her capabilities, nor does it quite match the output of her co-stars, but the trio of women make a fascinating and brilliant group for us to watch on screen. Their power play is endlessly entertaining, and I found myself laughing and gasping aloud in an otherwise pretty silent theater. Some people just don't understand quality comedy.

I have no complaints whatsoever about this film, except to say there wasn't more of it. It's irreverent, brutally funny and sad, and casts a lasting spell that will keep you giggling and thinking long after the credits roll. Dig the female power. Dig the awesome cinematography, performances, music, screenplay, costuming, and editing. It's all fabulous. One of the best this year, by far.

IMDb: The Favourite

Boy Erased (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Joel Edgerton again flexes his directorial and writerly muscles with his latest drama, one seemed aimed at awards season and, slyly, the current vice president. Boy Erased, though by no means one of the best pictures this year, is something I never expected to see on screen and therefore earned my respect and a whole bucket of my tears.

When we first meet Jared (Lucas Hedges), he's on his way to Love in Action, one of the more notorious "ex-gay" conversion therapy programs. The son of a proud Baptist minister and car dealer (Russell Crowe), Jared is taken by his beautiful mother (Nicole Kidman) to the program, which immediately establishes all sorts of arbitrary and problematic rules while sucking money out of the hopeful parents. The leader of the program (Joel Edgerton) commands the group of misfit queers as if running a drill camp, and it doesn't take long before Jared has second thoughts about this program. Even his mother suspects something is wrong, but the will of God seems notably difficult to identify. The story escalates to an explosive climax that is all the more powerful because it is based on a biographical memoir.

I knew this would be a difficult movie to watch, as I also went through conversion therapy for several years, but it's a masterful insight into the minds of everyone involved. Though Edgerton's screenplay is skimpy on explaining itself or delving deep into the theology or psychology of the process, it's clear that he understands the whole scenario far better than I would have expected from someone who never lived the experience. He's sensitive and acutely attuned to the minutiae of complex emotions that riddle everyone in the conversion process, so much so that the film becomes a master class in cinematic subtext and theme.

In my opinion, the film works best to understand the intentions behind someone who, like myself, freely chose to enter the program. That's something people seem bewildered by when the topic is brought up in conversation. Further, the film becomes a sort of nearsighted experience that forces us to live in the world of conversion therapy, albeit in episodic form. Everything is close, sensory, vivid,  and sentimental (in a good way), and though Lucas Hedges has performed much better before, here he masterfully accomplishes the thankless work of becoming a sort of every-man, a blank slate that we can immediately project ourselves onto. It's some really difficult filmmaking from both Hedges and Edgerton, and ultimately wildly successful.

While the film will unfortunately be known as the "conversion therapy" movie, it's important to actively try to squash that. It is by no means a sweeping exploration of the process or its various forms; neither is it a treatise on morality or faith or family. It is -- quite simply, and for better or worse -- a biographical story that happens to feature the conversion process. It features a very specific form of the therapy in a no less specific time and place. It also, and this is where the trouble sets in, fails in its final act because it can't decide what to do with itself. After starting with a bang into the plot, it dwindles once Jared (SPOILER ALERT) escapes the program with his mother. This emotional sequence is followed by several dragging denouement scenes including news of the death of another victim, Jared moving away, and then Jared returning to confront his parents.

It doesn't quite work, this ending, because it intensifies the disconnect Edgerton clearly struggles with between biopic and drama. While the story may be true -- that the real-life protagonist escaped, moved to the Big City and had a Big Gay Life -- it's a story that died out in the 2000s and needs to stop being propagated. The queer destiny is not urbania, and phrases like "it gets better" and "wait til you leave this town" are infinitely damaging to queers who hear them. Keep your empty well-wishes to yourself, y'all.

Further, much like one of my complaints about Love, Simon (and I have a lot), the ending of this film loses its steam when it succumbs to a narrative that loses its stakes. When Jared returns, his mother welcomes him, and we see the change his struggles has effected in her. She no longer attends her husband's toxic church, and pointedly tells her son, "I love God, God loves me. And I love my son." While this may be true, it fails to add a few key elements -- "God loves my son" I whispered in the theater before realizing she had recited her entire line -- that might make a significant difference in hegemonic 2018 mindset. Later, when Jared does confront his father, the scene laboriously drowns in its own subtext, and I found myself completely bewildered by both characters, their dialogue, and the pacing. It's needlessly slow, hopelessly sentimental (in a bad way), and limits the scope of impact from the rest of the film.

Finally, the film skates cleanly over the lasting effects of conversion therapy -- and believe me, it's not pretty -- by effectively saying that Jared got out, he's fine now. But that's a matter of personal preference far more than anything else. Go see this movie. Go see this movie. Go see this movie.

Oh, and Nicole Kidman is just brilliant. As always.

IMDb: Boy Erased

The Mule (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

In what felt like -- and could very well be -- his swan song, Clint Eastwood reminds us of everything great about him and everything not so great. For better and worse, then, we are presented a film that both works and doesn't in many ways, but one that I personally liked far better than anything he's done since J. Edgar, seven years ago.

The Mule's title refers to its main character, Earl Stone, a 90-year-old Illinois man whose life is in shambles. Having made a career of traveling and selling and networking, his family has all but abandoned him for abandoning them. Facing foreclosure and the disappointment of his granddaughter (Taissa Farmiga), he accepts a job transporting drugs for a Mexican cartel. His runs earn him lots of money, and the increasing payments prove hard to ignore; as people around him can certainly use funds, he becomes a sort of benevolent Robin Hood, providing means for his granddaughter to be married, to re-buy his house, to renovate the local VFW, to help his ailing ex-wife (Dianne Wiest). Unfortunately, a DEA strike force (including Bradley Cooper, Michael Pena, and Laurence Fishburne) is closing in on him, and the cartel will not suffer any delays.

Sound thrilling? It should -- and the oft-played trailer for this film certainly made it out to be a nail-biter. Add to this setup the fact that it's all loosely based on a real-life case (on a man from Michigan City, not far from where my parents live!) and I was ready for a masterful return to form from the man who expertly delivered staples like Mystic River and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, mystery-thrillers like Changeling and Blood Work. Add to it his recent (and much weaker) politically-minded, true-life flicks, and we reasonably supposed this would be a radical return to form, if uncomfortably timely.

I generally don't care much for Eastwood's acting, though I deeply admire the niche he carved for himself, dedicating his career to playing anti-heroes as heroes. And while I similarly admire the varied body of directorial work he's amassed, I can't help but feel constantly disappointed at his plodding workmanship evident in every picture. Not unlike Ron Howard -- but with far less craftsmanship and far more bewilderingly popular response -- Eastwood tends to overdo his films, draining what's engaging about the real (often fascinating) stories and smothering them in tense atmosphere and, yes, more than a little of his political and social biases.

Unfortunately, the film -- which could and probably should have been structured in terms of plot -- is lugubriously slow. Melancholia can certainly work in a character study, but this film is a little too stretched for that. Eastwood delivers a powerhouse performance -- one of his very finest -- as old Earl, the complex old man who is superficially likable and deceptively caring. His charisma belies deep insecurities and personal failures that eventually break him. It's a great performance, but one that Eastwood as a director treats as laughably lovable; that it most certainly is not, and it's deeply disturbing to sit in a theater of white folk laughing at the crazy, silly old man who unapologetically womanizes, praises himself for helping some "Negroes" with their flat tire, and insults Latinos with the handful of Spanish words he knows. They laugh because Eastwood laughs, not as the actor or even character, but as the director.

Final verdict: Go see this movie, or don't. Like his performance, or don't. Like the story, or don't. Like his direction, or don't (...actually, no, just don't). If you like Eastwood already, you'll probably like this one; if you don't care about him -- in any capacity -- you may not like this one either. I personally found this to be infinitely more engaging and entertaining than American Sniper or Sully or that ridiculous-looking gimmick he churned out last winter about the train.

IMDb: The Mule

The Front Runner (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Hugh Jackman continues to surprise us with fresh, invigorating new characters. This time, he plays the suave, brilliant presidential hopeful Gary Hart, the Colorado senator who infamously failed in his quest to the White House. It's a fascinating story, and one The Front Runner gets mostly right, at least to those of us who had to learn about it over a decade later rather than live through it. Jason Reitman's latest film has a darker, more urgent tone than we might have expected, and the screenplay from Matt Bai and Jay Carson feels a bit like a mockumentary or teleplay, pumping out exposition through lots of rapid-fire dialogue.

The story, if you didn't know, follows Hart's campaign in 1988 through his decision to drop out of the race. At one point, hounded by reporters, Hart cavalierly dares media to follow him away from the campaign trail and into his private life. Unfortunately a few reporters from the Miami Herald take this to a dangerous extreme, staking out his residence and spying on his movements. They even snap photographs of Hart accompanied by Donna Rice -- not his wife (Vera Farmiga) and not affiliated with his campaign -- and without any evidence publish a story insinuating an adulterous affair. It's a chilling look at how public opinion can work, and how influential news outlets can be.

The problem with this film comes into focus not long after, when the alleged scandal hits the press and fallout forces Hart to restrategize. At this point, when the film revs its engines and rapidly grows intense, it also narrows its scope to destabilizing effect. Too many focal points, each too isolated, you might say. We are jerked from Hart's desperate attempts to keep his campaign afloat to fallout with his wife and daughter; from campaign manager Dixon (J.K. Simmons) fighting organizational derailment to one of his employees comforting Donna Rice; from the reporters fighting disgrace to their editors (including Alfred Molina) holding tightly to their headlines. It could have been a fascinating study of political scandal and the press, but ends up a little too unwieldy to make any clear pronouncements on the issue.

That may not be a problem for some viewers -- after all, the film never pretends to be about anything more than Gary Hart himself -- and it really wasn't for me. But in our age of "fake news" and endless political scandal, this kind of story should soar. Look at The Post last year. You would think that when the president declares certain media outlets to be enemies of the people, more films about this very topic would provide insight or inspiration. And, ultimately, I feel the film would have been stronger if it didn't constantly toe the line as to Hart's alleged affair. Painting Hart as an adulterer would have had one effect, one that could have made the film an uncomfortable moralistic tragedy or radically reshaped the way we think about celebrity culture, the political machine, and our problematic obsession with powerful people's sex lives. Painting Hart as an innocent victim of bad journalism and intrusive public interest would have had a very different effect, one that I think would be most resonant in our society.

But, much as we've seen in our political history since, well, since Gary Hart lost the election, we don't always look after our communal best interests. And so The Front Runner exists not as an indictment, nor even really a commentary, so much as a snapshot of the cost of our prurient popular sovereignty.

IMDb: The Front Runner

Woman Walks Ahead (2018)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I never thought tribal resistance, female strength, and the sweeping West could be so boring.

Woman Walks Ahead concerns Catherine Weldon (Jessica Chastain), the white woman who travels from New York to the plains, seeking Sitting Bull for a portrait. She's a painter, it's the 1980s, and such a thing sounds absurd to everyone who's anyone. Her desire to go -- however it actually played out in history, which, I expect, is fantastically different than the dramatization presented here -- seems to be little more than a whim, a feminist urge to seek out a certain legendary freedom a woman cannot claim in New York. Trivial? Maybe, but a fun start to the tale, and a welcome, expected addition to Chastain's extensive list of feminist projects.

As we might expect from the title, this picture works best when it centers on Chastain, her billowing dress belying her defiant strength, silhouetted against gorgeous photography. Unfortunately, the film focuses so much on her experience that it begins to feel, well before the end of the film, that she is the reason for any strife against the Dawes Act, which did many terrible things but essentially worked to transfer tribal land to private hands and begin assimilating Native cultures into white settlements. If this film were taken out of even the most basic context, an idiot might think that Catherine Weldon was the outspoken hero who saw the horrors for what they were and raised up rebellion singlehandedly.

About the time the character begins to notice things aren't all peachy in Lakota territory, she meets Sitting Bull (Michael Greyeyes), a fascinating character here who is clearly world-weary and seeking a life of meaning in an increasingly meaningless world. Wise and noble, and more than a little eccentric to the white woman (read: to us), he helps the film feel like a character study simply because of the masterful performance of Greyeyes. Unfortunately, the film is not a character study: Weldon and Sitting Bull develop a weird connection that the film never tries to test, and before it even becomes interesting the plot tries to open into a historical-political drama that is too specific to be sweeping and too vague to be engaging.

The specifics of the film escaped me. but I don't think it's because I was too bored to pay attention. Ciaran Hinds and Sam Rockwell pop in for a few scenes to give some context (maybe?) but it's clear nobody behind the scenes cared about their characters. As a history lesson, the film fails utterly. Even knowing better, I was left with the distinct impression that Sitting Bull was only "woken" to the plight of his people when a white woman came over to paint his picture. Similarly, and perhaps more insidiously, the film's ending arguably seeks to exculpate her from the resistance's resultant massacre.

I might be too harsh. It's all lovely to look at, and diverting enough for an hour and a half. It boasts some solid performances and raises interesting questions about the problems when social justice is not intersectional. It could also be used as a case study for writers as to how tricky history can be to dramatize and make relevant. So if you are willing to pay attention through its dull delivery, give this one a try. Just don't expect it to walk ahead of you, because it won't.

IMDb: Woman Walks Ahead

Green Book (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

If there was ever going to be an updated Driving Miss Daisy, I'm glad this is it.

The year is 1962 and Tony Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen) lives happily as a bouncer in NYC, living in a small apartment with his wife (Linda Cardellini), two sons, and a large Italian family who come and go as they like. When the Copacabana is closed for renovations, Tony looks for work elsewhere; he's booked an interview with famed pianist Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) as his driver on a concert tour through the Midwest and Deep South. "There are gonna be problems," he half-jokes in his interview, before his future employer reveals that Tony was chosen for his skills as a bouncer far more than any driving ability.

Before long, they're on the road, and it's here that the strengths of the lead players blossom. Mortensen and Ali perfectly match each other as unlikely companions who, in turns, build each other up. A few insults fly and lots of casual racism graces the screen, but we see that the two men never actively or deliberately seek to tear each other down. This is the sort of iron-sharpens-iron bromance modern masculinity desperately needs (and, I think, desperately wants). It never sacrifices women to its humor or desires, and barely blinks when one party is discovered to be queer. Caught between two masterful performances by veteran actors, we are swept up in the characters -- if not quite the story -- and delivered to a holy place.

And that's what I think the film is really up to. From its opening scene, the picture glows with what I initially thought was a quasi-nostalgic aura. The sort of good ol' days that some in our society want to go back to and "make great again." While the film does get occasionally dark as the pair traverse Jim Crow-dominated Carolina and Alabama, it never really depicts the horrors of the era. This might be off-putting to some, and arguably rightfully so. After all, thousands of black people were murdered, tormented, ostracized, fired, and, and, and during this period of time, and if this was the only film to depict the history, it would of course present an inadequate view of the whole. But the warmth, I'd argue, is the warmth of its two leading men and the transformative friendship they shared, now shared with us.

Despite what some may see as the film's downfalls -- including the dramatization of the men's relationship, their personal lives, and the realities of Jim Crow America -- it's a film distinctly hard to shake afterward. By the end, it's just one of those earned catharses, a solidly entertaining piece with a lot of heart that bleeds for all the right things. Like La La Land, it might do exceptionally well come awards season simply because it is so entertaining; unlike that lauded picture, though, this one actually draws attention to the problems in our culture rather than ignoring them.

IMDb: Green Book