The Wonder (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Sebastian Lelio's latest film -- which recently debuted on Netflix exclusively -- demonstrates yet again that he is one of the best directors of leading women. After the brilliant actresses in A Fantastic Woman, Disobedience, and Gloria Bell, now he teams up with the always excellent Florence Pugh to tell a particularly complex and understated story. Perhaps in order to set up the almost Gothic style of this film, Lelio opens it by situating us firmly on the film set. We see what appears to be a warehouse with some lighting and sound equipment and the backside of a set; voiceover from a woman (we don't know who yet, but it's not Pugh) tells us, "We are nothing without stories." The tone is knowingly detached, and the film begins shortly after having asked us to believe in this one, despite knowing about the artificial nature of the medium. Why the unusual approach? Lelio, working with co-writers Alice Birch and the amazing Emma Donoghue, wants us to actively believe what's happening in this film. Because the film is very much about belief and what belief, when taken to extremes, can do to (and for) us all.

An English nurse is summoned to a rural village in Ireland along with a nun. The year is 1862, not long after the Great Famine ravaged the populace, and the women are tasked with observing a young girl exhibiting miraculous fasting ability. Her family claims Anna O'Donnell (Kila Lord Cassidy) has not eaten food in four months. A committee of local leaders -- all men (including Ciaran Hinds and Toby Jones) -- have summoned the women to observe Anna separately, in shifts to cover her 24/7, and report to the committee independently. Anna claims to survive only on prayers and manna from heaven; word has spread, and she's become something of a local miracle charm. Her mother Rosaleen (Elaine Cassidy, the young actress's real-life mother) insists Anna is telling the truth, and it's curious that her voice is instantly recognizable as the introductory narrator.

The nurse, Lib, is repeatedly told that she is only there to watch and observe. The nun won't confer with her, and the family and townsfolk are vaguely hostile. Perhaps it's her Englishness, perhaps it's her professional credentials from the Crimean War, perhaps it's her determination to catch Rosaleen and Anna fabricating the miracle. Not unlike the archetypal skeptic (think Scully in X-Files), Lib critically avoids issues of faith and knows that real fasting like this is impossible. But her antagonistic mindset crumples under her growing concern for Anna's welfare and permanent damage potentially being done to the developing girl's body. She knows she can't remain an inactive observer while a child's life is in danger. Pugh is incredible as Lib, breathing life into every nuanced emotion and conveying it consistently to the camera and audience; she avoids any pitfalls into melodrama, keeping things taut and tense, raw and real.

She's helped, in this, by composer Matthew Herbert and cinematographer Ari Wegner (The Power of the Dog), who craft an atmosphere more akin to a folk horror film than a period drama about faith. It's an unexpected atmosphere, but one that helps make the film feel special in its urgency and gravity. Will Lib resign herself to accepting a miracle? Can she make peace that, in the absence of a miracle, she must bear witness to the willing death of a child? Much as how Lelio starts and ends his film with questions about belief in stories, the entire film feels like a didactic exercise in caring less about identifying truths and lies and more about what those truths and lies do to us and mean for us as a culture. Faith is about much more than facts, and faith is usually what motivates us to do great and terrible things.

Violent Night (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Ho ho ho, and how about that? Kicking off the holiday season always feels good with a new Christmas movie, and it's especially fun to have one that doesn't fit the genre mold. As debates will surely rage on about the canonicity of Die Hard and Gremlins and Iron Man 3 in the Yuletide season -- and others will happily watch fare like Silent Night, Deadly Night and Black Christmas, delighting in the taboo -- Violent Night will likely find a cultural niche somewhere in the middle of it all. It's a crude, violent, sardonic film, all the while delighting in its own festive flair and fun. Much like Krampus, it's got interesting and good things to say amidst the chaos and violence; you might say its heart of gold is aimed at values of family and charity, even while it simultaneously skewers the commercialization of holiday traditions.

The film begins with, as we've seen hints of from Miracle on 34th Street to Mrs. Santa Claus, a dispirited Santa, heavily drinking in a bar on Christmas Eve while delivering gifts. He bemoans the increasing materialism and selfishness of the world, relating it to his own diminishing identity and magic. David Harbour plays the character magnificently, perhaps because of his keen ability to channel world-weariness in a drily humorous manner. One of his house calls finds him at a stately mansion belonging to the obscenely wealthy Lightstone family, presided over by a cold matriarch and occupied by her dysfunctional family and numerous house staff during the Christmas holiday. Surely the film will follow some redemptive journey in which Santa and the elitist family will engage with the true meaning of Christmas and undergo their own Scrooge-like transformations.

The mansion is part of an isolated compound, complete with its own security team and caterers, so it's not exactly a cozy homecoming. The main characters we're meant to follow are Jason (Alex Hassell), son of the matriarch, his estranged wife Linda (Alexis Louder), and their admittedly cute-as-a-button daughter Trudy (Leah Brady). Jason and Linda are trying to work through their differences, perhaps, but being around the Lightstones is deeply triggering, especially for Linda. It doesn't help that Jason's alcoholic, social climber of a sister Alva (Edi Patterson) is there with her conceited, social media influencer son Bertrude (Alexander Elliot) and hot but stupid boyfriend (Cam Gigandet). They seem eager to receive whatever their matriarch is ready to give. But the matriarch, Gertrude (now the grandkids' names make a bit more sense, eh?), played by a delicious Beverly D'Angelo who I haven't seen since probably American History X and the old Vacation films, is late to her own party, and when she arrives, she's about as welcoming as a lioness on the hunt. Jason soon finds an old walkie-talkie to help Trudy entertain herself as the family bickers, telling her it's a direct line to Santa, only to then overhear that Trudy's wish is for her family to heal and come together again. Original? No. Effective? Of course it tugs at your heartstrings. It's just so effing pure.

But this isn't to be a violent night in terms of family relationships alone; the catering staff soon slaughters the household staff and holds the family at gunpoint. Each mercenary is given a delightful festive codename, and soon their leader, "Mr. Scrooge" (John Leguizamo), materializes to fulfill their plan of stealing $300 million. This plays out at the same time Santa lands on the roof to deliver presents. But this isn't The Santa Clause, and it's not for David Harbour to die yet; he fights back even as his reindeer get spooked and fly off into the night. Soon enough he hears Trudy on one of the merc's radios, and they communicate about their plan to rescue the Lightstones. Some expository flashbacks reveal Santa's origins as a Viking warrior, and of course it's ridiculous, but with Harbour in his fabulous red leather suit, we're ready to see him continue kicking ass. Wounded -- and drunk -- as he is for most of the film, he has no trouble with creatively utilizing Christmas decor and winter tools as his weapons of choice, from a snow blower to a star tree-topper. Even Trudy helps with booby traps she learned from Home Alone, including the infamous paint can on a string.

It's all fun and entertaining, and modestly heartfelt, though by the third act I was beginning to feel some battle fatigue. We can watch Santa whooping ass until the snow melts, but more than once you wonder what the film really wanted to be. Sometimes it flirts with home invasion horror/thriller material, but then it leans fully into irreverent satire before flipping into earnest (and gruesome) action. What if it chose one genre and gave itself permission to be really finessed with the action, or more insightful and invective with its comedy? I like the balance here as one of the primary ways this film will be remembered as unique, but the various elements don't always inform or support each other tonally, and that's the tricky thing about genre-benders like this. By the end, we're meant to care emotionally about each of the Lightstones, even though the film only really works that way with Jason, Linda, and Trudy. And Santa, that is, with Harbour admirably committing himself to the role and carrying the movie.

Disenchanted (2022)

Score: 1.5 / 5

The long-awaited and much-anticipated sequel to Disney's 2007 sleeper hit that became a cult classic (if Disney has such things) has finally arrived. Unfortunately, I rather wish it hadn't. Unlike the recent Strange World, which had clear reasons to exist and a vibrant, beating heart to share with audiences, Disenchanted is one of the most vapid and unnecessary viewing experiences I've had all year. The film starts with an annoying recap of Enchanted in cartoon style, narrated by Pip the squirrel, and then launches into an introductory sequence that sees Giselle (Amy Adams) and Robert (Patrick Dempsey) fleeing their apartment in NYC to live in the suburbs.

The first film worked best as a riff on NYC as a place "where there are no happy endings." This film tries to take that a step further with suburbia, but its commentary begins and ends in a single song about the move. Then when the real plot starts, they're basically already there, without any adventuring or navigating that transition. Robert's daughter Morgan (now played by a different actress, Gabriella Baldacchino) is a clichéd grumpy teenager, and the new baby Robert and Giselle have is barely seen and only really exists in order to move them from the city to Monroeville. Their "fixer upper" is actually quite lovely, but Monroeville isn't quite happy ever after territory either. Morgan and Giselle bicker constantly, and the busybody PTA leader Malvina (Maya Rudolph) isn't very hospitable.

Everything is a wreck in this movie, beginning with the screenplay, which simply cannot decide who should be the focus or why. Giselle decides to wish her new home could be more fairytale-esque, and so the next day they wake up in a magical, musical version of life. Malvina and her two henchwomen, meant to be the villains, are woefully flat and their attempts to be funny or menacing are mostly annoying. The King and Queen of Andalasia (James Marsden and Idina Menzel) arrive to see Giselle's new digs, and while it's nice to actually have Menzel sing in this film, the writers overcompensate by giving her multiple songs when she has almost nothing to do with the plot. Giselle's curse backfires a bit by slowly turning herself into a wicked stepmother, and really that's the only interesting part of this movie.

Amy Adams brings her considerable, venerable talents to this material and lifts it enough to make things watchable. And, truly, she's still very good. But she's bogged down at every single turn by weird casting choices around her, a uniquely uninspired screenplay, direction more excited by action and effects than any attention to story or character, and unbearably terrible songs. This last will probably earn me some flak, but Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz phoned in every single song in this film. None are catchy or memorable, and none are usable outside the film because every song makes constant references to characters and setting that are specific to this film alone. Maybe the only repeatable song here is "Love Power," which actually sucks as a standalone piece except that Menzel's awesome voice makes it chillingly beautiful.

I think there's something in here about the danger of making wishes, about the power of memory, about choosing your family and your path in life. But no thematic ideas are carried through to any kind of meaningful conclusion. It's just a mess of nice dancing, pretty singing, cool costumes, and relentless cheap effects. "Happily never after," indeed. If I could get my hands on Giselle's wishing wand, I'd wish this movie had never been made.

Strange World (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Right when I expect to hit the snooze button on Disney, they do this. Easily my favorite animated feature film since Raya and the Last Dragon, Strange World continues Disney's trend of repopularizing old tropes with metafictional awareness and vibrant fun. Not unlike Onward, this one primarily centers on male family relationships, though this time it's all about multigenerational men. It also models itself on classic science fiction adventure tropes, namely those pioneered by the likes of Jules Verne and Arthur Conan Doyle. Complex and thoughtful, the film works best -- as the best of Disney does -- as a straightforward adventure for kids and as a heavily thematic nostalgia trip for adults. It's also arguably the most progressive Disney movie yet, which came as a joyous shock in our recent trip to the cinema.

If Avatar, Osmosis Jones, and Journey to the Center of the Earth had a brainchild, Strange World would be it. It begins with a very retro prologue, in which an adventurous and stubborn explorer Jaeger Clade (Dennis Quaid) and his insecure and prudent son Searcher (Jake Gyllenhaal) attempt to traverse the impassible surrounding mountains that isolate their homeland Avalonia. Along the dangerous journey, they discover a new green plant that generates energy, which leads them to a parting of the ways: Searcher wants to take the plant, which he calls "Pando," back home to help the people of Avalonia, but Jaeger dismisses him and leaves alone into the wild. The film launches forward twenty-five years, where we see Searcher is enshrined as a hero for saving Avalonia with the (literally) green renewable energy of Pando.

Searcher has become a Pando farmer along with his aviator wife Meridian (Gabrielle Union) and their teenage son Ethan (Jaboukie Young-White). In this entrancing introductory sequence, we see Disney's fabulous inclusivity on full display: an interracial marriage, a mixed-race son, a critical emphasis on renewable energy, a dog with only three legs, and Ethan's burgeoning queerness as he flirts with his crush, Diazo. It seems like Disney took to heart all the calls for queer representation from Frozen and Luca and finally did something about it! You could feel the audience's joy in the auditorium when Ethan and Diazo get caught up in a meet-cute in front of the Clade farm, and then when Searcher jumps in to lovingly and supportively embarrass his son.

But Avalonia is a land on the brink of ecological crisis, and Pando is dying from mysterious causes. One of Jaeger's old fellow explorers Callisto (Lucy Liu) enlists the Clades to help solve the case, and they embark on an adventure deep under Avalonia, where they've learned all Pando comes from the same source. So as they follow the pulsating green tendrils, they discover an entire underground ecosystem vibrant with life. It's like Pandora or Fern Gully or Atlantis or the Hollow Earth, a place of trippy colors and otherworldly wildlife and sentient plants. It doesn't take long for them to find curious amoeba-like critters, large tentacled balls that destroy everything in their path, aerial highways of birdlike blobs, rivers of neon acid, and ultimately Jaeger himself, who has spent the last two and a half decades living in this indeed strange world.

The reappearance of Jaeger sparks the crux of drama in this film, and the three generations of Clade men are forced to confront their own insecurities. Brilliantly, the writers and directors avoid clichéd conflicts for the most part, letting Ethan's voice be just as strong as Searcher's when they argue about the future of their Pando farm, letting Searcher's accusations of abandonment by Jaeger land rather than be dismissed, and even when Jaeger learns his grandson might be in love with another boy he reacts enthusiastically. These simple sidesteps around familiar potholes are indicative of this film's tone, which actively breathes fresh air into what is otherwise a fairly stale mash-up of genre-typical tropes. And then there's the pure visual invention of the film, which makes it endlessly watchable and delightful. Bravo, Disney!

The Menu (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

It's just delicious. The Menu is a pitch-black horror comedy that arrived in time for Thanksgiving, courtesy of versatile television director Mark Mylod and producers Adam McKay and Will Ferrell. Weird, right? I thought so too, until I was blessed with seeing the final product. McKay has very much refined his directorial brand in the last several years, with The Big Short, Vice, and Don't Look Up, and his flavor is still tasted in this feast for all the senses. The filmmakers here are satirizing the snobbish and elite, to be sure, but they're also raising pretty serious questions about the nature of art and the integrity of major artists. There's a lot to unpack, so let's tuck in.

A dozen paying guests are taken by yacht to a private island called Hawthorne, the domain of celebrity chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes). They've each forked out $1250 for the experience, where Julian and his team harvest all resources from the island itself. Upon arrival, they're escorted around the island to learn about the menu from the maitre d', Elsa (Hong Chau), in a highly theatrical fashion. There are certain things they aren't allowed to see, certain places they can't go, and some questions they shouldn't ask. Elsa's professional demeanor cracks occasionally to show a deeply perfectionistic, even militaristic, passion for her craft. Cuisine, after all, is an art form.

And it's too bad everyone's a critic. The guests (who all have names, but they aren't terribly important) include a food critic (Janet McTeer) and her editor, who helped Julian become famous but whose words have closed many restaurants; a wealthy couple (Reed Birney and Judith Light) who frequent Julian's restaurant as a matter of pride despite not recalling previous meals; an arrogant actor and his assistant/girlfriend (John Leguizamo and Aimee Carrero) who is long past his prime; and a trio of frat boy-type yuppie businessmen. Oh, and of course our main characters: a young snob and foodie fan of Julian's named Tyler (Nicholas Hoult) and his hired escort for the night, Erin (Anya Taylor-Joy). With the singular exception of Erin, everyone else is wealthy and rude, convinced they are just as artful and artistic as the chef himself. Everyone's a critic, right?

Erin is a cynic. She wants to be paid so she can get by, and this excursion is a bit more than she had in mind. It doesn't help that Tyler, her high-strung and demanding "date" treats her like she's a girlfriend to be taught and controlled rather than wined and dined. He sees himself a connoisseur, and the way he discusses food is enough to turn your stomach. Most of the dialogue seems meant to have a similar effect, but in the mouths of such venerable actors, things get really thick really fast. I found myself wishing, by film's end, for a bit more for each character to do. Taylor-Joy, Hoult, and Fiennes take the cake, so to speak, of the film, and they are wonderful. But the likes of McTeer and Light deserved a bit more to chew on.

Similarly, the first half of the film exquisitely sets up parallel tensions that never quite coalesce into a fully satisfying concept. Something is wrong at Hawthorne. The staff are a little too militaristic and sinister. Their bleak, stoic faces occasionally shiver with -- is it fear? Sorrow? We never really know, because they simply follow the orders of their chef. Julian himself eventually graces the dining room with an unnerving energy we've never really seen from Fiennes before. He exhibits an almost Zen-like tranquility while clearly obsessing and fretting over the flow of the evening; it's disarming when he suddenly claps to present each new course. The sound designers bump up the volume on those, making everyone in our auditorium jump each time. Even the film follows his vision for the dinner, adding onscreen text to describe each course, though often in darkly humorous ways.

And yet, despite the tasty buildup and climax -- in which Hawthorne is indeed revealed to have ulterior motives for this particular evening -- the final act leans a bit too far into satire for my personal taste. There comes a point when the film evolves into something not unlike Karyn Kusama's The Invitation or The Most Dangerous Game, but instead of becoming a full-out horror film between gourmet artists and bourgeois guests, they all become curiously resigned to their fates. I won't tell you what their fates actually are, because the dialogue explains everything much better than I could. But it's a little annoying that they all seem to know they deserve what's coming, and while it fits with the satirical purpose of the film, it wasn't quite satisfying dramatically.

Then again, its tone isn't meant to be taken at face value for drama. And so there's much more joy to be had in the ways each dish is served -- increasingly sinister and violent -- and especially the ways Erin fights back against what's happening around her. She's the first to notice that this place isn't welcoming or accessible. She's the first to doubt what she's eating and complain. She decides early on not to take Tyler's shit, and she quickly expands her boundary to include every single person around her. I only wish that, for an ensemble picture, the ensemble had a bit more dynamism beyond its exquisite characterizations. It helps that the whole thing is filmed beautifully by Peter Deming and designed visually within an inch of its life. All in all, it's a menu I'd happily choose to experience again, once my palate is ready.

Bones and All (2022)

Score: 2 / 5

It begins with a typical coming-of-age scenario: '80s teenager Maren sneaks out of her Virginia home to a sleepover with friends. Well, "friends," as we're not entirely sure she's got close friends. This might be more of a charity case, as the other girls seem a bit more popular and of a higher economic class. While there, Maren and one of the nicer girls chat intimately under a coffee table until Maren erotically bites the girl's finger. Erotically, that is, until it isn't: blood pours out and the girl starts screaming. Maren flees into the night back to her single father's house, where he immediately begins packing and tells her they are relocating. He's done this before.

Bones and All is a curious film, something akin to a road movie (think Bonnie and Clyde or Thelma & Louise, or the recent Queen & Slim) with a fascination of impoverished rural America. After her eighteenth birthday, Maren's father abandons her, leaving only some money, her birth certificate, and a taped recording of his voice recounting the ways he can't be her father. Essentially, she's a cannibal -- apparently by natural instinct -- and she's eaten several people. Her mother had abandoned her as an infant, but Maren decides to try and find her for some answers and possibly some love. Taylor Russell plays Maren with no small amount of grit and determination, though her angst and general downcast demeanor leaves some nuance and depth to be desired.

On her own, she soon meets Sully (a typically magnificent Mark Rylance), from whom she learns much more about her condition. They call themselves "eaters," these cannibals, whose hunger is an innate imperative. They can identify each other through scent, apparently, and have established some general guidelines for behavior, like keeping their crimes secret of course and not eating certain kinds of people (namely, other eaters). Sully is an eccentric drifter, but he seems lonely and a little too clingy on this naive young girl he's discovered. Shortly after they feast on an elderly woman together, Maren flees him. He's not happy about it.

As with road movies -- or odysseys, as some might call them, though most don't lead the protagonists back home -- this one divides itself neatly by location, usually introducing episodes with onscreen state abbreviations. Soon after fleeing Sully, she meets Lee, a young male eater whose dispassionate killing is a bit hard to stomach for Maren. He's meant to be a heartthrob for her (and us), but as played by an equally dispassionate Timothée Chalamet, he's surly and lanky and dull. He puts forth minimal effort in being a vaguely tortured young man finding his own way and failing, and the character never leaves the realm of cheap young adult dark fantasy. It's almost embarrassing to watch him perform in this; then again, the character isn't particularly interesting either, so perhaps there's blame to share.

They meet up with his sister briefly in Kentucky, who doesn't know about his condition or lifestyle and berates him. They intersect with two traveling eaters (played by Michael Stuhlbarg and David Gordon Green), whose seemingly amorous and amoral characters are utterly chilling. They even discover the whereabouts of Maren's mother from her grandmother and Maren meets her, though the mother (Chloe Sevigny in a delicious little cameo) is utterly mad and incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital. She's also a cannibal -- indeed, cannibalized her own hands -- and her only meaningful interaction with her daughter is to attack her, convinced as she is that it's better to be dead than live like this.

Luca Guadagnino directs this adaptation by David Kajganich (The Invasion, Blood Creek, AMC's The Terror), with whom he collaborated on A Bigger Splash and Suspiria. They work hard to make real art out of the source material which, admittedly, I haven't read, but just can't be worthwhile if this is the result from such talented filmmakers. It seems they took what must be a young adult dark romance and tried to make it an arthouse exploration of young desire. Or something. Even apart from its embrace of the overpopulated and tired genre of road movies, Bones and All tries to visually mimic the works of Terrence Malick (Badlands, Days of Heaven) and David Lowery (Ain't Them Bodies Saints, The Old Man and the Gun). Gorgeous rural landscapes and pastoral atmosphere makes for an earthy, transcendent love story, right?

Guadagnino pulls a lot of attention to Maren's father's voice recording (played by Andre Holland) as well as to photographs, suggesting perhaps humanity's fleeting existence, or the importance (and danger) of capturing images and moments in time, or even perhaps the intimacy implied by engaging with someone's likeness when they are not present. It's intriguing, but never really explored beyond casual interest. By the final act, the movie relies so heavily on flashbacks that I didn't much care what was really happening. There's a great final confrontation with Sully, easily the most interesting and scary scene of the film, but then the film concludes with a sickly sweet denouement that is over-explained by dialogue and neatly tied up by the wrong thematic conceit: love. In a movie that could have gone so many ways, the message is that there is always someone who has experienced your struggle and can help or hurt you. Who cares? Maybe that's a fault of the source material more than the film, but the filmmakers could have made it more interesting by far.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

This is the kind of film I sort of expected to see more often while Downton Abbey was running strong. A period romance, taking place around the same time, whose primary concern is the way real people navigate the strictures of high society in Britain, specifically as the Edwardian era ended. The rise of technology, the speed of mobility, and the collapse of British imperialism meant major changes to the fabric of society, not the least of which included a sexual revolution of sorts. But D.H. Lawrence's infamous book -- banned for obscenities in many countries over many decades after its initial publication in the Roaring Twenties -- had a lot more on its mind than smut, despite its popular reputation.

And while the story is now fairly well-known, or at least its infamy is, this recent British adaptation (released on Netflix last week) manages to nail the tone and style in ways I haven't seen before. In case you don't know, the plot is essentially this: A wealthy woman, married to a disabled war veteran, starts an affair with her handsome gardener in order to conceive a child; they end up falling in love. That's it. It's not particularly original, but the manner of its dramatization is what makes it fascinating. It was one of the first popular novels at the time to describe in salacious detail sexual activity, making it rather pornographic, and its literarily groundbreaking use of "fuck" as a verb. But adaptations that focus on the sex -- as media and popular opinion has for almost a century now -- miss Lawrence's concerns over war and its fallout, industrialization and its detrimental effect on individuals seeking a meaningful life, and the disconnect between one's mind and body.

This last was arguably Lawrence's impetus for writing the story. Constance Reid becomes a sympathetic character early on, even in this film, as an intelligent and modestly bohemian woman suddenly married to a stuffy, old-money Baronet named Clifford Chatterley. The film's use of handheld cameras keeps us firmly locked on her perspective -- brought to vivid life by an excellent Emma Corrin -- as she fractures under the pressures of high society expectations. Connie's not as straight-laced as Clifford and has more trouble disguising her emotions, especially when her husband returns from war paralyzed from the waist down. She becomes his caretaker and wife, though her satisfaction with the latter wanes quickly when she can't explore her sexuality; they were apparently able to consummate exactly once after their wedding before he returned to the front.

Director Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre and her cinematographer Benoit Delhomme approach the project like it's an indie drama, heavily using natural light and dynamic shots with shifting focus to arrest our attention. The film shimmers slightly, through some trick of the camera, not unlike Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility or Alan Rickman's A Little Chaos, and it breathes deeply with calm confidence in its storytelling acumen. Connie's need to be touched reaches a climax (ha ha) when her husband exhibits no interest in getting creative for pleasure and they discuss the need for an heir. After catching a glimpse of the gamekeeper Oliver (Jack O'Connell) and sharing a few brief interactions, she initiates the affair. He is obsessively class-conscious and only calls her "m'lady," in a way that someone of inferior rank has been trained from birth to refer to members of higher socioeconomic class.

Writer David Magee (Finding Neverland, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Life of Pi, Mary Poppins Returns) masterfully adapts the material to engage just as much with the intellectual and emotional connection between Connie and Oliver as with the sex. It's like a coming-of-age story in that Connie opens her eyes to a life she clearly wanted and was unexpectedly and untimely denied. All the performers are good, but Corrin and O'Connell are exquisite in their bare simplicity and vulnerability; we believe every beat of their interactions, and the film itself feels a bit like it's all happening in real time, so we're very much taking the journey of discovery with them. Even the sex is really astonishing to behold in this film because, in the director's sensitive and capable hands, it's wildly erotic because it feels authentic. It's not performative or exhibitionistic; like most real sex, it's unique and authentic to the people engaging in it. It doesn't advance the plot, per se, it is just raw connection between mutually desirous lovers. You don't see that often in films or television, and that makes this a magnificent breath of fresh air.

The main theme, arguably, of the story is the importance of marrying one's mind and body in order to live authentically and satisfyingly. Lawrence was highly concerned that the British were too heady, too strict and mindful, and had lost touch with bodies and flesh and physical work. It's telling that Clifford spends a lot of time talking to business associates about nearby mining protests. One wonders if Lawrence saw Connie's journey of self-actualization as a means of inspiring or healing people after the war, or at least of embracing a certain simplicity and individuality after such big international horrors. Regardless, this film establishes itself as perhaps the most interesting and faithful adaptation I've yet seen of the source material and as an exceptional film in its own right. Plus, Joely Richardson pops in a few times as the Chatterley's suspicious maid, and that's just fun!

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Wakanda forever! The much-anticipated and long-awaited sequel to Black Panther is bigger in almost every way, and some may find that a fault. It's long and thoroughly exhausting in its epic scope, expansive narrative, and heavy themes. The film opens with the death of King T'Challa (the late Chadwick Boseman, who is seen often in still images but thankfully not recreated digitally), who had an illness his sister Shuri (Letitia Wright) believed could have been cured by a special herb previously burned by Erik Killmonger. It's perhaps the best way to honor both Boseman and the characters (including Killmonger) given what was surely an extensive rewriting process after Boseman's untimely and unexpected death. The funeral sequence features perhaps the best display of costuming and editing yet in the franchise, as Shuri and Queen Ramonda (Angela Bassett), dressed in stark white, follow the coffin as Wakandan dancers and singers mourn and celebrate in slow-motion. My eyes were leaking so much at this point it was difficult to accept that, after the MCU logo appeared, we skipped ahead a full year.

Wakanda has had to become a defender of its valuable resource of vibranium from other world powers, to the point of almost closing itself off from the outside world again. When the US develops a vibranium-detecting machine and searches the oceans with it, the expedition is attacked and killed while suspicion immediately falling on the Wakandans. But this film doesn't really show too much of the geopolitics going on (because, you know, superhero movies generally don't go there), adding instead a new villain to the mix. Enter Namor (a hunky Tenoch Huerta Mejia), who rises from the waters of Wakanda to confront Queen Ramonda and Shuri in a private meeting. He has bypassed the extensive security of the kingdom, apparently breathes underwater, and sports wings on his ankles. Whereas comics originally featured the character as an Atlantean prince, here he is K'uk'ulkan, king of Talokan, an underwater realm of what used to be Mayans.

Clearly there are a lot of ideas in this film, very few of which would seem (at face value) to hearken back to the first magnificent Black Panther. A new secret kingdom? More extraordinary warriors and tech? Brown people fighting Black people over material resources hunted by white Westerners? But in the eminently capable and sensitive hands of Ryan Coogler and co-writer Joe Robert Cole (American Crime Story: The People v. OJ Simpson), these new and potentially disparate elements coalesce into a complex and fascinating knot of plot points. I mean that in the best way, because they also carry us through some of the most dynamic character development in any MCU theatrical releases to date. Shuri is taken to Talokan to learn from Namor the reality of that kingdom's existence and the crucial matter of its secret vibranium cache. He wants to forge an alliance with Wakanda to protect the resource and their kingdoms from the rest of the world, but he threatens to destroy Wakanda if they do not agree.

White colonists are definitely the cause for conflict in this film, but they aren't the villains. Namor, as the antagonist, comes close to being villainous, but much like with Killmonger, it doesn't feel right to call him that, even when he kills a certain someone (and I'll never forgive him for it). Similarly, while the Talokan warriors are pretty unnerving to behold with their blue skin, they aren't cruel or malicious either. If anything, it's the demand for such a precious resource that is the real villain of the film. It makes everyone do crazy things, even if they seem rational in the moment. Coogler is exceptionally good at making each character's motivations clear and reasonable, and he empowers his actors to give the best of themselves in every frame.

That's not to say the movie isn't a little over-stuffed, much like many complained about Wonder Woman 1984 or some of the Avengers and Spider-Man movies. It's got a huge cast of characters, including a hilarious and eye-opening subplot with Martin Freeman's CIA agent Everett Ross and Julia Louis-Dreyfus's new CIA boss and woman of mystery Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, who are revealed to be ex-spouses. It sets up Dominique Thorne as Riri Williams, an MIT student who invented the vibranium detector, who has built herself a unique Iron Man-type suit; we know she will be starring in the upcoming series Ironheart. It locates a new Black Panther, and without spoiling too much, Shuri is a pretty excellent choice. Do I wish Ramonda had taken up the mantle? Sure, who doesn't, but Shuri's journey -- especially by the climax when she revives a heart-shaped herb and travels to the ancestral astral plane to meet with a certain ancestor who made me jump with excitement -- is more than well-earned. But the numerous plots and characters is certainly daunting, even for tried-and-true fans.

Thankfully, Coogler is up to more than just franchise fan service. Apart from tying strands of this story to the MCU generally, he establishes (like Taika Waititi has done in this series) a unique tone to Wakanda Forever, setting it apart as one of the few movies period to embrace the theme of righteous anger and outrage, specifically for people of color. Bassett, in one of her first scenes, chastises the UN for their entitled expectations regarding her resources, and she's glorious in every breath. Shuri, Ramonda, and Namor each try to navigate stages of grief, and in that way the film also embraces their sorrows. It's really tricky to pull off such emotionally wrought characters in any film, but to do it with so many in a franchise film is astonishing. I wish there weren't quite so much happening so the film could breathe a bit more and let us sit with the weighty themes. Then again, taking anything out of this film would do it a cruel disservice. Plus, it gave us Lupita Nyong'o again and Danai Gurira in all their respective glory, and I will never be mad about that.

The Stranger (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

An intensive character study, The Stranger is one of those seemingly random Netflix releases that nobody hears about but absolutely should. It's an understated crime drama -- and it's Australian, which for me correlates to a certain excellence in the craft anyway -- of the sort that will almost certainly alienate anyone who loves true crime miniseries or podcasts. Those tend to be fast, wild, and filled with frisson; this one is pensive, patient, and haunting. It doesn't make its story easy to access, and it certainly doesn't feel rewarding or particularly satisfying. In fact, I'd compare its aesthetic more to a Denis Villeneuve film (like Prisoners), as it seems more concerned with atmosphere, character, and form than with plot or entertainment.

Sean Harris plays Henry Teague, who in the first scene meets someone on the bus who offers him a job opportunity. If he was played by Liam Neeson, you'd scoff and say we've already seen this story before; we know it's a true crime story, and we might assume he joins a "one last time" criminal enterprise to get enough money to finally escape. Not that we're given any details like that, but the film knows what we expect. Harris, being Harris, immediately imbues the character with a suspicious energy, facilitated effectively by his gravelly whisper of a voice and vacant, ghostly gaze. There are major wheels spinning behind that façade, but all we get is the impression of horror. That's why he's a different character than what Neeson might bring to the film. Neeson would be a hero. We're not sure about Harris.

Which is good, because (SPOILER ALERT) he's actually the villain. Not the antagonist, mind you, but still the villain. Henry Teague is a fictionalized version of the real-life main suspect of one of the most notorious missing person cases in Australia's history. By the time we find out -- some twenty minutes in -- that the people around him are undercover informants and investigators, we realize they've been hunting this guy for a while. The elaborate sting operation is headed by Mark Frame (Joel Edgerton), who poses as a criminal organizer in order to get Teague a job and then catch him red-handed. They're convinced he murdered a child, but a lack of evidence means they can't just arrest him. So they develop this false criminal underworld in order to lure Teague in, get him comfortable, and hope that he will confess to his crime or enact a new one they can book him for and then continue the investigation. Apparently this methodology is (or was) legal in Australia; I think it would not be in the US, but I haven't taken a civics or criminal justice class in many years!

For a police procedural, this does not fit the bill. It feels more like an arthouse film, one whose deliberate pacing makes it feel more like a waking nightmare than true crime. Occasional sharp edits cut into what amount to dream sequences or montages, and we're never quite sure if it's meant to convey a dissociative streak in Teague's mind or if it's insight into Frame's fracturing mind under the pressure of the investigation and befriending a child killer. Writer and director Thomas M. Wright skillfully tells the story unlike any other police procedural I've seen, and more than once I wanted to pull out a stopwatch just to calculate times of the long takes and sometimes the time between spoken lines. It's a quiet, calculated film meant to destabilize our awareness of genre conventions. And then there's the chilling score that drones on and sinks under your skin, much as it does for both the main characters, who (as you can see in the promotional poster below) are by design frighteningly similar in appearance. After all, your own reflection is your safest confidant, right? One wonders what Freud might make of this movie in terms of the uncanny.

She Said (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

Another year, another Oscar-baiting journalism procedural. I don't say that as a critique, per se, and indeed I do love this sub-subgenre, but it seems that a major one with award-winning casts and writers shows up during awards season quite regularly. And as long as investigative reporters continue to capture our public consciousness with revelations about abuses of power and corruption, we'll have more A-list dramas like She Said. This one, from director Maria Schrader (Unorthodox on Netflix, which I cannot recommend highly enough) and writer Rebecca Lenkiewicz (Disobedience and Colette) tells the recent story of the downfall of Harvey Weinstein and the popularization of the #MeToo movement. More specifically, it's the story of the New York Times reporters who brought the situation to public light.

Carey Mulligan and Zoe Kazan play Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor, respectively, who in 2017 receive a lead that actress Rose McGowan was sexually assaulted by Harvey Weinstein. Other names begin to circulate, including Gwyneth Paltrow and Ashley Judd, the latter of whom makes an appearance in the film playing herself. The reporters need more names and more details, but many of the women are unable to speak due to various NDAs or unwilling to be blacklisted in their careers. Weinstein was very well connected as an Indiewood producer at the top of his decades-long game.

What frustrates me about this particular film is that it isn't ever quite as interesting as I wanted it to be. Of course it's loaded with frustrations as a result of the challenges its characters must overcome to publish their story, and that's fine. But the screenplay isn't particularly keen on fleshing out all the legal intricacies of the investigation, and so several moments left me wishing for just a little more dialogue to understand the realities these reporters faced. I'd contrast this film's approach with that of The Report, which is so haunting to watch it feels like a thriller; I'd compare it, on the other hand, to Spotlight in that it sacrifices some of the pleasures and anxieties of suspense in order to more fully engage with the emotional journeys of the survivors whose stories need to be heard.

This makes for a much more emotional than cerebral film, as it forces us to sit with the characters and experience their testimonies head-on. It's an effective approach, in no small part because the #MeToo movement is so recent and so drastically changing the makeup of film business. It's also timely given the last presidential administration, the executive of which is played in this film by James Austin Johnson (the uncanny political impersonator and comedian from SNL) in a single scene in voiceover. Another movie about institutions enabling powerful and abusive men, victimized women being silenced, and then having it all flipped is just what we need right now. 

I love that the film's characters are almost all women. It's telling that the title embraces the important second half of the "he said/she said" dismissal that often arises in questions of sexual assault or harassment. Not unlike Ridley Scott showed us in The Last Duel, that particular idea of believing what the survivor says is crucial, and often ignored in male-dominated spaces. The two leads here are women dealing with female issues; Twohey struggles with postpartum depression while Kantor has two young children at home, and while they are supported well by their husbands and editors (including Andre Braugher), this case sends them both into a spiral due to its immeasurable implications. But the supporting cast, including Patricia Clarkson as another editor and Jennifer Ehle, Samantha Morton, and Angela Yeoh as survivors is all excellent just like the two leads.

Ultimately, it's inspiring to see, like in The Post, their persistence and integrity win the day in the end. It's annoying to know that there are so many people implicated by the crimes in this film (Weinstein certainly didn't do what he did in a vacuum); who exactly paid off all the hush monies and settlements isn't a matter this screenplay wanted to tackle. But then again, I'm perfectly fine with any movie that lionizes this kind of social justice and the importance of a free press in the real world.

Till (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

Finally, a biopic about the Till family released the same year that the Emmett Till Antilynching Act has been signed by the president. Can you imagine? It's 2022 and lynching is finally a federal hate crime. And it's thanks, in no small part, to the decades of hard work from Mamie Till-Mobley, his bereaved mother, who became an activist after her son's brutal murder. This film is indeed a biopic of her life with particular focus on the period of time immediately following Emmett's death, including the media frenzy, the trial, and her early activism as she navigates the shattering of the boundary between private and public life.

The first act of Till dramatizes the events around the end of Emmett Till's life. Jalyn Hall plays the fourteen-year-old boy, excited to head south to visit with his cousins in Mississippi. It's just a taste of his story, but the screenwriters have to establish some of his identity for us in ways that the media of the time largely ignored; rather than allow us to think of Emmett as a juvenile delinquent or "thug" who might have been asking for trouble, this early introduction humanizes the boy and reminds us that real people are so much more interesting and complex than headlines allow us to remember. It's no less eye-opening to see the ways Emmett, who lives in Chicago with his mother, has trouble changing his interactions with white people when he's suddenly in an environment quite hostile to him. That's not to say Chicago didn't have its racist moments too -- at least one scene in a store depicts this -- but the massive culture shift to rural Mississippi is something that Emmett senses but cannot quite understand. Any slight against a white person is amplified in ways that escape him.

It's all the more heartbreaking to see this disconnect because his mother had given him such stern lessons before his trip. Mamie has clearly had consistent, continuous conversations with her son about the dangers of navigating spaces dominated by white people and how to stay safe and fly under the radar. They've made do for themselves in Chicago, but she knows full well the perils of Southern inhospitality. She knows "rabble rousers" and other Black activists are being targeted and murdered. She reminds Emmett to "be small" and to come back to her safely at any cost. It's heartbreaking to watch in so many ways, not least because Danielle Deadwyler imbues each glance at the boy with masterful control of love and sorrow, fear and hope. She barely moves her face in these early scenes: her absolute control over her own face and voice is both a Deadwyler skill and, I suspect, a character choice. Mamie, as a relatively independent Black woman in Chicago in 1955, has cultivated a voice and demeanor and appearance that lets her fit in well enough with white folks to get by without issue. She keeps every emotion in fierce check, exhibiting a fairly stoic disposition unless she's safe at home with her family.

Then the expected happens. We know that Emmett Till was murdered mere days into his trip. In late August, he has a documented and much-disputed interaction with a young white woman working at a store in Money, Mississippi. The film's dramatization of this surprised me a bit, as many stories over the decades since have offered differing accounts. We may never know what all actually happened between them, but the film seems to pull from multiple stories to flesh out the scenario: Emmett is struck by Carolyn Bryant's (Haley Bennett) beauty and compares her to a movie star, he shows her a stock photo that came with his new wallet without describing it as such, and then he "wolf whistles" at her. It's not as ambiguous as perhaps it should be; other accounts of the real story have indicated that Emmett's whistling was a tool to help with his stutter. Regardless, the film makes choices of what to recreate and how, and I think the writers capably adapt the story for its full effect.

Director Chinonye Chukwu (Clemency) hits another heavy drama out of the park with Till. She smartly moves things along at a deliberate but brisk pace, letting the scene of the crime pass by with less spectacle than most filmmakers would prefer. We get a terrifying scene of the men barging into the house where Emmett was staying and abducting him from his bedroom, but the actual torture and lynching is only alluded to in a single wide shot of a barn lit at night while Emmett screams in the distance. It's a powerful move to not depict the violence, and it's definitely the right move for this film. Chukwu doesn't ignore the pain of the situation though -- far from it -- and from here the movie squarely belongs to Deadwyler as Mamie. Her haunting sorrow will stick with you for a long time after the credits roll, and it helps that Deadwyler is so committed to depicting every possible emotion running through her character's head. And it just keeps going, as her family (and mother, played by Whoopi Goldberg in an underutilized role) gathers around her, as the NAACP reaches out, and ultimately as she travels to Mississippi herself.

Chukwu's control over the film is undeniable, and I hope she makes a lot more movies. Clemency was one of the my favorite movies of 2019, mostly because of her ability to harness, guide, and showcase the talent she puts on screen. One of the moments in Till that most reminded me of Chukwu's unique skills is when Mamie testifies in court: the incredible scene -- and transcendent performance from Deadwyler -- features a long take of Mamie's face as she runs the gamut of emotional responses to delivering her own testimony, from controlled weeping to a near convulsion as her eyes flutter and finally to an icy hot conviction as she declares with no doubt that the body she identified was indeed her son's.

It's an astonishing film. Not least because it doesn't actually depict physical violence on Black bodies even while it honors Till-Mobley's famous decision to let the world see what it had done to her son's body. Its music and cinematography are stunning, but the performances and storytelling make it one of the few truly great films of the year. Its timeliness is hammered home at the end, as onscreen text tells us that the injustice of Emmett's murder only grew with the trial and its fallout, as none of the murderers or Carolyn herself have ever been punished. The Anti-Lynching Act is great, but so is justice. Thank God Mamie knew that and became the activist we should all be.

TÁR (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

Easily claiming a spot in my top 10 favorites of the year, TÁR is the latest masterpiece by Todd Field. Field hasn't made a movie in, as far as I know, 16 years, but you'd never know it. His style, not unlike Tom Ford's (who similarly doesn't make nearly enough movies), is graceful and enigmatic, seductive and vicious. He seeks what amounts to the sublime, and he succeeds yet again in this haunting character-driven chamber piece. It's an arthouse film through and through, but of the Gothic variety that also encompasses films like Black Swan or Steve Jobs, centering on a great artist dealing with the cost of that greatness. There's a madness swirled into the proceedings, and an eroticism, that makes it all fiendishly satisfying.

When we meet Lydia Tár, played by arguably a career-best Cate Blanchett, she's entering an interview with Adam Gopnik from the New Yorker in a concert hall. The audience offers her generous applause; she is a world-renowned composer and conductor (and pianist and Juilliard professor and ethnomusicologist) who specializes in classical music, so her distinction of being an EGOT winner is all the more unique. She's been recording Mahler's symphonies to re-popularize them, and she only has one recording left in the cycle. Her answers to his questions are profound (Field also wrote the breathtakingly brilliant screenplay), not least because she attributes to herself the godly power of controlling time while conducting. Her narcissism notwithstanding, it's also clear in this scene that she is not universally worshipped: some people appear to be either judging or envying her, and we see at least one phone screen with unkind messages being shared.

Lydia isn't a particularly lovable person. Her sensitive hearing, which helps her professionally and artistically, means that she's constantly on edge because of noise. The film's sound mixing and editing is phenomenal in actively moving around the surrounding space; you absolutely have to see this movie in a cinema or with excellent surround sound. The sound design puts us effectively in her headspace, where these almost violent intrusions come as both a shock and an annoyance. Lydia is also a pretty intense type-A person, immediately chastising her wife Sharon (Nina Hoss) at home for leaving too many lights on. Notably, her apartment (this one in Berlin) feels cold and modern, like a bunker, sparsely but impeccably decorated. During this interaction, we're also keyed into the secret that Lydia has been stealing and using Sharon's pills, to whatever end, and the well-known fact that Sharon is in fact Lydia's orchestra's concertmaster. Perhaps Lydia's greatest redeeming character element is her selfless love for her daughter Petra.

But despite their privately troubled marriage, the couple seems to work quite well in tandem. They are helped immensely by Lydia's quiet but efficient assistant Francesca (Noémie Merlant), whom Lydia clearly relies upon but treats coldly. It's a sort of Devil Wears Prada situation, but without the inherent comedy. Oddly enough, to continue that reference, Lydia lunches in one scene with another conductor (Mark Strong) who clearly admires and lusts after her prestige but tries to veil it with flattery and gossip. She can see right through him, but her own hunger for influence allows her to share some insight into her callousness toward people who she deems no longer useful: she plans to "rotate" an elderly player before the upcoming concert and recording, which will rightfully be seen as a betrayal and insult.

By this point in the film, we've seen her callous, borderline cruel, demeanor firsthand already. During a masterclass at Juilliard, Lydia's passionate lecture on Bach becomes an ad hominem assault on identity politics, directed at a student who proclaims (banal and dispossessed, as Gen Z-ers do) that, as a queer person of color, they aren't down to study Bach due to his patriarchal tendencies in life. Personally, I veer closely toward Lydia's ideology in this scene, but seeing it on the warpath like this was enough to really make me anxious. It's a fascinating and surprisingly early scene, one that demonstrates as much about Lydia's character and the tone of the film as it does about Field, whose writing is so meticulously detailed and well-researched that I forgot more than once this is a work of fiction.

I don't really want to spoil the plot, of which there isn't a ton that's concrete. It's primarily a character study, though certain key things do happen to spur new facets of Lydia's personality into the proverbial spotlight. She's hungry for influence and power, but she's also utterly dedicated to her craft and to excellence for herself. She considers an artist's vague intentions to be the greatest affront to artists everywhere, and so she's always ready with reasons and justifications for everything she does, veiling her desires in couched and assured logical explanations. Even Field acts this way as director at times, marrying himself with his character. In the lecture, we see both sides clearly, but as the professor Lydia carries more weight. As she decides how to dismiss her elderly musician, we're only really given her perspective in full. When a former protégé commits suicide, when Lydia hires and flirts with a young cellist, when she presses Francesca to help her cover an affair, she's never really unreasonable. She's just kind of awful, but the film itself shows us how difficult it would be to win against her in any argument. Case in point: the young cellist auditions for us, just as for her, and she's really very talented; it isn't until after that Lydia's suspicions are confirmed that she's also a pretty young thing who is probably queer.

Todd Field's latest is a stunning, revelatory achievement in a year mostly void of this kind of arthouse film. And it crosses genres, which would make it just as accomplished and great in any year. While it fits squarely into the tortured artists subgenre, it also fits into the recently growing subgenre of abusive behavior by supposedly great artists or artistic institutions (think The Wife, A Star is Born, Blonde, and the upcoming She Said, to name just a few). I love that this particular film stands apart due to Field's lack of moralizing; he doesn't depict Lydia as a hero or villain, just as he both lambasts and praises the musical-business culture that created her, houses her, employs her, and kind of resents her. Just as with Little Children, his last feature film, he just wants to ask the questions and take a moment to live in the gray area of their consequences and implications. It's powerful, cerebrally and spiritually, and it helps that it's also one of the most technically accomplished and daring works this year.

The Good Nurse (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

Without having any knowledge of what I was seeing, I clicked on this recent Netflix release purely because of its leads. Jessica Chastain and Eddie Redmayne starring together? Yes please, and I don't much care what happens! But Tobias Lindholm's The Good Nurse is in fact more than the sum of its main characters, and it's got a lot on its mind to boot.

Amy is a nurse in New Jersey, working night shift in the ICU. She's also a single mother without health insurance until she completes four more months working at her job. This is a problem when we're told that she suffers a serious heart condition that forces her to occasionally disappear to a private room to get her bearings and breathing back under control. The condition is life-threatening, and her high-stress job is doing nothing to help; she has to keep it secret, or it could be grounds for her termination from work. It's a pretty awful system if her employer, a hospital, would fire her on medical grounds and additionally wouldn't help her anyway. Chastain, ever the radiant feminist, is quite subdued in this role, presenting a more internalized character than we're used to seeing from her. She carries the film with a sort of soft internal clock, an awareness that if -- when, really -- her job becomes too stressful, she could die quite suddenly. 

The Good Nurse is a curious film in that its director, who is Danish and hasn't directed many films yet, allows it to breathe a lot more than most thrillers. Indeed, this movie is lugubrious and will probably send most casual viewers to sleep. But if you tap into its unusual wavelength, the film slides into a similar groove to a David Fincher film, coldly calculating itself to within an inch of its efficacy, chilling in its cerebral attachment/emotional detachment to the proceedings. How do I make this jump? Easily, once I tell you about the other half of the film.

Charles Cullen is brought in as a new nurse to help in the ICU and quickly bonds with Amy. He joins the night shift and helps with her patients. When he learns her secret, he offers to help, even using a hiccup in a medicine vending machine to get her free pills. When he doesn't work, he even helps watch her daughters, who similarly bond with him. There doesn't appear to be romance between the two, which is interesting; one wonders if Amy considers him romantically or even sexually, but his role is more of a fairy godparent or kindly young uncle. He's too good to be true, at least from our perspective and Amy's.

So when one of Amy's patients suddenly and unexpectedly dies, things get a bit weird. An abnormal amount of insulin is found in her blood, which means she was dosed incorrectly. Amy knows she didn't do it, and continues about her work with a more watchful eye. The hospital's risk manager (a deliciously cold Kim Dickens) has notified the police as a matter of routine. The police begin interviewing staff, much to the hospital's chagrin, and the risk manager demands to be always present to mitigate any blowback or fallout. Dickens's presence injects the film with a nasty shock of realization, in case we didn't already know, that healthcare in America is sorely broken. The film could lean into this a lot more, and it would be awful and wonderful to behold. But that's not the story, and this isn't a manifesto.

It's not really ever a question of whether Charles is offing patients by overdoses, at least not for us. The drama and suspense of this film comes from our wondering when Amy will catch on, and then of course when the authorities will. The police investigators (Noah Emmerich and Nnamdi Asomugha) do an extensive check on Charles, learning about his peripatetic and extensive work history at many other hospitals, none of which give details on his employment but all of which are suspiciously cagey about their relationship with him. Rumors will swirl, of course, and so the investigators approach Amy, Charles's closest thing to a confidant, to ask for her help in stopping him. All while more patients at her hospital die.

Ultimately, the film feels a bit like the documentary Deliver Us From Evil to me (it's my favorite documentary!) in that it lambasts the institutional systems that are so obsessed with protecting themselves that they are willing and even eager to allow predators to continue their crimes by mobilizing them and shuffling them around to other places instead of just stopping them. The only thing that stops this cycle of "business over ethics" is a person with integrity in the right place at the right time. That seems to be the impetus for dramatizing this story for both the screenwriter and the director. It helps to have two world-class A-list actors leading the way with deeply nuanced, introspective and introverted characters we don't usually see from them. And then there's the surreal story of the real-life Cullen, who may have killed hundreds of people during his career, which offers plenty of fodder for nightmares beyond this psychological thriller.

Blonde (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Born in the Roaring Twenties, Norma Jeane Mortenson was the child of an abusive and mentally unstable mother. Blonde attempts to tell the story of what becomes of this poor girl who was sent to live in an orphanage at a young age. I say "attempts" because, as is the problem with most biopics, how do you accurately and honestly reproduce the life of a global superstar in a couple hours? This one, about one Marilyn Monroe -- other than the first scene, mostly about her after she changed her name -- is sure to cause lots of controversy. Why? Because some people are as madly fanatic about her as they are about Elvis (who also had a wonderful biopic treatment this year) and think it's got to be exact or it won't work. Because Marilyn's infamous and tragic downfall makes her life so much more poignant and heartrending, especially now that we're in an age of reckoning for the abuse of women especially in show business. Because the film is rated NC-17 and being widely released on Netflix, of all places. Because the film is primarily based on a fictional and experimental book by Joyce Carol Oates rather than a historical account. There are many reasons to hate or even just distrust Blonde, but very few of them, to my mind, actually have to do with the film itself.

Whether or not the film exploits her life isn't really my concern here, though it seems a likely conversation starter after any viewing of Blonde. We can be certain her life was exploited by men in positions of power and wealth and influence, and some will decry this film on similar grounds. The NC-17 rating allows for detailed glimpses into the sex icon's sexual life, ones that are often provocative to the point of excess. I'm thinking primarily of her dubious throuple relationship, one party being Charles Chaplin Jr., depicted early in the film, and also of her fellating President JFK in a long, extreme close-up much later in the film. Of course, in a film that lasts almost three hours long, there is a lot of time for sex, drugs, booze, and whatever else the glamorous Hollywood life can throw at Marilyn.

Crucial to understanding this film is that it's very much a biopic of its time. There have been an increasing number of biographical films lately that do their research, sure enough, and even have a few true-to-life recreation scenes, but that fictionalize most of whatever plot is present. Think Elvis, as I mentioned. Think Spencer or Jackie or Judy or Rocketman or Bohemian Rhapsody. These films, like Blonde, take the idea of the superstar at its center and attempt to explore his or her life in a highly theatrical, performative manner. The cinematography and production design are often diligently accurate and straightforward even as they exaggerate reality to make things a bit dreamlike. The fantasy is cushioned from criticism, then, by writing and editing that links past to present and future, often deliberately in confusing patterns. These techniques allow for condemnation of cultural opinions of these people (notice that all of the subjects of the films I listed are somewhat controversial in casual conversation) and the harmful, shameful methods of their respective industries; they also allow for a certain amount of voyeuristic viewing pleasure in seeing the "unseen" parts of these lives that were bigger than life.

Writer and director Andrew Dominik displays a surprising amount of confidence and dexterity and skill behind the scenes here, all the more so when considering his previous work: muscly, gritty crime dramas Killing Them Softly and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. I found most of the film to be quite sensitive and thoughtful in its approach to Marilyn's interior life, brought stunningly, beautifully, evocatively to life by Ana de Armas (Knives Out, Deep Water, No Time to Die, Blade Runner 2049) who lives and breathes Marilyn. It's a chilling, haunting portrayal that feels lived-in, as though she has been playing the unlikely role for years already. More importantly, she seems to thrive in the film's intentionally inconsistent tone: the tone, vacillating between dreamland and organized nightmare, feels a bit more realistic and believable than most biopics that just hop from one significant event in a celebrity's life to another. This approach feels nuanced and complex, and de Armas rises to the occasion to make Marilyn one of the most relatable and raw characters on screen all year. It is a bit unfortunate that so much of her identity is infantilized (her daddy issues manifest often as she calls her various lovers "Daddy") and victimized (she's almost always crying with some force, somewhat undressed if not stark naked, and even bloody). 

This isn't a terribly organized review, and I don't want to summarize, so I'll just hit a few more takeaway points. I mentioned cinematography earlier; Chayse Irvin also did BlacKkKlansman and Beyonce's Lemonade, and here he leans heavily into impressionism, even to the point of drastically changing aspect ratios and use of color/black and white, to break down our expectations to this film's approach to Marilyn's life and provoke more cognitive appreciation for the story. One moment that stands out is when we're in the perspective of a toilet bowl as Marilyn pukes her bubbly and pills onto us; moments like this, repeated often, could each deserve an academic paper to explore how and why these shots were made and their effect on the audience as well as the film itself. Another -- admittedly, my least favorite parts of the film -- dramatizes an abortion Marilyn undergoes with a POV shot from inside her vagina; it doesn't help that other scenes depict Marilyn speaking with her aborted fetus, and the film smacks suspiciously of anti-abortion propaganda as an unfortunate result. However, its attention to Marilyn's state of mind, especially through dialogue, help even these scenes feel more like service to her character development rather than simple lurid points of interest for the bored viewer.

Julianne Nicholson plays Norma Jeane's mother, and she's terrifying and typically wonderful. Despite its doubtful connection to reality, I loved her apparently happy throuple early in the film; personal interests aside, it's nice to see this kind of relationship being generally supportive, loving, and fulfilling for all parties of the nontraditional romance. It's also pretty clear that these two men are the only ones who really loved her for herself her entire life; leave it to two queer men to love the original hometown Norma Jeane for who she is as well as the glamorous sex icon Marilyn for who she is. But as much as that is nice to see, there are the darker sides of show business as well. Her marriages to Joe DiMaggio (Bobby Cannavale, a perfect casting choice) and Arthur Miller (Adrien Brody in a refreshingly underused and underacted role) aren't exactly cakewalks, and her coping mechanisms of booze and pills only get worse and more visceral. As the film passes its halfway point, things get increasingly unhinged in all aspects, and it's all intentional. At her premiere of Some Like It Hot (which I absolutely turned on the minute Blonde ended), the queue of men leer at her as visual effects warp their faces, elongating their mouths like wolfish maws eager to eat her up. Her The Seven Year Itch publicity shoot in the white dress over a subway grate is shown to us multiple times from different angles and various color treatments, turning the famous image into a nightmarish visual trap.

You begin to wonder if Dominik's real, secret goal was to give us such a spectacle, such a gratuitous look into Marilyn's life -- or what her life must have felt like, even if it's not what it appeared to be from the outside -- that we remember not to worship celebrities. That good or bad representation only matters if the dignity of the person in question hasn't been compromised first. That seeing Marilyn includes what she did and what was done to her, of course, but that she herself wasn't (and shouldn't be, now in retrospect) bound by those elements. Then again, it's also possible that this was a morally bankrupt attempt at a cash-grab for salacious viewers to get horny about an old star. I think the latter interpretation is out, on pure virtue of the craftsmanship on display in this character-driven epic. 

Lou (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

What? This movie must have been carelessly dropped on Netflix sometime recently, and I just won't forgive them for that. I shouldn't have to do the "bored scroll" through what the streaming giant thinks I might like in order to stumble across an action thriller starring Allison freaking Janney. It's called Lou, and that tells you nothing. The blurb is vague. The poster or image is vague and just sort of bad. But the movie is fabulous, and I earnestly hope that hearing that is enough to persuade you, dear reader, to go watch it.

Janney plays the titular character, a recluse and survivalist-type isolationist in the rural Pacific Northwest. It's 1986 and a massive seasonal storm is about to blast Orcas Island, off the coast of Washington, where Lou is not doing well. Sure, she capably kills a deer in the opening sequence, proving her mettle to us if no one else. But she also withdraws her savings from the bank, drinks straight bourbon, and writes a letter to someone about inheriting her property before preparing her rifle for suicide. Just then, a distant neighbor named Hannah (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) pounds on her door. Hannah's daughter Vee is missing, and she's pretty sure she was taken. The storm has just hit the island. As the sheets of rain cascade down, Hannah catches Lou up to speed on her situation, hoping Lou can help her as the only other person for miles, probably.

Vee was taken by Phillip, Hannah's ex-husband, who was a special forces soldier and abusive husband who faked his own death so he could sneak in and abduct his daughter. Phillip's (Logan Marshall-Green) sociopathy notwithstanding, he's a talented survivalist in his own right, and he has some backup nearby in the form of a couple mercenary-like friends. He aims to spirit Vee away and take revenge on his ex-wife after terrorizing her for a while. Of course, none of them counted on Hannah asking Lou for help; Lou is a sort of Liam Neeson from Taken character, so stoic you'd never know she has decades of preparation and training under her belt. They begin by tracking Vee and Phillip through the mountainous forest, and it feels like a really solid ground for a survival thriller.

Then Lou goes full-on badass bitch mode when they come across Phillip's friends, and the movie completely captured my attention as Janney kicks their rears and sells every millisecond of her fight choreography. After this scene, the film never really reaches this Atomic Blonde-level of butt-kicking again, but that's okay because it also wants to surprise us with a few dark twists. Her odyssey toward vengeance is not wholly unlike Nic Cage's in Pig, but it's much more exciting and less pretentious here, and she's not after an animal. In fact, she's much more closely related to the other characters than we were led to expect, and while this revelation might be a lot for some to swallow -- unrealistic as it may be -- it helps the film pack completely unexpected but well-earned emotional blows in its climax.

Suffice to say, Janney's acting chops are put on full display here, not as a dedicated character actor or even as a vehicle for a particularly nuanced character study, but rather as an action movie star who carries the whole damn thing herself. She's so smart to not waste any time developing her character; she knows Lou so well that she trims all fat from her performance, letting what she delivers in every moment inform us at breakneck speed the depth of her experience and reality. I wish the screenplay or direction leaned more heavily into dramatizing her cynical nature and flirtation with nihilism, especially once the big reveal is, well, revealed. But Janney makes do on her own, without much help from the director or writer. Hers is a masterclass from an unlikely source, and it's a marvel this movie wasn't released in cinemas. It's the kind of nose-to-the-grindstone grimy action thriller that Taylor Sheridan would be proud to have made, and I don't say that lightly.

Armageddon Time (2022)

Score: 2 / 5

The first day of sixth grade could be tough on any kid. Queens in 1980 certainly was tough for Paul Graff, a Jewish-American boy who lives with his parents in a comfortable and financially stable home. Due to his age and expectations of boys at the time, he tends to sleep a lot; when he's awake, he looks a bit lost or bewildered, as though a nap would do him more good than his various activities. Played with sensitivity and bravery by young actor Banks Repeta (The Black Phone), Paul means well but certainly can't stop himself from getting into trouble. His parents and brother seem to fight regularly to make Paul wake up and get going, usually to school. When he's there, he's not shy about causing trouble for his teacher or that he's more interested in doodling, cracking jokes and insults, and thinking about rockets. It's time for Paul to wake up.

At school, Paul meets a new friend at school, Johnny (Jaylin Webb), the only Black student in his class. Johnny is bigger than the other kids; we're told multiple times that he is in sixth grade for the second time, and the teacher chooses to be quite cruel to this student he's sure will be trouble. Johnny gets singled out and harshly reprimanded so often that he begins acting just the way the teacher has proscribed. Paul acts accordingly, relating perhaps a little too strongly to Johnny than his teacher or family would prefer. After a particularly troubling visit with the principal, Paul's mother (Anne Hathaway) calls a family meeting and they decide to send Paul to a private school. 

Armageddon Time is reportedly an autobiography of sorts for writer and director James Gray (Ad Astra, The Lost City of Z, The Immigrant). But it's also a thoughtful meditation on the "Armageddon" of our individual youths, the time when some of us had to suddenly change our mindsets and mature to survive. Paul is coming to the realization he wants to be an artist, but his parents want him to actually make a living someday. He's realizing that Black and white kids are treated differently, and that other identifiers such as being Jewish have various stigmas, challenges, and benefits beyond who you are and what you do on a personal level and a social level. He's seeing the inconsistencies between the American Dream messages preached at him and the realities of his family and family history. The Trump family is entrenched in his new private school, and Maryanne Trump (Jessica Chastain) delivers the first day address to students, lionizing the virtues of hard work and pulling yourself up by the bootstraps. Meanwhile, Paul's maternal grandfather (Anthony Hopkins) tells him about their family escaping antisemitic persecution in Europe.

Hopkins is the heart of this film. When Paul is sad that his parents don't support his dreams of becoming an artist, his grandfather gifts him a professional painting set. Though his age is starting to show, much to his daughter's concern, the grandfather is smart as a whip and eager to be a supportive and encouraging voice for Paul, even to the point of challenging Paul to stand up to bullies of his friend Johnny. He's seen the horrors of racial discrimination and persecution, and he has no interest in letting his grandson experience the same thing in the land of freedom and opportunity. He exhorts Paul to be a mensch, which is lovely but particularly difficult for the 11-year-old boy who just wants to fit in somewhere.

Gray works hard to make the film relatively void of sentimentality or nostalgia even as he wants to create a time capsule of period details. By including the Trumps and Reagan as major cultural moments, he drains the film of political or social neutrality. It's all shot in somewhat cold, dim lights, and the interiors of the family home are darkest when the television is blaring news about the upcoming election. Paul's concerns about internalizing the messaging he receives from his grandfather, his parents, and the authority figures at school and on TV are quite blurry -- intentionally so -- and yet it all builds to a whole lot of nothing. He doesn't learn much by film's end except the importance of thinking for himself, which he dubiously acts upon in the film's final scene as he leaves the Thanksgiving dance at school as Fred Trump delivers an address to the students.

I wanted to love this movie, but it just didn't do much for me. If this had come out in 2016, it might have felt more relevant. As it is, it feels like the de-sentimentalized version of Roma or Boyhood or any other number of autobiographies from auteurs. Which is fine, but it's just not the kind of movie I usually enjoy watching. It walks a fine line between sensations that plague this unique genre: sometimes it feels like the director is forcing us to go through old photo albums of his past, and sometimes it feels like the director is hammering home Big Ideas that he realize shaped his developmental stages of life and wants to preach those messages from the realm of his own experience. And yes, reflection on ourselves is important, and reconciling our memories of the past with perspective from the present can be a beautiful thing, but not in heavyhanded lectures like this. It's just not entertaining.

The acting is pretty solid across the board, but the screenplay doesn't seem to know how to give its characters much to do, other than Paul. His father (Jeremy Strong) is sort of amorphous, at times abusive and disciplining, at times gentle and emotional and kind, at times goofy to a fault. Paul's brother is so briefly and shallowly considered he's almost absent. Paul's teacher is a caricature of (pardon the pun) old-school cruelty. Hathaway's mother character has some heft in the actor's hands, but it's not because of the screenplay doing her any favors. Worst, Johnny is so thinly written I fear he is actually just a really bad representative of Black kids in a film that, by definition, should be more sensitive and knowing. It seems the movie as a whole is meant to be a kind of apology to kids like him, but it never really gets to that point, and by the halfway point even seems to largely sweep Johnny away from its concerns entirely. The early parts in which he proves more consequential relegate only a few attributes to him rather than any depth of character, which he frankly deserves in a film about learning to see and appreciate the interiority of people's lives.