Where the Crawdads Sing (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

Seemingly taking some inspiration from To Kill a Mockingbird, this source material was destined for the big screen. Where the Crawdads Sing has been on just about every best-seller list and book club list since it was released in 2018, and then Reese Witherspoon and Taylor Swift got involved with the film adaptation. I haven't read the novel yet, but the film is a strange hybrid between two storytelling traditions: the first, as I mentioned, is a kind of courtroom mystery-drama in the vein of Harper Lee's masterpiece, and the second is the sort of location-based romantic shlock that made Nicholas Sparks famous. It wouldn't have bothered me so much except that director Olivia Newman (in her second feature after Netflix's First Match) and her team seem intent on making the film also look like a Sparks adaptation rather than just feel like one. Some people will like the aesthetic; I find it repugnant.

In October 1969, in the marshy coves of the North Carolina coast, some kids discover the dead body of Chase Andrews, a young local man held in high esteem due to his family's money and his celebrity turn as high school quarterback. Authorities immediately come to arrest Kya (Daisy Edgar-Jones, really breaking out this year in this and Under the Banner of Heaven), a young woman living alone in a shack in the swamp, known pejoratively as the "marsh girl." She's a little rough around the edges, you might say, or perhaps boggy, keeping mostly quiet in her cell, even when a benevolent lawyer (David Straithairn, in the kind of role he's made a career of mastering) comes to offer his help. He's a thoughtful, reserved Atticus Finch figure, coming out of retirement to help the outsider from becoming the local scapegoat. Even when it's frustrating that his defendant won't open up to him.

We launch back and forth in time throughout the two-hour film, experiencing various testimonies and defense strategies in and around the courtroom in '69/'70 just as we learn all about Kya's past, starting with her childhood almost twenty years prior. Her abusive, alcoholic father drove her mother away and then each of her siblings until only Kya was left alone at the age of seven when her father, too, disappeared. The child harvests mussels from the marsh and sells them to the only kindly people she knows, an older Black couple (Sterling Macer Jr. and Michael Hyatt) who run the convenience store and give her helpful advice and gifts. Kya tries to go to school but flees almost immediately. Jojo Regina plays Kya at this age, and she's utterly incredible to behold; these scenes are perhaps the film's most emotionally resounding, even if they do smack of poverty porn.

Speaking of which, screenwriter Lucy Alibar certainly had her job cut out for her in terms of adapting the beloved text. Her only previous work I've seen is the original Beasts of the Southern Wild, with which this story shares several similarities. Unfortunately, due to the nature of a courtroom drama and the source material, Alibar is forced to jump back and forth in time; I'm not entirely sure if it's her or Newman that makes this process laborious, but almost every time we jumped I lost any sense of momentum in the story. It starts to feel inevitable rather than exciting or revelatory. Maybe it's partly cinematographer Polly Morgan (A Quiet Place Part II and upcoming The Woman King), who douses everything in warm amber lights (or faded blues at night) so that different scenes are visually interchangeable. But her intense efforts to bring the ethereal, complex beauty of the marshes onto the screen are indisputable, so I don't want to harp on that. Maybe it's Mychael Danna's very pretty score, which doesn't seem to differentiate between time periods. Regardless, another viewing would see me focus my attention on the screenplay and direction for answers to why the jumps were so jarring, as I'm not even convinced it is really the editing at fault (as one would typically assume), though upon some research, the editor for this is Alan Edward Bell of The Hunger Games movies, and some of the editing in those was a bit jarring as well.

Edgar-Jones takes over as Kya before long, and her performance is really rather wonderful. But then the Sparks-esque storyline pops in, as she is courted first by the angelic Tate (Taylor John Smith of Sharp Objects), who befriended her in childhood and has since taught her to read and write. They're just perfect together -- he even stops their burgeoning love from becoming sexual until he can ensure their life together will be what they both need it to be -- until he leaves for college. In Tate's absence, which remains quite uncomfortably unexplained, Kya is courted by the eventually ill-fated Chase. His interactions with her are perhaps the best feature of the screenplay and the best acting in the film from both Edgar-Jones and actor Harris Dickinson (Beach Rats, Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, The King's Man). He's arrogant and entitled, pushy and even occasionally bullying, and it's clear almost from the start that he's bad news; the casting is especially interesting because the two suitors look so similar that they could be Hitchcockian doubles.

The climax and denouement and ultimate twist of a solution are all quite wonderful in theory, and I was completely gobsmacked by the ending. It's too bad the filmmakers squished so much of the most exciting parts of the story into the last thirty minutes or so; after such an ominous opening act and several red herrings and significant clues early on, most of the film wallows in a sort of melancholic "which guy should I pick" mentality for Kya, who is much more fascinating than that characterization allows. Edgar-Jones is at her best when she's alone, watching the horizon and drawing her magnificent pictures of wildlife; she also does really well when interacting with the townsfolk, awkward as the interactions are. She should be brave and unpredictable, much like her home, but the film is so conventional and tired in its approach to her story that much of her raw power is diminished by the presentation. I wish the filmmakers had taken the story to the titular place beyond the reach of norms and expectations and let her shine the way she clearly deserves.

Beast (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I love killer animal movies. There's something deeply satisfying about the genre of horror that covers survivalism -- every few years there's another A-lister alone on a mountain or in the ocean fighting to stay alive against all odds -- and a significant subset of that is survival against killer animals. It allows survival tropes to brush up against a good old-fashioned monster movie, as the animals are usually somehow exceptional. Shark movies usually have rogue sharks stalking their prey or even setting traps, the piranhas are scientifically enhanced or prehistoric, crocs that are too large or too active, bears killing for sport rather than defense or instinct, spiders of insane size or unusual numbers. This stuff just comes with the territory. But a killer lion is somewhat unusual in the subgenre; 2020's Rogue is the only one that comes to my mind, though its special effects leave a lot to be desired, after the more dramatic adventure vibes of The Ghost and the Darkness (1996). Mammals in general are risky to villainize in horror films because they are often so beloved by children. Despite "bad" animals of the same species (often in the same movies), who wants to see Brother Bear or The Lion King before something like Backcountry or, well, Beast?

The latest feature from Baltasar Kormákur (Everest), Beast is already one of my favorite killer animal movies. Partly due to the novelty of the idea, yes, but also due to Kormákur’s undeniably effective handling of the material. We're in and out in about 90 minutes, and it's an adrenaline rush right from the start. Cinematographer Philippe Rousselot (whose work is so extensive and generally excellent I'll just give you the briefest list of my favorites of his: Dangerous Liaisons, Interview with the Vampire, Big Fish, Lions for Lambs, Beautiful Creatures) really outdoes himself here, capturing the South African locations with special attention to golden hour hues as well as several very long takes often in the middle of extraordinarily realized action. I can't stress enough how effective this technique is in general but especially in stories about survival/endurance; it's also practically insane to pull off in films with so many special effects and live stunt work.

Dr. Nate Samuels (Idris Elba) arrives in South Africa with his two daughters Meredith (Iyana Halley) and Norah (Leah Jeffries). Their vacation has brought them to Nate's late ex-wife's childhood home, in a protected wildlife region of some 20,000 square miles. Did you catch that? After his separation from his wife, she died of cancer, causing angry tension between Meredith (who is very like her mother) and Nate, who is hoping to repair their relationship before it's too late (read: before college). They reunite with Martin (Sharlto Copley), who grew up with her in South Africa, who introduces them to the setting and its lack of cell service and wi-fi. See where this might be going? Before long, they set off on safari, with Meredith snapping shots of the landscape and wildlife as they go, even stopping once to meet a pride of lions with whom Martin is apparently quite friendly. One is injured, though, causing Martin no small amount of concern.

When a maimed man stumbles into their path, warning of "the devil" in the brush, Martin takes them to a nearby village for help. Upon arrival, they discover the entire village slaughtered. Martin is sure lions couldn't have done this, but the claw marks and bite wounds tell a slightly different story. As they try to get back to civilization, they are attacked by an enormous male lion that ends up trapping them in their vehicle dangling precariously over a cliff. They're nearly clueless about what is happening or why, and as the hot sun burns down on them, their chances for survival steadily wane. Martin goes off looking for the beast and winds up grievously injured in a swamp where, surely, crocs and snakes aren't far. Nate tries desperately to keep his daughters safe by any means necessary, against which Meredith invariably rebels, often causing more problems as she wanders away from the Jeep. As in too many horror films, it's hard not to get frustrated by the stupidity of the girls, but thankfully their annoying behaviors only really happen a handful of times. Most of the action is properly exciting, enhanced by a camera that locks in on its target and follows usually one character at a time through a given scene, such as when Nate explores a remote church/school outpost for medical supplies.

There is a prologue that provides a backstory for the lion in question: we open at night in the grassland as a group of poachers slaughters a whole pride of lions. Well, almost the whole pride. We hear one particular male lion rustling in the brush before a quick glimpse of him attacking the poachers. This ends up as the antagonizing lion in our story proper, apparently determined to kill any human in its territory. Is it revenge, or is it a reaction to trauma? It doesn't really matter, because it's a bloodthirsty lion either way, and our heroes are in quite a pickle. Martin at one point grimly attributes the behavior to "the law of the jungle," which is neither reassuring nor strictly accurate, unless he's equating poachers to violent animals as well. (Which, SPOILER ALERT, he totally is, and the revelation that Martin himself hunts and kills poachers is easily the most stunning beat of the film.)

And then there's the extremely satisfying ending of this film, which is not unlike the ending of The Shallows. It's the sort of balls-out hardcore action we always want in these killer animal movies and only rarely get; thanks to excellent -- and I mean excellent -- cinematography, editing, and VFX -- these kinds of showdowns will hopefully become a bit more common. There was some hullabaloo after the trailer was released due to Idris Elba punching a lion, but I tell you now that when the moment actually arrives in context of the film, it is immensely satisfying. Their final fight is indeed mano a mano, or rather mano a paw, and its intensity matches (if not exceeds) a similar scene with a bear early in The Revenant. The camera and lighting pull you in to the scene, not allowing you to escape or look away; the sound mixing and editing push into your ears until you're squirming in your seat. Or at least I was! There's just nothing like Beast out there, and it's magnificent. Sure, there are a few weird dream sequences that look like promo shots for a Beyoncé visual album, but if those were excised, the film would be flawless to my eyes. 

Fall (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I love this movie, and I love this kind of movie. It's the sort of survivalist/disaster movie I can hardly get enough of, even when they start to feel a bit derivative or repetitive. As part of the horror genre, they often go hand-in-hand with what I like to call the "killer nature" subgenre, such as movies like The Shallows or Rogue or Backcountry, when some kind of monstrous animal begins a killing spree, usually inflicted on a small group of people trapped or isolated in a remote location. Think of the swimmers in Open Water, the townspeople in Lake Placid or Piranha, the people stuck in the car in Cujo or the spaceship in Life. This is like those but without the animals -- and yes, some large vultures play an important part in this movie -- and virtually everything that could go wrong goes, indeed, horribly wrong. Actually, this film is most like 47 Meters Down in several ways, but that's all I'll say about that at this point.

I have only very rarely gotten sick in a cinema -- I puked violently in Gravity -- but I got quite close in this screening of Fall. It's a perfect storm, from the first scene of three rock climbers on a cliff face somewhere in the American West, when after a scare one of them falls to his death. A year later, his wife Becky (Grace Caroline Currey), with whom he was climbing, is a depressed alcoholic who can't move on. She even avoids her concerned and somewhat tough-loving father, played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan in a weird bit part. When their third climber, a close friend named Hunter (Virginia Gardner, looking very much like the lovechild of Reese Witherspoon and Florence Pugh), shows up with a new climbing opportunity, Becky wants nothing to do with it. After some convincing ("face your fears" and all that), they embark on a trip to an abandoned -- and condemned, it should be remembered -- 2000-foot tower in the middle of a desert. Hunter, an Insta-influencer, wants to do it for fun; she persuades Becky to join for herself, for their friendship, and for Becky's late husband, whose ashes they intend to scatter to the winds from the lower stratosphere.

The intro doesn't take long, thankfully, and soon we're with the young women as they begin to climb. I cannot express to you all the importance of seeing this film on a huge screen with amazing sound; I actually want to go see it in IMAX if possible, though I'm not sure my constitution could handle it. As someone who isn't even particularly scared of heights, this movie might have created a brand new phobia in me. Not even when the characters got twenty feet off the ground, I could feel my stomach clenching and rising in my abdomen. The tower is rusty and falling apart, and the camera repeatedly cuts close to screws as they jiggle and, sometimes, fall as the girls climb. We know, even if they don't, that another tragedy is about to strike. It's only a matter of time. Climbing a 2000-foot metal ladder in the middle of the desert is bad enough; halfway up, the cage around the ladder disappears and they climb completely exposed to the wind with no safety nets, literal or figurative.

Cinematographer MacGregor deserves many awards for his work on this film. The camera makes the Mojave Desert appear something akin to paradise, and yet the story imbues so much hellishness that the contrast is constantly jarring. As the characters climb, he bobs and weaves and flies around them with glee, relishing the trap they're setting for themselves; he seems determined to take us on a visual roller coaster ride, zooming up and down and around faster than I could always comprehend but not so fast I couldn't feel each lurch deep in my digestive tract. Audible moans in the auditorium told me I wasn't the only one getting queasy from the height. Or the tension. But the girls do, finally, make it to the top, where they take plenty of videos and photos but can't upload them due to a lack of cell service. (That's another red flag, in case you weren't sure where all this was going.)

Before ten steps on the way back down, the ladder gives out. It swings, unattached but by the base, backward over the daylit void, with Becky screaming for dear life. By the time the two girls are back up top on a platform smaller than a truck wheel, the ladder for the top 500 feet or so is completely gone, crashed in pieces so far below they need binoculars to see. With no service, no food or water, and no way down, there is little for the women to do but sit and roast under the blazing sun. It doesn't help that nobody knows they're stuck up there. What can they do? They try just about everything conceivable, and virtually nothing works. It's an endurance exercise for the characters and for the audience, and the tension almost never lets up.

Frankly, I'd have preferred a slightly streamlined version of this film. I could have done without the intro and exposition and started as the women arrived at the tower. All the backstory and drama (which may not be necessary anyway, but here we are) could and maybe should have been presented during the climb. While I understand the desire to sympathize with the characters, and I think movies like this do require a bit of that relatable, inspiring gumption, it's still a bit of a slog each time the trauma and drama (and extraneous characters) come up. Is it all a bit silly? Sure, I suppose, but I never once wanted to laugh for most of this movie due to the death grip on tone and style by director Scott Mann. I believed every instant of the story, even the annoying bits, and as such it feels like a 107-minute-long adrenaline pump directly into the heart. It could easily have been cut by 15 or 20 minutes which would have made it more endurable as entertainment, but I respect the push for a more experiential time frame. The editing is a bit overexcited but the cinematography is so eye-popping I didn't really care most of the time, and the droning score gets under your skin something terrible (and that's a good thing!). I don't want to say much else because this movie is an immersive experience; let it take you on its dark, wild ride. And whatever you do, don't look down.

Prey (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I can't believe this movie was dropped directly on Hulu. I'm not even really a fan of this franchise -- I've only ever seen the first Predator, and yeah it's an exciting time -- but this one looked pretty cool. Just a matter of minutes into streaming it, I got angry that I wasn't seeing it on a bigger screen and with surround sound. Jeff Cutter's cinematography makes most landscape shots look like paintings, and most action scenes feel as beautiful as a dance. Much as Predator was a streamlined action film 35 years ago, and in many ways established tropes of the genre, this film takes the genre to a level of high art. This is much like how Ridley Scott saved his Alien franchise in Prometheus: giving us more of the same material, but in a surprising way and with the most updated and sophisticated technology and aesthetic intent.

In a move of pure genius, the setting of this film takes us back to 1719, apparently to the first Predator alien to arrive on Earth and begin hunting. That kind of makes this a period piece, and it reminded me visually more than once of The Revenant in style, color palette, and even some content. For someone who doesn't know the franchise well, I had to learn quickly some of the elements of interest, such as that the Predator uses somewhat more rustic versions of its typical weapons in other installments. But those details are mostly Easter eggs for the fans; the movie works brilliantly for newcomers as well! The Predator, we learn quickly enough, is much more advanced technologically than the Native Americans in the great plains that populate the setting of Prey; it is also very strong and fast and hunts living organisms for sport, often skinning or beheading them for trophies. We see this is how it treats a snake, a wolf, and even a bear. It seems to want the most dangerous game it can find.

Enter Naru (Amber Midthunder), a young Comanche warrior who hunts like the men in her tribe despite their teasing and ostracism. Her brother Taabe (Dakota Beavers) is a bit more sympathetic but sometimes might be embarrassed by his sister upsetting the applecart. But Naru knows there is something monstrous stalking their tribe and tries to warn them, from the moment she sees the strange lights of its ship floating through a cloud bank. They first suspect a mountain lion and hunt it; after a tense and violent confrontation, Taabe kills it and returns to the village a hero. Naru knows more is going on when she discovers a herd of bison that have been skinned; a grizzly then chases her down to a riverbed. It's all terrifying and realistic (I told you this reminded me a bit of The Revenant, right?) and then, BAM -- enter the Predator.

I rather wish we hadn't seen several snippets by this point of the alien landing, hunting, prepping its weapons. While they are interesting shots, they take away so much from the realism of the film to this point and they take away the horror of the unseen/unknown. Granted, the Predator uses high-tech camouflage that basically makes it invisible, but I think the first half of the film would be much more effective if Naru had suspicions but no real proof, like us, until the Predator's reveal during the grizzly attack. It's such an effective scene already, and I wanted it to be as scary as it was awesome. The bear gets distracted moments before chomping our heroine and fights something invisible until it gets lifted in the air, its blood pouring out onto the silhouette of the hulking alien. It's magnificent. And, of course, Naru immediately runs.

The rest of the film is, essentially, a series of chases as the Predator slaughters its way through the tribe, through fur trappers and traders, and ultimately singles out Naru as apparently its worthy opponent in combat. One of the most interesting and satisfying sequences in this film is when Naru is captured by the French voyageurs, who, we learn, were the sadistic predators that killed and skinned the bison. The film wants us to understand that the Predator isn't the only predator in play; sure, there are the lovely food chain nods to other apex predators like the wolf, bear, and puma, but man is a horrifying (and wasteful) predator in his own right. Then again, considering the unique title of this film, one wonders exactly who the prey in this situation are. Naru might just be capable of taking down the big bad; when its neon green blood spills, she all too readily paints her face with it.

I can't speak highly enough of this film. See it on the biggest screen with the best sound you can get. It's dazzlingly beautiful, thanks largely to the cinematographer's work and the direction by Dan Trachtenberg (10 Cloverfield Lane). The leading performance by Midthunder is nothing short of a stunning star turn. Its respect for Comanche culture and language is manifest in the full Comanche language version of the film also available on Hulu. Even for not much liking the franchise or knowing anything about it, this was one of the most surprising and entertaining movies I've seen lately. It elevates the adventure/action/horror/sci-fi shtick of the '80s and '90s and turns it into a vision, one that will surely continue to offer rewards on subsequent viewings. I can hardly wait to jump back in again!

They/Them (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

Camp. As kids, we go to it. As adults, we sometimes do it. As cultured adults, we sometimes use it to describe or produce an artistic style. But there are dark sides to the word that we often overlook, including one that has gained notoriety in the last twenty years or so. Conversion "therapy," a means by which some queer folk try to (or are forced to try to) change, inhibit, or deny their sexual orientation and gender identity, usually takes place in private areas but sometimes in more public ones, such as retreats or, well, camp. The psychological and emotional horrors that take place at these locations and events has been documented elsewhere, and it really was only a matter of time before someone used it for art (or exploited it for entertainment, depending on your perspective). Of course, there have been other films about this topic generally, including Boy Erased or last year's Netflix documentary Pray Away. And now, finally, it's been turned into a horror film.

Unceremoniously dumped exclusively for streaming on Peacock this month, They/Them has been the target of derision and doubt since its earliest marketing campaign. Some claimed it was making fun of pronouns, some claimed that it was going to feature queer kids being tortured and murdered. But the film isn't those things, not by far, and in fact bravely addresses some issues much more articulately and thoughtfully than any documentary or op-ed I've seen. It helps surely that its writer John Logan, who also directed it in his debut, is openly gay in real life and one of the most prestigious screenwriters working today (he also wrote Hugo, Gladiator, The Aviator, Skyfall and Spectre, Penny Dreadful, and Alien: Covenant, among others). It also helps that most of the cast is authentically queer and being led by Theo Germaine (of Netflix's The Politician), who is nonbinary in real life.

Essentially, the film begins with a group of queer teens getting off the bus at Whistler Camp, a remote forested area with cabins near a landlocked lake. Basically Camp Crystal Lake, but with one crucial difference: these campers are queer and the staffers are either anti-queer or ex-queer. Kevin Bacon, returning to camp apparently, plays the camp director Owen Whistler, relishes his unusually terrifying role as a sort of cult leader. Charismatic and magnetic, he's also deeply intelligent in how to get under other people's skin. His opening monologue makes him sound like a not so bad guy, just hoping to help these kids discover themselves through intentional self-reflection and some minor guidance along the way. But almost immediately we see him destabilizing that understanding by reacting vastly differently to different campers, as if determined to create a sense of chaos among the kids; he madly respects Jordan (Germaine) and their pronouns, but then he shames a Black trans woman and forces her into the boys' cabin for "lying" to him. It's all arbitrary, which means he can zig or zag when least expected; he's horrifyingly dangerous, much like the gospel he preaches.

Which is saying a lot because really there isn't much bible-thumping in this movie as I expected. It's arguably a fairly secular conversion camp, which is even more surprising than usual. The staffers are the really exciting cast members, as they are pulled from other horror staples (much like Bacon), including especially Anna Chlumsky as the nurse and Carrie Preston as Whistler's wife and the camp's primary counselor. Both get some solid screen time, and Preston is especially terrifying in one haunting monologue. To be fair, the kids don't all get a lot of screen time either; there are just too many for quality development. But, then, films in this vein don't often give a lot of time for in-depth dynamism and resort, necessarily, to a sort of shorthand to understand characters; Logan knows this and uses it to his advantage, even though there are at least half as many campers that we never really hear or get to know. They are the nameless, voiceless masses who have been silenced and sacrificed by conversion therapists through the decades, and so their presence in the film feels at first embarrassingly awkward until it becomes chillingly realistic.

For two-thirds of the film, the horror is almost exclusively psychological. The counselors chip away at the kids' dignity until they can crack them open. They split the boys and girls into respective, normative activities; shooting guns and baking pies (yes, fruit pies, because that's funny, right?). But there are more insidious designs at work; the Barbie-like female counselor flirts heavily with a conflicted young lesbian, while the hunky male counselor aggressively challenges (and tempts) the masculinity of the boys, especially one effeminate Black gay man. There are two pairs of campers -- one female, one male -- with minor romantic arcs, although the male tryst results in a shocking betrayal and perhaps the most violent sequence in the film in which a crude form of electroshocking is used to torture one of the boys. the film indeed gets very dark, and there are endless triggers to watch out for, including offensive language, yes, but also things like animal cruelty and murder, physical and emotional abuse, and of course torture. But it also has its moments of light, as when the campers attempt to cheer each other up by belting out Pink's "Perfect" in jubilant chorus.

Well, then there's the final third or so of the film. The actual opening scene depicts a woman driving alone at night through the woods before getting murdered by a mysterious figure (it's, again, very reminiscent of Friday the 13th). This event is not revisited until the final act, when certain people begin getting murdered. Because the film was marketed (erroneously, in my mind) as a slasher, this development might be a bit late for most casual viewers. Because of the identities of the victims, it also becomes pretty clear pretty quickly what's really going on here. SPOILER ALERT: it's the camp staff who get butchered, confirming our suspicions that either a camper or former camper is on a path of revenge. Thankfully, by this point the plot moves quickly and the bloodshed is more a release than a buildup. It's a brave move, and one that would have worked better for me if not for the film's marketing.

I think what makes me sad about this film -- other than its devastating content -- is that John Logan directed it. Not because Logan's vision isn't specific or that his execution isn't proficient in its way, but because it just doesn't feel like a match between desired outcome and actual output. Logan's understanding of the material is without dispute; his approach to the aesthetic is somewhat less than inspired. It seems he's intent on simply telling the story as seriously as he can, and while that should be enough, it makes the whole affair really heavy and gloomy. I can't help but wish, in some small part, that someone like Ryan Murphy had directed Logan's material, someone who can alleviate (or enhance) horror with comedy. Or, if not comedy, then at least an awareness of this material's place in the genre. Logan makes almost no references to similar films (except Friday the 13th), which makes the film feel ignorant in a way of its own existence, like it's intentionally trying to exist in a vacuum. In content or style, it could reference Boy Erased, The Most Dangerous Game, The Hunt, Saved!, But I'm a Cheerleader, The Retreat, I Know What You Did Last Summer, or even American Horror Story 1984 for that matter. Murphy would also have dived a bit further into the pool of raw horror, sex appeal, and identity politics (which may have held the key for more humor). Instead, it's just its own curious project, a waking nightmare that is wonderful on its own but smacks of those elements that might have made it nastier, more fun, and much more important. As it is, though, it's a damn good film, and one that hopefully opens the door for more, similar, content. And preferably in theatrical release rather than on a wretched marginal service like Peacock.

Fire Island (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Yas, queens! This is the queer romantic comedy we've all needed and deserved for so long now. Joyous and funny and inspiring and heartfelt, Fire Island is pretty much everything we don't expect based on our cultural understanding of the titular vacation destination. It's the story of a group of gay men who go to Fire Island for their annual week-long vacation and how they catch up with each other and hook up with the other gays in the village. In doing so, and in such a positive light, this film seems to be working toward reclaiming the liberated sense of community in gay culture that has largely been absent since before the AIDS crisis. If it weren't for the cell phones and Gen Z slang, this movie could just as easily be set in the '60s or '70s.

Without rehashing the plot, suffice it to say that this is very much an adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. The gay friends are the Bennett sisters in spades, led by a career best (so far) Bowen Yang as the Jane "sister" and Joel Kim Booster as the Elizabeth stand-in. Booster, fittingly, narrates the story with semi-frequent voiceovers; it's telling that Booster also penned the screenplay. Noah (Booster) opens the film quoting the first sentence of Austen's book before dismissing it as heteronormative and classist and announcing he's late for his trip to gay mecca. He notes that it's his personal goal to get Howie (Yang) laid this week, and he'll sacrifice his own fun until that goal is achieved. That's saying a lot, because Booster is ripped here, usually shirtless, and clearly sex-positive for himself, even if he can't or won't maintain a serious romantic relationship.

The typical "mean girls" of gays assemble, but they're so lovely as friends it's hard to get annoyed by their antics. Luke (Matt Rogers) and Keegan (Tomas Matos) are the Kitty and Lydia of the "framily," although it's Max (Torian Miller), the not-in-shape but sassy and intellectual theorist who is basically Mary Bennett and steals every scene he graces with his presence. And then, of course, enters their host who lives in the village, the lesbian Erin, played by a hilarious and somewhat underused Margaret Cho, who essentially fulfills the role of the Bennett parents. The racially progressive representation here -- and some body positivity, despite the obvious fantasy setting with shredded men and their six-packs -- is an astonishing feat that deserves a special place in queer cinematic history. At one point a character criticizes the "no fatties, no femmes, no Asians" slogan often seen or weaponized in exclusively gay spaces, a comment made off the cuff but that struck me as worthy of some intense examination. Thankfully, the film does examine this cultural mantra in an organic, sensitive way throughout the film rather than in any single didactic exercise.

Much as we might expect in a work inspired by Austen, the screenplay allows its characters lots of time to talk and philosophize and empathize between jokes and jabs. They engage with, bravely, issues of racial tokenism and fetishism, sex and body positivity, misogyny and internalized homophobia among gay men, and even classism and the formation of normative queer culture. The last points are especially effective, as I'm not sure I've ever seen them dramatized so fully in any film before (except maybe Hellbent, a personal Halloween favorite). After all, the friends talk openly about saving all their pennies for this trip every year, and that it's only possible because Erin only bought her house after winning a lawsuit. Then, after the "sisters" start to engage with a wealthy group of friends in the village (think of the Bingleys), the classism really amps up, encompassing everything from a snobbish doorman who pretends not to recognize them each time they arrive to concerns about education and self-determination in business.

This all leads to the romance, of course. Or rather, romances. Howie fairly quickly engages with Charlie (a handsome and sweet James Scully), a somewhat silly but bright-eyed and eager doctor. They are clearly in love, but temptations abound on Fire Island. Once he's occupied, though, Noah is free to spar with Charlie's...friend? Bodyguard? Miserable wingman? Will (Conrad Ricamora of How to Get Away with Murder) is a stoic, robotic lawyer, aloof and apparently mostly annoyed by the drama around him. Obviously the Mr. Darcy of this film, it helps that Ricamora is probably also the most recognizable cast member to the casual viewer, other than Cho. Those familiar with the source material will know that Noah takes umbrage to Will's attitude and behavior, and so the two vacillate from intense disdain and even antagonism to what are now considered typical tropes of sickly sweet romance. There's even a confrontation between them in a rainstorm in which major revelations twist the plot toward its climax.

What else? Sure, there are many more familiar plot points from Austen reimagined here, like Erin's financial woes that will force her to sell the house and end this festive tradition, or the return of Charlie's ex-boyfriend and his racist balderdash. But the film, despite its tender-heartedness and authentic sense of freedom and joy, proves itself capable of speaking to the times as well, in content and in delivery. Booster's screenplay and Andrew Ahn's direction deftly navigates dangerous tonal shifts from romance to comedy and from raunchy naughtiness to sentiment. It's a film about memory and memorializing a place with as many good reputations as bad; it's about chosen family and the ties that bind; it's about pride and prejudice, yes, and more importantly about the love found between them. 

Lightyear (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

This is not a Toy Story film. In fact, according to the opening text, it's the film from the '90s that Andy loved so much that his mother bought him a Buzz Lightyear toy. It's a clever idea, especially as the voice of the character is provided by Chris Evans rather than Tim Allen. As such, this isn't a cute little romp around Andy's house or the neighborhood with a bunch of toys. This is a knockoff space opera, a sort of dangerous middle ground between a lot of other popular intellectual properties. Really the only way this film fits into the franchise is through its attempts to showcase the origins of Buzz's now culturally common catchphrases. It's annoying in that Lightyear, then, is clearly a ploy for fans' money, but it also fits nicely into the world of the franchise (remember that Woody is also a famed character from retro television). But, for now, to infinity and beyond!

Buzz and his partner Alisha (Uzo Aduba) are awoken when their Star Command ship gets rerouted to investigate an unexplored planet. After "The Turnip" crashes, thanks to hostile life forms, the team sets up camp to begin work on a new hyperspace crystal they need to return home. It's a frenzied, weird start to the film, and a lengthy montage shows their repeated attempts to test run the tech. Buzz volunteered to fly the experimental runs, but each run takes much longer than he expects due to time warping near celestial bodies. Each minute he spends in a run ages his teammates on the planet an entire year. Fueled by his desire to fuel their homeward journey, Buzz squanders their time together, seeing her life in snippets every four years or so until, after a dozen runs, he returns to the tragic news that Alisha is dead. Thankfully, she gifted him an AI robot therapist in the form of a cat, named Sox, to help him.

With the repeated failures, Star Command decides to launch a colony on this planet, rather than wasting more time and resources to escape, even when Buzz finally solves the puzzle. Successfully using hyperspace, Buzz returns 22 years in the future when Alisha's granddaughter Izzy (Keke Palmer) is a young adult fighting an army of robots attempting to invade the colony. It's yet another drastic plot twist in a story already pretty unfocused, but this is where things finally start to get interesting because the robots look suspiciously like Zurg from the earlier installments. Indeed, that character appears later as Buzz's archenemy, and yes, Zurg is in fact someone very close to our hero.

There are lots of things to unpack here, including Alisha's lesbian identity, the visibility of strong Black women working in space, and the occasionally toxic masculinity Buzz exhibits (he's so stubborn and isolationist in his ballsy approach to every problem). But they're really only worth discussing if you really love this movie and want to dig in deep. I found most of this film beautiful -- the animation really is stunning -- but vapid, a generous helping of fan service and reappropriated ideas mashed into an existing IP Disney desperately needs to keep fresh. After all, the Toy Story area of Hollywood Studios can hardly sell itself! Then again, if this film is meant to be an homage to classic '80s and '90s space-venturing movie, it fits the bill in spades regarding how they worked, minus any appreciation of how they felt to viewers. Several shots felt ripped from Star Trek, Star Wars, Avatar, and even 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

Generally, there's just not a lot to remember here, even if it's fun while it lasts. Sox the "cat" feels like a cheap ploy for Christmas gifts this year, and the much-reported gay content is disappointingly minimal. The animation and music (Michael Giacchino!) are wonderful while the screenplay is pedestrian. I really wish this franchise had ended with the third installment, as the fourth was just weird; now we get another really weird installment that at least could be a cute standalone. Unfortunately, Disney clearly has no intention of stopping, and the post-credits scene was enough to elicit an audible groan from my throat during the screening. Hopefully the filmmakers decide to do something a little more brave in the next inevitable installment than this movie's moral of accepting others' help and building the team you need with the people you have.

Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

It may not be the most dangerous game, literarily speaking, but it certainly is one! Bodies Bodies Bodies is the latest A24 film to grace us with its existence, and thank heaven it's here to usher us from summer blockbuster season to spooky season. What do we even call this genre mashup? It was billed as a slasher, and in some ways it is very much that. But it's also, formally, a murder mystery and -- most surprising to me -- a sort of bildungsroman of Gen Z mentality. It opens, as comparatively no wide releases do, with a sensual kiss between two young women of different skin tones; we're fully absorbed into a world of naturalized queerness from the outset, and it's not even particularly sexual or creepy. There's a lovely warm glow to their passionate lip-locking, and though it's definitely not the vibe of the film to follow, it effectively sets up that this is a progressive film that doesn't even need to verbally address the typical baloney that often accompanies queer characters. Brava, and now on to the film!

It doesn't take long for us to realize, despite the racially diverse and mostly queer cast, none of the characters are particularly likable. The two girls are Sophie (Amandla Stenberg of The Hate U Give, Dear Evan Hansen) and Bee (Maria Bakalova, a newcomer after that Borat movie), a somewhat recently established young couple on their way to a "hurricane party." That's right, the kind of fabulous and stupid idea rich people come up with to ignore problems; it went well for Prince Prospero in Poe's short story about the Red Death. Sophie comes from a wealthy family, and the party will be hosted by an old friend of hers who is also sickeningly rich, the goofy delinquent David (Pete Davidson, of course). Shortly after they arrive -- unannounced and somewhat unwanted after no RSVP and some teenage drama -- the rain begins to fall and lightning cracks across the sky. Time to get indoors, right?

Maybe, but it's not so comfortable in the stately mansion with so many large personalities. David's girlfriend Emma is there (Chase Sui Wonders), as are a clueless podcaster named Alice (a magnificent Rachel Sennott of Shiva Baby) and her shockingly older ex-vet boy toy Greg (a perversely jubilant Lee Pace), and the mysterious but aggressive Jordan (Myha'la Herrold). They may all be used to wealth, but they're also extremely petty, bitter, and jaded; passive-aggressive arguments begin immediately about group chats and etiquette for attending parties. Jordan seems to have romantic feelings for Sophie -- their past is confirmed soon enough -- and the kids are all a little too attached to their precious phones. They are very much meant to stand in for voices of their generation, and the first third of the film is mostly played as comedic, showcasing the ridiculous preoccupations of supposedly woke young adults when they are left to their own amusement.

Booze and pills and cocaine flow freely until night falls, when it's time to play an infamous murder-mystery party game "Bodies Bodies Bodies." It sounds a bit like a secret killer game mixed with something like hide-and-seek, but there is no stopping the suspicions and revelations with so many substances in their systems. This is the kind of self-conscious horror movie that made Scream work, but writers Sarah DeLappe and Kristen Roupenian don't want to fit the mold entirely. Borrowing heavily from the 2005 cult hit Cry Wolf, they play off our expectations of the genre, melding self-aware comedy and cultural critiques with slasher aesthetic and a whodunnit plot. Because, in case you wondered where all this was going, bodies do indeed start to fall.

I won't summarize any more of the plot because a primary joy here is in trying to figure things out along with the characters. Are they being pranked by one of their own, as in Knives Out -- perhaps by that older creep Greg, or the playboy addict David -- or could a killer be among them, like the mysterious stranger (and arguable protagonist) Bee, about whom we know as little as anyone else? Are they being stalked from without, a la You're Next, or is this some weird dynastic thing among the young and rich, as in Ready or Not? As the hurricane rages on, more bodies drop; more fascinating, if less engaging, are the screenplay and acting, which highlight the vapid love-hate relationship we all share with social media and, by extension, with each other.

Director Halina Reijn (in her English-language directorial debut) could be accused here of hating Gen Z, but I think her work is much more nuanced and sensitive than that. In fact, I might be inclined to argue that, while she is lampooning certain aspects of culture, she is in fact doing crucial work of bridging a generational gap: encouraging artistic dialogue between high-brow art (A24 may produce many things, but nobody can dispute its prolific titles' place in cinematic excellence) and younger generations. It's almost gleefully nihilistic in its dialogue, yes, and also in its attitude toward the characters, an intentional choice to ironically embrace accusations hurled at horror films for the past few decades. There are plenty of effective scares and lots of moody broody angst -- major thanks to cinematographer Jasper Wolf and music by Disasterpeace -- but the ultimate pleasure of this film is in its twist climax and denouement. I can hardly wait to rewatch with subtitles to capture and appreciate the nasty dialogue, its fabulous turns and dares, and of course to better appreciate the masterful performances even more by knowing what we finally know. This is, indeed, not a safe space.

Cyrano (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

When I heard the story of Cyrano de Bergerac had been adapted into a new musical, the news was terribly exciting. It's much modernized, of course, from the 19th-century play, but still largely made to look period. The primary updates are twofold: first with the addition of music, and second with the casting of Peter Dinklage as the title character. Why is this significant? Well, anyone familiar with the story would tell you that Cyrano is most known as the story of a French soldier and poet and musician with an enormous nose. The character has internalized the ugliness projected onto him by society and decided that he is unworthy of love; when he falls in love with the beautiful and lonely Roxanne, it is from behind the ink and pages of their correspondence.

Erica Schmidt's adaptation (on stage and now on screen) changes Cyrano's source of melancholy, away from the traditional nose issue -- often played with obnoxiously, laughably large prosthetics -- to profoundly brilliant effect. With Dinklage in the role, his stature becomes the target of derision and scorn, providing the story a sobering dose of realism and relatability in 2022. It helps, surely, that Schmidt and Dinklage are married and probably worked on this material together as a labor of love before putting it on the boards. Dinklage imbues boldness and unabashed romantic heft into every beat as the iconic character, and it's his "biggest" role yet, emotionally and performatively speaking. He even gets his chance -- thanks surely to the director -- to have a smattering of the sort of swashbuckling scenes that made Errol Flynn and other studly stars the romantic leads of old Hollywood classics. The handsome Christian, Cyrano's rival in love for Roxanne who is not given the comedic opportunities he deserved (and that this film desperately needs), is played by Kelvin Harrison Jr., while Roxanne's courtier, the foppish Duke, is played surprisingly well by Ben Mendelsohn. The lady herself is played by a charming Haley Bennett, who fits the musicality of the film much better than her co-stars.

It's all sort of cutesy and sweet, but it never really coalesces into a satisfying cinematic experience. True, it has been almost entirely reimagined visually -- by the visionary genius of director Joe Wright -- and so it resembles almost nothing, I imagine, of the stage musical in any practical way. But I suspect it wouldn't be satisfying on stage either, unless Schmidt botched her own work in translating it to screen. The music itself is atrocious, with every song performed in the same tempo and almost always a similar key. There are no variations between song style, rhythm, harmony, or content. No songs advance the plot, introduce characters, or offer spectacle; instead, they serve as Shakespearean soliloquies, allowing characters to express deep emotional revelations. This might be effective in opera, but not musical theatre. Further, the lyrics to the songs are endlessly, annoyingly repetitive, often with a single phrase or couplet repeated many times in the background like a contemporary Christian band. 

Thankfully Wright handles the numbers quite well, allowing gentle choreography to inform the background of each song, with unlikely ensemble members dancing as if they were in a Regency-era ball. Two especially well-shot numbers -- thank you, cinematographer Seamus McGarvey -- will stick in my brain for a while; the first is in Christian's first song, as rows of soldiers dance with their fencing blades on the parapets of a seaside fort, and the second is when the Duke approaches Roxanne for what he intends to be the night of their consummation through the dark, foggy streets. These kinds of visual flourishes provide depth and artistry to a film otherwise devoid of meaningful inspiration. Sound harsh? Check the repeated use of shots of various characters running down alleys as papers (presumably love letters) flutter in the air around them, as if the production designers were determined to recreate the opening scenes of Chris Columbus's Rent. 

It's not "bad," of course, and sometimes it's effective in absorbing your full sensual attention. The trio song of letter-writing, when the papers start to fly around, is a downright sexy sequence, and many repeated shots of Roxanne on her bed caressing her letters are pretty erotic. Wright could have leaned more into the conceptual conceit of isolating his characters more until the crucial moments that they do finally connect, obviously through letters but even more importantly when in person. Filming in this way might have helped make the narrative more dynamic and more accessible for younger audiences as well as audiences hungry for a nice period romance after two years of pandemic-related isolation where we so often relied on written words to keep us all connected. 

Elvis (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Baz Luhrmann is back, baby, and this time he leans into the same artistic impulses that drove his utterly fabulous previous outing, The Great Gatsby. That is to say, he tells a very grounded story -- this time, based on one of the most famous and influential celebrities in the world -- with the same kind of visual and aural pizzazz that has made him the famed maximalist auteur of 21st century cinema. Many people know the Elvis Presley story, or at least parts of it, and so this movie might ring differently for those fans. I know precious little about his life or legacy; frankly, he's never really been a favorite artist to my ear. As such, this movie was a fresh and fascinating look into one of the earliest producers of what we now know of as "show business."

Elvis is told, interestingly enough, from the perspective of the villain of the story, his longtime manager "Colonel" Tom Parker, played by a deliciously nasty Tom Hanks in an uncharacteristically greasy role. He opens the film near the end of his life, near death in a Vegas hospital, surrounded by memorabilia and tchotchkes of fame as he narrates his reflections on his creation: the greatest show on earth. He wants to undermine the tabloids' claims of his fraudulent behavior and his management of the singing superstar whose untimely death left a void in the hearts of many fans. If Parker was a cheat and manipulator and crook, he's going to address that before his own demise. Hanks relishes this kind of role, though he has almost never embraced such seedy characters on screen before. He's kind of a nasty Santa Claus here, jubilant but watchful, eager to help young Elvis become a star as long as he can ride the ingenue's coattails to glory.

Right away, we see the effects of racism on the music industry, as a young Elvis (Austin Butler) leans heavily into Gospel and Blues music to find his voice. Montage after montage -- as only Luhrmann does best -- shows us the ways he studied, appreciated, and honored traditionally Black music in a time when he was not allowed to. These sequences will surely inspire heated conversations about appropriation on his part, but at the time -- according to the logic of this film -- he was simply creating music he loved like "Hound Dog" and wanted to share it with everyone; Luhrmann carefully intertwines Elvis's performances with those of Black singers in and around Beale Street to showcase the parallel environments in which this music was appreciated/appropriated. It's an absolutely fascinating first hour or so of this film, with more cultural knowledge (and fantasy) dropped in than any single viewer can handle.

And that's the Luhrmann trip, always, if you're willing to get on his wavelength. We could spend hours talking about how weird and unusual (but clearly having fun) Hanks is in this movie, or how Austin Butler is the hottest new actor in every possible way in the last decade and how effortlessly but bravely he carries the film, or how true to real life it all is. I'm enamored, however, by the director and his signature style, which is endlessly unique every time he provides us with a new vision. Of course, he combines so much into his vision that it's hard to parse right away, but it's all feeding into the same frenzied, fevered vision that makes him so utterly watchable. Serious discussions of homophobia and racism and capitalist greed and sexist workplaces breeze by while Elvis gyrates and vibrates his hips under hot pink slacks or slick leather pants and you're so caught up in the energy you forget this is a film and not a live concert experience from HBO.

Sure, the writing and dialogue could have used more work. While some characters are hopelessly flat -- Priscilla and his parents are barely even characters -- and scenes flip between times and locations faster than a strobe light, I barely noticed in the moment because Luhrmann and Butler cast such a dazzling spell together. Instead, I found my mind wandering repeatedly to the relationship between art and success, and how terribly things go awry when capitalism pushes artists toward labor and pay rather than ownership over their own brands. Even when the film, by its second half, moves into standard biopic territory -- the roaring crowds, sliding into private limos, doing drugs amongst the haze of stardom -- Luhrmann keeps surprising us with powerful renditions of familiar songs like "Trouble" and "Can't Help Falling in Love" in daring new contexts.

The lights of Vegas, and the deviously, bittersweetly named "International" Theater and casino/hotel, provide the kind of spectacle that Luhrmann harnesses better than any working filmmaker today. As the film reaches its denouement, Elvis ages dramatically until Luhrmann uses stock footage of his real-life comeback special before the final onscreen text and credits. It's telling too that by this point Elvis himself was starting to be claimed by a largely white audience, when so many major Black artists were the ones to support him in his early years, and Luhrmann seems intent to dare us to interrogate that trajectory of fame and "success." It invites us to consider the complex relationship generations of Black fans have had with Elvis, and it critiques the tendency of white folks to, well, appropriate until they forget the actual history (or commodify "the King" in service to nationalism and conservatism, much as President Nixon did). This is where Luhrmann's passion clearly lies in wanting to tell this story. Yes, his showmanship a la Moulin Rouge is the obvious pull for ticket sales, but his sensitivity and bravery in diving into the messier aspects of this story smacks more of Australia.

Anyone who decries this film for being itself racist or appropriating would do well to recognize the framing of the film from Parker's perspective. That in itself informs a lot of the proceedings, from the fabulous excesses of showbiz life to the general erasure of people of color from the Presley narrative. Luhrmann isn't creating a whitewashed or sanitized version of Elvis's life; he's showing literally how whitewashing happens and how dangerous and pernicious it really is. He's also making a damn good jukebox biopic for the ages.