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.