The Aftermath (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

In the grand tradition of wartime romances, The Aftermath tries for a slight twist on the formula, resulting in a gorgeous if shallow evening's viewing.

In the bitter winter of 1946, Rachael Morgan arrives in the ruins of Germany. She has come to reside, for a time, with her husband, a British colonel tasked with helping to rebuild and reorder the enemy country. His thankless job is based in Hamburg, which was razed during the war by bombs: more bombs, he notes, were dropped on Hamburg in one weekend than on London during the whole war. Waif-like children scamper through wreckage looking for clean water while furtive Germans peer out from dilapidated stone walls. Everywhere the threat of insurgents -- the chillingly named Werwolves -- seeking to sow chaos in the wake of Nazi defeat hampers the building of infrastructure and trust.

Rachael is uniquely out of place in Hamburg. Her prejudice against the Germans runs deep, we quickly learn, as a result of her son being killed during the Blitz. She and her husband are set up by the British in a mansion already inhabited by a German architect and his daughter, who are forced to relocate. The British colonel, kind if tired, invites them to stay in the house but in their own "zone", namely the attic. The arrangement seems to work for everyone, but it's strikingly ironic to see the reversal of fortune; in WWII films, we're so used to seeing Anne Frank's ilk in attics, not strapping Aryan folk like Alexander Skarsgard.

Of course, with such an attractive dramatic cast that includes Keira Knightley, the film's romance soon takes over its political intrigues. There's the shyest hint that Skarsgard's character is secretly a insurgent, but it turns out false. Rather, the love triangle features the unusual dynamic of three people who really don't much like each other; resentment, fear, and pure lust motivate them, with the thin veil of mutual suffering cast over the proceedings. Love built on pain, the film suggests, can feel damn good, but only if you look like a supermodel or aren't in it for the longhaul.

The Aftermath is a sensual delight for fans of period costume dramas and wartime romances. It's also annoyingly thin on plot and thematic depth. But, really, were we here for that in the first place? For a movie featuring desperate characters looking for warmth in a cold and wicked world, this one boasts uncommon style. And, as a final note, nobody should look good in that shade of yellow, but Knightley slays the whole damn time.

All is True (2019)

Score: 4 / 5

For all Kenneth Branagh's cinematic achievements -- feel as we may about them -- All is True is far and wide the most impressive to me. As director, here he exhibits the closest he has come to an arthouse film, and its understated but passionate sincerity is the most controlled and restrained he has ever been. I admire him for that, and of course for bringing Judi Dench and Ian McKellan along for the ride.

After the Globe burns to the ground, William Shakespeare (Branagh) leaves the London theatrical scene and returns to his home in Stratford-upon-Avon. Memories of his career haunt him as he attempts to reconnect with his family, his wife Anne Hathaway (Judi Dench) and daughter he had all but estranged years prior. He actively mourns the death of his son Hamnet some twenty years previously, a death his family has processed and moved on from. Though he may claim to desire uniting his family, his obsession with death and his depression over arrogance and genius wasted serve more to tear what filial connections he has asunder.

True or not is the sort of winking charm of this film. The oft-repeated titular phrase seems to genuinely want the plot here to ring true, though almost nothing is known or even suspected of the Bard's retirement. Rather the film strings together what amounts to fanfiction of the highest order,  combining melodrama and costume drama and some nice meditations on Shakespeare's work. Case in point: an unbelievably delicious scene in which the aging Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton (Ian McKellan), pays his friend and idol a visit, and the two sit before a fire musing on the value of the latter's sonnets, which they make clear were written about Wriothesley. While they do not speak of that love that dare not speak its name, the subtext is only too clear and heartbreaking.

It's all great fun for any Shakespeare fan or English major, but I can't imagine it's terribly accessible (much less entertaining) for anyone else. There are lots of tidbits of interest, especially for those of us highly suspect of the popular conception of Shakespeare's supposed life, but the film is generally a sweet and melancholy view of the artist as an old man piecing together the ruins of his life. The breakout performance belongs not to Branagh, though, fascinating as he may look under the heavy makeup, but rather to the actor playing his daughter, Kathryn Wilder. Ultimately, even with her powerhouse performance under the titans sharing her screen time, the film is the kind of thing I would pair with Roland Emmerich's magnificent Anonymous in class I'd teach on Shakespeare. A lot of fun, terribly interesting, gorgeous to behold, and fabulously conspiratorial.

Dark Phoenix (2019)

Score: 4 / 5

I can't believe it's all over.

The final installment in my favorite superhero franchise is here and mostly indicates a bittersweet revelation for me that an era of filmmaking is ended: one that allowed for cinematic universes before it was popular, one that bent comic book style to suit its own needs, one that allowed each installment freedom to create unique aesthetics and plots while still remaining thematically true to source material. And while the Dark Phoenix saga has been done before in this franchise, it's nice to see another attempt at what is arguably the most famous (and insanely difficult to adapt) comic series under the X-Men title.

Dark Phoenix is a deceptively simple film, one that boils the bizarre elements of its source material down to a few core moments, mostly associated with character. Not development, exactly, but more of a snapshot of really interesting character circumstances, if that is even a thing. On a space mission, Jean Grey gets stuck saving her teammates and is caught in a radioactive storm. She appears to absorb the energy which, after they return home, has unlocked the potential of her psychic powers. Unfortunately, she also becomes increasingly unstable emotionally as she learns the truth of her condition and her past. The X-Men try to help her, but the team fractures as they learn the telepathic control Professor Xavier had been exerting over her development.

Meanwhile, an alien race known as the D'Bari hunt the Phoenix Force, the apparently semi-sentient cosmic energy Jean has absorbed, which had previously destroyed their planet. Of course, in the comics, it is Jean herself who inadvertently done the deed, but this movie tries hard to make sure we sympathize with Jean. Sophie Turner's teary eyes -- so often in closeup here -- do more than enough to endear us as she battles her inner turmoil. It would seem writer/director Simon Kinberg might have thought the popular failure of The Last Stand was a result of Famke Janssen's Jean Grey being more ambiguous, even demonic. That is only my suspicion, of course, but it would explain the drastically different tone in this film.

Indeed, it is Professor Xavier here who is almost villainous, and I found it a little surprising that he wasn't put on the chopping block in this movie, compared to Patrick Stewart's untimely disintegration previously. James McAvoy allows the character to go through some unexpected ups and downs that we've never really seen from Xavier before in film. Then again, he is forced to confront true horror when, at a moment of intense personal failing, he witnesses Jean murder Mystique. And his ending here is probably more touching, as he abdicates his rule over the school, allowing Hank McCoy (Nicholas Hoult) to preside over the renamed Jean Grey School for Gifted Youngsters.

The film suffers, it's true, from a straightforward script, simplified themes, and general disregard for most of the characters. This one really only cares about Xavier and Jean, and in that sense it is pretty magnificent. But the rest of the film relies on the vaguest shorthand regarding all other characters, assuming that the previous installments had created enough drama for audiences to fully appreciate everything going on. But now that we're used to more than twenty films in a shared universe with the MCU, Kinberg just doesn't have enough treasure in this safe to make anyone rich by proxy.

And while I perfectly enjoyed this film (and all X-Men films, including the much-hated Last Stand), perhaps we can hope that if/when the X-Men characters start popping up in MCU movies, we can get some more mileage out of this particular storyline. Perhaps the producers will allow for a more full exploration of the Dark Phoenix saga, complete with the Hellfire Club and Mastermind and the Shi'ar. Perhaps we'll also finally get Mister Sinister and Galactus. Perhaps we'll finally get to see Savage Land!

Okay, maybe I'm getting carried away. But I'll keep hoping! Kind of like how I've been hoping for The New Mutants for years now.

Climax (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

A distinctly "less than" answer to last year's Suspiria, this new vision is nevertheless an intoxicating descent into artistic hell. It's also really hard to talk about, because so much of the film is experimental and experiential. It doesn't make much sense when you attempt to describe it. We will try.

We begin with a stark overhead image of a lone character crawling through snow, leaving bloodstains in his wake. Then the end credits roll across the screen. If you're confused yet, you're exactly right. We jump suddenly and without warning to a television screen, on which plays a series of audition tapes in which interviewees are asked questions about their artistry and careers. The questions become more personal -- about their fears, sexuality, and drug use -- and the film cuts between sections of each video, not really caring that we might have trouble remembering the names of all characters. What remains clear, however, are the VHS tapes and books surrounding the screen, which include such titles as Suspiria (the Dario Argento original) and Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salo, or 120 Days of Sodom and even Zombie, the French title for George Romero's Dawn of the Dead. If these don't give you chills, you might already be dead.

The assembled dance troupe -- for indeed, they are all dancers -- rehearse their choreography in what appears to be an abandoned school building. Immediately afterward, with no interlude, they break into a sort of cast party, complete with house-made sangria. As if they, like sharks, have to move their bodies to survive, they continue to dance with increasing skill, style, and recklessness. Though they are clearly diverse -- brief interspersed scenes depict private conversations between various pairs, often gossiping about the other dancers -- the dance seems to unify them, as they support each other's unique steps and flair in raucous and lengthy dance sequences.

The dance, alcohol, and gossip soon gives way to suspicion and paranoia as the dancers express feeling unusual sensations and dance more and more aggressively. Once someone suggests the sangria was spiked with LSD, the dancers get agitated and violent, accusing and attacking suspects with deadly results. Though the music continues and some players keep dancing, their bodies and minds betray them to baser instincts: peeing, screaming, fighting, fucking, killing, and generally losing touch with whatever makes them human.

It's a dazzling display of artistic power from writer and director Gaspar Noe, who seems intent on ripping apart the critical intersection of human bodies and art. He cares less about characters and more about form, less about story and more about style. The kinetic dance and the frenetic violence that comes after mirror the spectacle of each other, and the camera views it all with fluid grace, plunging headlong into the action. It also seems to reference Dante's Inferno at times, especially when the overhead camera looks down at sordid affairs, or when its long takes wind through darkened hallways in which demonic forms lash arms and legs out from blackened corridors.

The parallels between halves of the film -- divided as they are by the main credits and title text -- continue to mount. The first half is a sort of paradise, a pop-y and popping joy ride of sensual pleasure that makes you want to drink and dance and have sex; the second half is a steady descent into hell in which people are tortured in various ways (bodily, mentally, emotionally) and the act of watching is even torturous for us, the viewers. At one point, a mom locks her son into an electrical closet and his screams are the only musical score for an entire scene before he, offscreen, gets into the wiring, electrocutes himself, and blows the breaker. These people are so messed up, by the end, that they can't deliver on the promises of sex they had made earlier.

A climax with no climax, a school without lessons, dance and violence, art and evil, this movie deserves to be watched on a huge screen with some sick surround sound. Watch it, but don't drink too much. You may not be able to stomach it.

Ma (2019)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I guess we can't criticize Tate Taylor for trying something new, but there's nothing new about Ma for audiences.

A small group of high schoolers bond over their desire to illegally drink, and wait outside the liquor store asking passerby to purchase the goods for them. One finally does, one Sue Ann Ellington, a veterinary technician, and she seems to recognize a connection with one of the kids. After she anonymously reports them, the kids are let free because of an officer's friendship with one of their fathers (played by Luke Evans). Not long after, Sue Ann again buys their alcohol and offers her basement as a safe place for them to party. Her generosity makes her very popular with the high schoolers, who invite all their friends and begin to call their benefactress "Ma".

The disturbing moments increase in frequency and violence. Ma begins harassing the kids, who suspect she's stealing from them and getting too clingy. Luke Evans knows she's up to no good and confronts Ma about it, and then things go downhill quickly. We learn their history, in which Sue Ann was publicly shamed by Luke Evans -- her high school crush -- and has never forgiven the golden boy and his privileged friends. It would seem her intentions toward his child and his friends are motivated by cold-blooded revenge.

And that's where the movie flounders. We've seen the psycho biddy movies with the vengeful old woman and her supposedly handicapped daughter. We've seen the unhinged outsider plotting for the day when she can make those who wronged her know how it feels to be on the outside looking in, as Ma ominously declares. We've seen the deranged killer torturing kids and killing them (or attempting to), and often in similar ways. This movie never really makes us care for Ma; we know going in she's bonkers, and even in the flashback meant to help us sympathize with her, she comes across as a guillible romantic who maybe didn't deserve her ill treatment but certainly wasn't smart enough to avoid it. The point of the film was marketed to be -- and, arguably, is -- watching Octavia Spencer as the crazy bad guy.

So why didn't they let her go whole hog? Her performance is solid, of course, and all the better because we've never seen her do this before. But the marketing made this movie seem as if we'd be more in her head, getting crazy along with her, losing all our conventions and expectations along the way. We don't. In fact, the rest of the film is almost banal in comparison: endlessly predictable, dripping with sentiment, and barely coherent between shock scenes. And by "shock" I mean chilling, effectively spooky, sometimes squirm-inducing, but nothing we haven't seen before. The filmmakers also (to me, their greatest sin) squander the rest of the cast, which includes Juliette Lewis, Missi Pyle, and Allison Janney.

It's tough to swallow something that promised so much and delivered so little. Then again, I'd happily watch more movies with Octavia Spencer going crazy and with Luke Evans tied to a bed.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The third installment in Legendary's MonsterVerse ushers in a smash-bang summer blockbuster season, and I'm here for it!

Following Godzilla's disappearance after the events of his first outing in 2014, the cryptozoological organization Monarch has redoubled its efforts to identify, locate, and study the race of dormant Titans around the world. One of its scientists, Vera Farmiga (the characters all have names but nobody cares), is present for the hatching of one named Mothra. She has also developed a device called ORCA which uses sound waves to influence or attract the Titans.

As is so often the case, the ORCA device is stolen by eco-terrorists led by Charles Dance, who kidnaps Farmiga and her daughter Millie Bobby Brown. Enter Kyle Chandler, the estranged father, to save the day. Or as much of the day as he can save, considering the massive size of destructive forces he faces. The film has more than a little heart, and at its center is this family drama framed with some surprisingly effective philosophy on the relationship between humans, our world, and the monsters we create vs. the monsters here before us. The story may be basic -- if drawn out effectively -- but its ideas are not, and it strikes a brilliant balance between action and meditation.

Balance is the key word for a film like this, in which so many things are juggled at once. First, there's the sizable cast, not even including the CGI characters. Then there's the monsters themselves, all but two of whom are brand-spanking new to this franchise. We've got the weighty ideas about terrorism and the environment, historical fantasy and geopolitics, dangerous new technology and the responsibilities we have to each other and our world. It's a lot for any movie to handle; the more Avengers movies we see, the easier it is to forget that most films can't perform at the same breadth and scope.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters works well on its own terms, though, and remains fabulously entertaining throughout. Drenched in a wet, gritty imagery and suffused with thick lighting, the film veers away from the realism of its predecessor -- and avoids they hyper-stylizations of Kong: Skull Island -- to craft its own brooding atmosphere. In fact, it seems that director Michael Dougherty is more in awe of these creatures than other filmmakers in this series; the grandeur inherent in calling them Titans and the dramatic flourish of lighting and effects frame them as almost godlike. Case in point: as the final showdown commences, Ghidorah poses regally atop a volcano while other Titans bow to him, and silhouetted in the foreground is a giant cross.

Dougherty seems to want us to feel a religious attraction to these creatures, a sort of sublime draw toward that which is great and terrible and utterly unconcerned with us. It's a delicious change in tone from the other films, and one that isn't necessarily more or less effective so much as a showcase for another artist's attitude toward the same subject matter. Gareth Edwards wanted his film shot primarily from the human perspective, and its realism meant there would be less direct access to the monster itself. Jordan Vogt-Roberts layered his film under lurid imagery, psychedelic colors, and period rock music, making it feel like a jungle fever dream. Here, we get a cold, wet vision of a world at war with forces of nature more than monsters running amok.

It's just a lot of fun, which is really all a Godzilla movie should be.

Brightburn (2019)

Score: 2.5 / 5

What would happen if the child sent to save us all decided, instead, to kill us all? That's what Brightburn proposes, presenting us with a balls-out assault on the flood of superhero movies in the last decade. It just doesn't deliver on its promises, which makes it burn out quickly, less bright than slight.

Little more than a demented twist of the Superman origin story, Brightburn begins with Tori and Kyle Breyer working on having a child before a spacecraft carrying one crashes onto their farm. They adopt little Brandon and hide the ship that brought him. He seems a normal child until he approaches puberty, and he exhibits superhuman strength among other unusual behaviors. We're never quite sure if his downward spiral toward violence is innate or learned, if it's a product of his alien genes or the trials of becoming a young man. But we also don't really care.

The film doesn't invite us to care about Brandon much at all. From the ominously glowing red and black spaceship to the way Brandon creepily appears and vanishes, the film drips with tongue-in-cheek dark humor. It's by not meant to be surprising; it's meant to be a pleasantly icky walk down a "what if" scenario for folks getting tired of the superhero shtick. And as a concept, it's brilliant. I especially found its bleak ending enjoyable, along with the mid-credits scene that slyly suggests a minor franchise in the works, turning several other heroes into villains (including, I suspect, Aquaman and Wonder Woman knockoffs).

Alas that what sounds brilliant can so easily fall short of itself in execution. For me, the trouble is that the film often feels more like an Omen re-imagining than a Man of Steel ripoff. Brandon hears alien whispers in his head -- are they controlling him, seducing him, annoying him? Who knows? -- and seems to struggle initially with the revelation of his powers. As he begins to do bad things, he appears conflicted, and severe close-ups on his face indicate mortal internal warfare. But then, almost instantly, he starts to enjoy being wicked. With this comes a flair for the dramatic, most clearly indicated by his grotesque mask and cape, especially when in this regalia he floats outside a window or door waiting to pounce.

The horror is mostly effective and surprisingly gruesome. In fact, other than Elizabeth Banks's performance, it's only worth watching for a couple of the "action" scenes. My favorite (or, I don't know, anti-favorite?) scene takes place in a diner, when Brandon takes revenge on his wannabe girlfriend's mother. Stalking her and terrorizing her, he suddenly causes a light fixture to bust over her head; a shard of glass embeds itself deep into her eyeball. We see it in extreme close-up, and continue to watch as she pulls it out. It's an ungodly moment that had me squirming and sweating, and I still shudder to remember it.

There's not a moment when you don't know Brandon is evil, and though the heart of the film lies in his mother's efforts to change him or love him regardless, his purely devilish characterization turns her not into a saint but a martyr. The climax of the film consists of Brandon killing his family, ending with his mother; in his rage, he flies through the house, shattering it and terrorizing his mother as she attempts to find a way to stop him. It's mostly all shock-value thrills, which is fine until it begins to feel like a postmodern haunted house with a wrecking ball smashing its way through everything (actually, that would be awesome in real life, a sort of meta-attraction in which the haunted house is destroyed around you).

But when a pubescent Superman is your villain, surely jump scares and body horror aren't the only tactics you can use to make your audience scream.

Aladdin (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Shining, shimmering, but not quite as splendid as promised, Aladdin is the latest Disney remake attempting to take us to a whole new world. And it mostly succeeds.

Of course it's hard to deny the power of childhood fantasies brought to vivid, gorgeous live action on the silver screen, and few of the golden-age Disney films are as exotic and evocative as Aladdin. While this adaptation does not attempt to remake the original in the same way Beauty and the Beast did, only adding a couple things and changing almost nothing -- frankly, I wish it had followed suit -- it also doesn't scrap the original in favor of novelty, as Dumbo and Pete's Dragon did (again, much to their credit, as the original of each offered so little).

Aladdin more or less follows a safe middle line down these approaches, crafting a new adventure that keeps a lot of the diamond-in-the-rough, polishing it to an endearing glow. Gorgeous costumes, astounding design detail, and some lovely performances from Mena Massoud and Naomi Scott make this movie one to remember. Even Will Smith delivers one of his better performances here (which isn't really saying much), and his Genie works well on its own terms until he all but vanishes from the final act. And while the CGI effects and awkward action sequences never quite jive with the romance, music, or comedy, at least the film keeps things brisk and energetic until it's all over.

We could go on and on about the differences, but a few I found especially noteworthy, even if I haven't much of an opinion on them. I liked that the animal characters are more or less realistic and less anthropomorphized, though the genius psychosis of Iago is thus sacrificed. The Easter eggs flood this movie, from the Cave of Wonders changing from a cartoon tiger to a CGI lion (reminding us that The Lion King approaches?) to a map of Agrabah including other Disney locations. My favorite element of this remake is the extra music and screen time it affords Jasmine. My least favorite element is the crime of making Jafar into a sort of un-villain; he's hot, he's moody and broody, and the fabulous range of his cartoon character is limited to a specific motivation: he wants the throne. More than once I got the distinct impression the film was turning Jafar into a Trump-like monomaniac and it just takes all the fun out of things.

The problems begin and end, however, with director Guy Ritchie, an odd choice for a musical fantasy as anyone would tell you. And while his talents do help the film feel more detailed, grounded, and, yes, adult than we might have expected -- I'm thinking of the action sequences and that particular little torture scene -- his characteristic isms mostly detract from the magic on screen. His funky little fast-slow-motion bits and swooping CGI landscape shots do little more than to yank you off his magic carpet ride of a movie and slump you squarely in your auditorium seat.

And while its beauty is undeniable, one can't quite help but feel dissatisfied by the end. The only cure: go watch the original.

Rocketman (2019)

Score: 5 / 5

It's everything Bohemian Rhapsody should have been, and then some.

A biography that manages to use its jukebox rock and roll as a vehicle for its story. A fantasy that intimately explores what a life of music, addiction, and stardom does to someone's experience of life. A musical that reworks existing songs into new and exciting forms. And a transformative performance by a leading man who doesn't need the gimmick of exaggerated prosthetics to become his subject and who sounds amazing singing the music with his own voice

The movie frames the life of Elton John within the confines of an alcoholics anonymous meeting, where he enters in full devilish regalia and proceeds to recount the tribulations of his life, including his addictions to booze, drugs, and sex. His memories make up the film, filling it and forming it, as his music is often sung in the moment, adding to the story if not telling it outright, in contexts often offstage or outside the studio. We explore his childhood and family dynamics, his break into show biz, and of course his journeys through love (none more so than fame).

It's the musical event of the year, and it's an amazing achievement. Bask in the glory of the costumes and design, celebrate the stellar performances, and jive along to the music. Summer is here, and I think it's gonna be a long, long time until we have this much fun at the movies again.