Us (2019)

Score: 5 / 5

It may only be March, but this is already one of my top 10 favorite films of 2019.

Jordan Peele's first outing, Get Out, was an amazing -- and amazingly ballsy -- horror-comedy that dove deep into our anxious cultural veins regarding race relations. Its relatively simple narrative and streamlined ideas had been finely tuned, much like a scalpel, cutting our tenuous strings of "woke" white liberalism in a scathing, direct, and endlessly entertaining film. But, in his second outing, Peele seems to be even more earnest if less direct, making a sweeping indictment of American duality when it comes to race, poverty, and the evil inside all of us.

There's not much to the story itself: a family of four goes on a vacation to Santa Cruz (which means "holy cross" and implies a salvific place or means of sacrifice), where they encounter their doppelgangers. What starts as a home invasion story, though, quickly becomes a race through our conscious mind -- rather, a double conscious mind -- to find the truth of our past and the reality of our identities in the present. Carrying the weight of this task is Lupita Nyong'o, whose impossibly nuanced performance as the mother Adelaide Wilson and her nameless doppelganger steals the movie.

Everybody in the cast plays their own doppelganger, and the movie flawlessly features their impeccable double performances. Winston Duke plays the primary comic relief as Gabe, the husband/father, who uses a sort of deepened "thug" voice to try and scare off the doppelgangers. The two children are no less impressive as Zora and Jason, though Zora's creepy double is the stuff of nightmares. Most interesting, however, is that the problem of evil twins is not isolated to the Wilson family. Earlier in the film we see hints of death and doubling, but we don't fully see the scope of the problem until the Wilson's friends (Elizabeth Moss and Tim Heidecker) are suddenly, viscerally butchered by their own evil twins.

Apart from the obvious craft of the film proper -- especially the haunting score by Michael Abels and excellent soundtrack choices -- the film piles on multiple layers of increasingly complex significance, making Us a consummate work of art much like mother! and Suspiria, the very best of modern existential horror. I'm still reeling from the multiplicity of levels on which this film operates, so much so that it's difficult to know where to start unpacking.

On a purely psychological level, the film plays off psychoanalytic theories of the uncanny and of our doubles (time to revisit Freud and Jung) while developing its own complications to Du Bois's double consciousness. I suppose to talk about this, we'll use Adelaide as the case study, since the film hinges on her identity. The opening sequence takes place in 1986, and a young Adelaide is visiting the family vacay spot in Santa Cruz. Wandering away from her parents, she enters a fun house and in its maze of mirrors encounters her double. After the experience, she's quiet and distant, disturbing her parents while clearly absorbing everything she can from her surroundings. During the film's modern-day climax, when Adelaide finally murders her double, we (and possible she herself, we're not sure) learn through flashbacks that during their encounter, the evil double had actually kidnapped the real Adelaide and taken her place.

That means that, during the whole movie, the Adelaide we've seen and respected and fallen in love with is really the evil doppelganger. It had been hinted at earlier, in her uncanny awareness that the doubles were inherently dangerous and in the slow breakdown of her speech -- the doubles cannot speak but communicate with gutteral grunts and clicks -- but we are forced to reconsider her identity. Should be be horrified that one of the evil doubles "passed" as normal for so long? Or is this rather a triumph of nurture over nature, teaching us that identity can and does change, and that, perhaps given the proper opportunities, we are all capable of love, family, bravery, and sacrifice? Take a look at the double (the "real" Adelaide), who is the sole Other capable of speech (albeit childlike and belabored), whose primary purpose has been to launch this assault on the daylit world. Clearly the true evil doubles are as capable as change as "normal" folks are when oppressed, forced underground, and given no opportunities to really live. Perhaps her actions are revenge for her forced slavery below ground.

Speaking of which, the film doesn't just work by "tethering" us to our doubles, or even us to our families. We're told the doubles -- the "Tethered" -- are soulless, which predetermines our fear and loathing of them. They live underground, in apparently abandoned tunnels that stretch across the entire continent that have no known purpose. We might do well to read the American Underground as a literalization of an Underground Railroad -- the opening text of the film hints at "subways" and the like -- and a potential means to freedom for our intensely divided society. The often-repeated song "Itsy Bitsy Spider" hints at its own connection to the Tethered, as a new report suggests they have arrived in our daylit world by climbing up the sewers. We would also do well to read the Underground as an allegorical home for the oppressed in our culture; this parallel will force us to conceptualize our own positioning in daylight as one of privilege, of precarious chance.

But the privilege doesn't end there. It would seem the goal of the Tethered is to murder their oppressive doubles -- more than once the consideration of slavery is forced, as we see the doubles acting out pathetic shadow-actions, mirroring their above-ground counterparts -- and stretch across the continent holding hands in a long, unbroken line. This is a blistering throwback to the 1986 fad "Hands Across America," the popular experiment to bring awareness and show solidarity with the poor and homeless that became celebrity fodder and failed to raise the money it pledged. Telling that it was Reagan's America, Regan who posed for the event while his administration stripped billions in funding for poverty assistance and welfare. In this way, creator Jordan Peele tethers 1986 Reagan to 2019 Trump, showing how our country is still deeply divided and has done nothing to help the crisis.

Of course, it makes sense that the Tethered would want to do this. If the comparatively articulate Adelaide is their leader, one of the last things she would have remembered before being taken were the advertisements and hype for Hands Across America. Consider, too, the Michael Jackson "Thriller" t-shirt she's wearing, and compare it to the red outfit and single glove worn by all Tethered folks. Consider the bright red candied apple she was carrying around on the beach (which she never got to actually eat), dripping with sticky red goo hinting at the carnage to come, but also suggesting the candy of Halloween (masks, costumes, doubling) and the forbidden fruit and sins of self-knowledge she'll unleash. These are the many levels at which Peele is working, and it's the stuff of philosophical genius.

The film is also aesthetically pure, and Peele controls his story and concepts as smoothly as his art. He encourages his actors to give amazing performances, and allows their movement work especially to shine. His fluid cinematography and deliberate pacing don't let the ideas come too quickly or bluntly. He piles on the references and concepts including mythic world-building, politics and society, past and present, identity and consciousness, and -- my favorite -- his own love of cinema. The references to '80s-era movies fly, including C.H.U.D., The Lost Boys, Jaws, The Goonies, A Nightmare on Elm Street, the visual look of Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees. But none more so than references to Funny Games (1997, so I guess not era-appropriate, but still palpably present) and The Shining.

Finally, because I was so frustrated by the film's repeat references to Jeremiah 11:11 -- which, by the way, has a purely visual flair for the mirror image -- I have to include the quote for you:
"Therefore thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will bring evil upon them, which they shall not be able to escape; and though they shall cry unto me, I will not hearken unto them."
Remember that the God of the Old Testament was often a dick. But it's interesting that Peele would add a religious element to his cultural condemnation of American race relations, especially a Bible quote that he never reveals. Disturbing enough, suggesting the doubles are God's curse, we might also consider their origins. It's revealed that the doubles are actually clones of the surface populace, abandoned by their creators because souls could not be copied (or controlled). We know by the end, of course, that everyone is capable of a soul if nurtured, and in the chilling final moments we see Adelaide (who we know to be her own double) and Jason looking at each other with the same realization. Her son has learned from her and will continue to do so; what role, if any, will her identity play in his development? You might just be your own evil twin. Is that a good thing?

Who knows? Jordan Peele allows us (Us; U.S.? The parallels are everywhere!) to make up our own minds. Rather, he invites us to just entertain the ideas, and not come to any conclusion. Because nothing is as clear-cut as horror movies so often make it out to be.

Captive State (2019)

Score: 3 / 5

Rupert Wyatt's latest flick is Captive State, a bizarre experiment that may not work for some audiences but works hard to get you thinking.

After a brief prologue in which two boys are orphaned when alien invaders strike, we get a whole lot of exposition before the plot really begins. Essentially, the aliens have taken over the world, assaulting the cities and setting up, well, captive states. After a period of nine years, the world is a very different place; the longsuffering city of Chicago sets the scene of this film. A central area has been razed in each occupied city, and the alien leaders live underground, allowing their human goons to run daily affairs. As the aliens have disarmed and demilitarized Earth, they rule with total impunity.

It's all really nothing special, and a lot of the ideas are vaguely hinted at by the extremely limited dialogue. Besides the opening credit mash-up of media voices and news headlines, there is almost no exposition in the film. We don't know much about the aliens, who appear briefly and look like large puppets with tendrils that harden into urchin-esque spikes when aroused (word choice?). They seem to be smart in addition to their physical danger, as they have confiscated all digital devices and are working to wipe them, uploading the data to some mysterious end. Interestingly, despite their totalitarian regime that has earned them the nickname "Legislators," they seem to be well-supported by the general populace. Chicago may look rough in the greyscale movie, but unemployment is almost nonexistent and the economy is strong.

The lack of real information characterizes this movie as a profound example of cerebral indie work. Somewhat entertaining but mostly confusing, we get carried along trying to piece together the tiny bits of plot and characters we know. I suppose a repeat viewing would help, but ultimately we're not meant to know much. Why? Because the movie is really about a widespread resistance movement, guerrillas planning a massive strike against their oppressors. Everything is layered in double-speak and hints both vague and blunt; characters are pawns who we never really understand or appreciate but who nevertheless are admirable somehow. It doesn't help that the immensely talented cast is about as eclectic and random as the aggregate limbs of Frankenstein's monster; John Goodman and Vera Farmiga play as if in a spy thriller, Kevin Dunn as if in a police procedural, Ben Daniels and Ashton Sanders in a sci-fi action flick.

Despite appreciating the film for doing the whole alien invasion thing in a different, grounded, gritty way, I can't help but be disappointed by the mess of the whole thing. Blurry, shaky, dark cinematography and frenzied, non-sequitur editing do nothing to help our comprehension of the already secretive tale. And while I love the social commentary and heady ideas, they never really coalesce into a cohesive whole. Case in point: the rule of the Legislators (and why do they have that name? Do they actually make laws, or just demands?) is marked by demilitarization even though they themselves are crazy violent, a fierce love of country even though the whole world has been overrun, a theocratic religious fervor that doesn't explain the brainwashing of the common people. We see a pep rally of sorts near the climax, when "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" has been rewritten to praise the aliens, and everyone is happy as hamsters.

It's all interesting and cool -- if not very fun -- but I feel the same way about Captive State that I did about Hotel Artemis. Style and novelty are cool, but if there is so incredibly little substance that we are bewildered more than inspired or even entertained, it's just disappointing. If you want a great horror flick about alien invasion in an urban setting, watch Cloverfield. If you want a great sci-fi thriller about conspiracy to overthrow an oppressive regime, watch Rogue One.

Captain Marvel (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

The year is 1995 and we find ourselves in Kree space. Brie Larson (who goes by at least three names in this movie, so let's just call her Larson) is a member of the Starforce, tasked with rescuing an undercover agent among their enemies, the Skrull. Overwhelmed with the nomenclature yet? Add in a Flerken, other characters with multiple names and alliances, and the mysterious powers of the Tesseract, and you've got Captain Marvel, the latest MCU flick that is at once a great reminder of the genius of this franchise and a mild disappointment to fans of the recent franchise turns.

Let's start with the positive: It's a lot of fun. Some of the laughs are forced and the spectacle can be cheap, but it's awfully pretty to look at. And, for a hero with rather unspecific powers (kind of like Vision, who shares Larson's Infinity-Stone-given powers), it's probably okay to simply show her swathed in an aura of bright light. Do we really need to understand her powers? We might want to, but the reality is that she'll serve as a sort of quasi-savior in Avengers: Endgame, so her salvific powers can be a bit too awesome for our comprehension.

While the names and titles can all get a bit muddled, the essence of the film is not unlike that of Winter Soldier, with shifting alliances and secret infiltrations and a massive shift in our expectations of who really are the "good guys." Of course, we see it coming miles off, and that's because of the narrative simplicity here. In fact, the straightforward earnestness of this movie -- its determination to craft a standalone heroic entry, introduce a character, and feature no small amount of girl power -- is almost rousing. It feels like a spiritual sister to the first Iron Man and Captain America as a solid, old-fashioned origin story. And that's fine.

Much more better are its bankable stars doing admirable work. Though Larson's badassery isn't served well by a script that all but flatlines her dramatic arc, her physicality challenges that of the men in this franchise, and her hair beats out Thor's by a landslide. Samuel L. Jackson gets to sort-of co-star this time around, and his Nick Fury has been digitally de-aged in a pretty cool way. Clark Gregg, Djimon Hounsou, and Lee Pace return in minor parts as characters they've played before, which is a lot of fun and provides fodder for fans who like to tie together elements from across the franchise. We also get Jude Law and Ben Mendelsohn as the leaders of their respective Kree and Skrull soldiers, which is fun except that Mendelsohn's makeup looks like a Halloween mask and he sounds like he's speaking through prosthetic lips (which he is).

My favorite addition is Annette Bening as Mar-Vell, a fantastic use of gender-swapping much like Tilda Swinton's in Doctor Strange. She gets much better screen time and dynamic drama than Glenn Close did as Nova Prime (still bitter about that), and she's electrifying to behold.

You might have noticed my ambivalence about some of these positives, and they only strengthen my overall disappointment with this installment. It's a solid origin story, reasonably entertaining, and easy to follow. The dialogue can get clunky, her powers aren't really understandable, the effects are often wasteful, but its shallow sense of nostalgia kind of helps us link this movie mentally with the very first installments of the franchise. I mean, when the climax sneaks up on you without your awareness, it's a hint the pacing is just all wrong; when the climax involves the hero flying through a warship and it starts exploding/melting around her, it might be time to rethink the logic of what a climax needs to be.

But, as this is the MCU's first time letting a woman headline a film, it's just shameful that they played it so safely. Gone are the visual inventions of Doctor Strange and Ant-Man, the narrative ingenuity of Thor: Ragnarok and Infinity War, the cultural relevance of Black Panther. If it's a game-changer to have a woman headline a superhero film, why isn't Captain Marvel a game-changer as a film? I can't help but think this is just too little too late. Again, that's not to say it's not welcome! It just doesn't fit in with the films of its ilk released in the last couple of years.

Plus, it doesn't help that its placement completely undercuts all claims to feminism MCU might stake. Captain Marvel is a placeholder, a dull lengthy introduction to the climax of the entire franchise. Not only is she the last cog in the great big machine, but she's literally being used by the studio to generate inclusive interest before what will surely be the biggest opening ever for a movie. She may be a savior, but she's being used as such by Marvel/Disney execs, and that's just annoying.

Then again, if that mid-credits heartbreaker of a scene is any indication of the drama she'll elicit in Endgame, I may have to revisit this critique.

At Eternity's Gate (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

A highly unconventional biopic, At Eternity's Gate seeks to dramatize and hypothesize the final days of Vincent van Gogh.

Not terribly concerned with realism, time, or facts, we flow through his life with impressionistic images and vignettes more than scenes. He travels around France, painting constantly, seemingly forever in a state of exhaustion and bewilderment. His brother (Rupert Friend) lovingly cares for him when he's able, and he meets kind folks (Mads Mikkelsen) along the way. But he's mostly alone, painting feverishly and drawing the disdain of other artists who do not understand his style (Oscar Isaac). Van Gogh cannot support himself, and his destitution is only enhanced by his mental state.

The film doesn't quite suggest the nature of van Gogh's other-ness, though it could be a form of mental illness. It seems more likely that it's a disorder of some kind -- what we might call a disability -- that allows him to see the world differently than the rest of us. What way this might be is similarly unclear. Cinematographer Benoit Delhomme attempts to take us inside van Gogh's head, often using between intimate handheld cameras and changing lenses and focus to shift our awareness of the environment. He even includes some almost-first-person shots that feature heavy blurs in the lower third or half of the screen; it's a very specific choice, and one that served to baffle me more than anything. It's not likely to be an accurate estimation of van Gogh's vision, thus an odd way to identify his POV.

Willem Dafoe gives a solid performance as the suffering artist, and while his performance carries the film, it's not the most interesting or beautiful part of the picture. For me, it was all about the cinematography and the screenplay. The two work together to craft a fairly radical approach to filmmaking, especially in the biography genre, and while it's not always effective in telling a story or even providing enlightenment, the film manages to impress its aesthetic and strangeness on you. You feel it, you just don't always know what it is you feel.

Vox Lux (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

In the same year A Star is Born showed us the romantic side of heaven and hell that can come from sudden fame, Vox Lux shows us a deeply disturbing portrait of the relationship we have, culturally, with celebrity.

We begin in 1999 as two teenage sisters survive a school shooting. The film puts us right in the massacre, making the horrific scene more intimate than I think we've ever seen. Having survived, the two sisters write and perform a song at a candlelit remembrance service that becomes a sort of healing balm, an anthem for a mourning nation. A "hit", as Willem Dafoe's storybook-style narration tells us. It's no coincidence that this opening sequence takes place in the same year of the Columbine shooting, or that writer/director Brady Corbet is among the generation who grew up in its aftermath.

Vox Lux, meaning "voice light", refers to Celeste, one of the surviving sisters and newfound stars. The film may be described as many things, but it seems to be primarily her coming of age story, one that seems fated by, if not the stars themselves, her own rising stardom in a U.S. obsessed with tragedy and glamour. The second chapter, after the school shooting, follows Celeste as she's picked up by a grumpy manager (Jude Law), grooming her for fame and pushing her artistry to pop heights. It's a mad rush for us as well as Celeste, and as her career bursts into the spotlight she faces personal fallout with her friends and family. This chapter screeches to a halt on September 11, 2001, another tragedy that we don't see Celeste take advantage of, but it seems likely that this catapults her to greater fame if only by a grieving nation's need for her.

She even says at one point why she loves pop music: “I don’t want people to have to think too hard. I just want them to feel good.” Corbet would probably disagree, making each shot calculated and each beat impossibly complex. He hired Sia to compose the songs in Vox Lux, and while the songs themselves are kind of fun, we never hear a full tune, and its synth-pop funk comes across as grating and technical, not at all like the emotional ballad Celeste started with. It's a dangerous move for Corbet to make, and one that seems almost determined to displease the audience rather than endear them.

And then Natalie Portman appears in full-on goth punk as the adult Celeste, drinking wine from paper cups, cussing her face off, and snorting terrible substances before banging her manager. Her appearance and stage character seem inspired by any pop artist of the day, notably Lady Gaga or Madonna, and her voice takes a backseat to her jarring physicality. She fully embodies a damaged woman, using her artifice as a weapon to guard her PTSD and living a jaded, dysfunctional life, scarred from the spotlight.

Her story begins when terrorists shoot up a resort in Croatia wearing masks from one of her music videos. She's on the verge of a homecoming concert, and at a press conference she uses her snappy, crude wit first admirably before making a stunning comment apparently inviting the terrorists to her own concert. While her manager debates canceling the show, the audience can scarcely suspect another tragedy, much like the attack on the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester. It's a bizarre moment that reminds us how often pop culture blends with politics and, yes, terrorism in an unholy mixture of excess, fear, religiosity, and violence. The formerly religious Celeste is all but crucified as the messianic leader of a society trying to heal its pain through beauty, bright lights, and a booming bass. The people love her, but their expectations of her lead to her self-induced torture because she isn't herself allowed to heal; the narrator mentions at one point that she might have made a Faustian bargain, and it's no facetious suggestion.

It's an awesome film, challenging and infuriating, tragic and hilarious in equal measure. Not what I expected -- not even really what I wanted -- but a dazzling work that will leave you reeling and magnificently unsatisfied.

Happy Death Day 2U (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Christopher Landon goes for gold with a second installment of the fabulous 2017 Happy Death Day, and while it may not win over a horror-comedy fan, the sequel seems eager to find a home with the science fiction-drama crowd.

That's not to say it's not hilarious or occasionally scary. It is. This time around, Tree (Jessica Rothe, as brilliant as last time) gets stuck in a time loop on the same Monday the 18th day in a different dimension. What? I know, it's a bit hokey, and the film's greatest weakness is in its opening scenes. Seemingly clever at first -- we follow Ryan the roommate for a day as he, too, gets murdered and stuck in a time loop -- things get messy when multiple timelines and dimensions quickly take our main concerns. This time we're not so busy wondering who is killing people, but rather how to navigate the same world with different rules. It's fun, but kind of masturbatory.

Too, the film's focus on such science fiction devices makes for lots of laughs, but the film is tonally its own beast. If you, like I, were hoping for another Scream-level mix of horror and comedy, you'll be disappointed when we're subjected to lengthy discussions of inter-dimensional travel that would give A Wrinkle in Time a run for its money. On the other hand, the shift in basic genre also allows for a secondary shift: while the laughs roll abundantly here as well as in the original, we get surprisingly tense doses of real emotional weight. In this alternate dimension, see, her mother is still alive; as if that wasn't enough heartache, sweet boyfriend Carter (Israel Broussard, cute as ever) is dating her sorority sister.

In this way, 2U builds upon the former film's eventual exploration of the value Tree learned in being kind and intentional in her daily actions. This time, she is forced to make serious decisions about what she wants out of life and love. It all gets unexpectedly emotional, and I found myself tearing up more than once. And while this film may not have had the murderous glee I expected or wanted, I found it thoroughly entertaining and endlessly surprising. Let's hope that a third movie continues to give us more of all these elements in addition to something fresh. I'll keep my fingers crossed for some extra stabby-stabby.

Greta (2019)

Score: 1.5 / 5

"Just try to get rid of Greta," she taunts. "Just watch me," we say on our way out of the theater.

In what was sure to be a fabulous resurgence of the psycho-biddy subgenre, Greta promised lots of things. Or at least its marketing campaign did. It promised a horror-comedy like we haven't seen in a while, a full-on camp spectacle with enough ick and eek to entertain for at least a couple hours. Unfortunately, the only thing that delivered on these promises was its trailer.

Isabelle Huppert gives a solid but totally misdirected performance as Greta, the crazed woman who leaves purses on trains around New York City, waiting for a kind soul to return one to her. That soul is Frances, played by Chloe Grace Moretz, whose utterly lifeless delivery makes you want terrible things to happen to her. Of course, it doesn't take long for their burgeoning friendship to get creepy as hell, and when it does you're already angry at Frances for being so incredibly stupid. Nobody does the smart thing here except Greta, and even she makes a few silly mistakes.

The problems here are manifold, but can be largely credited to writer/director Neil Jordan. In trying to make a bonkers thriller into a psychological horror-drama, he fails in crafting a fresh tone or even in having fun with the proceedings. Gruesome as the film occasionally can be, everything -- apart from Huppert's occasionally knowing extravagance -- is played straight and grounded, taken far too seriously for its own good. As a result, we aren't allowed to have any fun shuddering at the creepy old woman or giggling as people get abducted, tortured, and murdered. Instead, we try to keep up with the bizarre behaviors of everyone involved and waste time trying to understand why they're all so opaque.

And why on earth did they waste Colm Feore's talent like this? It's just criminal.