It Lives Inside (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

Possession movies are a basic food group in horror cinema, evidenced by new additions every year, and they've been getting wonderfully culturally and ethnically diverse. Starting with The Exorcist, almost all possession films find their theological heart in white Christianity, specifically Roman Catholicism. In only the last few years, we've had multiple possession movies that dramatically expand the scope of represented faiths to include Judaism (after The Possession in 2012 we finally got The Vigil and The Offering), Islam, Caribbean brujeria, Korean and Japanese myth, indigenous religions, and even a few devoid of faith, which usually means the theming is psychological and about some kind of trauma or disorder. It Lives Inside is the first Hindu possession horror film I've seen, and while the trappings are fascinating and beautiful, I wish there was something else fresh going on to make it more worthwhile.

Samidha ("Sam," played by Megan Suri) is a smart, popular Indian-American student in high school. Her mother (Neeru Bajwa) is overbearing but her father adeptly helps calm things between them, seeing that Sam is an American kid foremost and wants to fit in in ways her mother eschews. Sam is harboring a crush on Russ, the popular (white) guy in her class, and her former best friend Tamira seems to be going off the deep end, sleep-deprived and talking to herself while behaving in a paranoid and irritable manner. One teacher (Betty Gabriel) becomes concerned and asks Sam to reconnect with Tamira, but Sam has no interest in associating with the "crazy" Brown person and reveals no small amount of internalized racism in the interaction. Her frustration with being relied on to help Tamira leads Sam to break a glass jar Tamira has been obsessively carrying around.

Naturally, the jar was holding an evil spirit -- known in Hindu and Buddhist myth as a pishach -- that feeds on human energy and flesh and can only be contained, not destroyed. Once Tamira goes missing, after the jar is broken, Sam suspects her delusions might have been truthful. Sam begins experiencing hallucinations and vicious dreams about a tooth-riddled monster approaching her and hurting the people around her. The pishach functions like many movie monsters, especially in coming-of-age narratives, attempting to isolate Sam from her family and friends while chipping away at her sense of reality. It's effective here, as Sam is already fairly isolated and working hard to assimilate; her attempts to use an Americanized name, hang with micro-aggressive white kids, and build a barrier between her home life and her social life all make her an easy target for a creature that will prey on her identity and specifically her body.

And that's about where the intrigue stops, or at least it did for me. Bishal Dutta's directorial debut indicates strong concepts and accessible drama, but it stops short of really adding anything meaningful to the existing heap of culturally specific possession movies. After introducing the assimilation theming and especially the conflict between Sam as a first-generation citizen and her mother, the film shies away from making any significant observations or arguments about being Brown or Hindu in America (the Netflix-released His House is great in this regard, so go watch that!). Even the knowledge that the demon came from India along with several other Indian families it preyed upon doesn't lead this narrative into Sam searching for more community or exploring generational and familial trauma and immigration. Too, there is almost no suspicion or clear racism against Sam -- who is present when one of her friends is murdered -- by the white kids or their families, no police presence, and that's when the whole racial-relevance shtick feels less authentic and more convenient.

It's as though Dutta wants to just make a standard teen scary movie that just looks more diverse than others in the market. Which is fine, but for the first widely released Hindu possession movie, it's a shame It Lives Inside wasn't designed for more meaningful impact or insight. Dutta and his cinematographer work hard for a claustrophobic aesthetic, rich in shadows and mostly comprised of severe close-up shots, but they are undercut by haphazard editing that bewilders as often as it pushes the plot along. Worse, despite the demon's pretty cool design, their final confrontation is too long and action-heavy, and it felt that Dutta cared more about mass audience appeal and a potential sequel than about honoring the story and characters of this material. 

Dream Scenario (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

The biggest shock of the year for me, Dream Scenario is also one of the most daring and thoughtful movies released cinemas in a long time. "Provocative" is a word that came to mind also, but not because it provokes audiences in ways like Saltburn or Priscilla are meant to instigate passionate discussions of hot topics. This film provokes us to rethink dreams and the waking world, yes, but more importantly it forces us to compare dreams to social media and the kind of meta-fame that comes with anonymous people suddenly becoming popular icons. This is a rare genre-defying blend of dark comedy, fantasy, horror, and social commentary-as-drama, not tonally or aesthetically dissimilar from works by Spike Jonze, Charlie Kaufman, or the magnificent 1979 film Being There.

Anyone who knows me knows I strongly dislike Nicolas Cage as a performer and actor, but that that doesn't stop me from liking some -- and, I must emphasize, only a select few -- of films in which he stars. Here, he's magnificent as a mild-mannered and eccentric biology professor, nondescript and fumbling Paul Matthews, whose own wife describes them as people nobody would notice and who prefer not to be noticed by anybody. His jokes aren't funny, and his interests are dispiritingly bland. His altered physical appearance and awkward movement work fabulously realize a character who needs basically no introduction or backstory because he is such an everyman. As his agitation and indignation grow, so too does his temper, and he's at his typical best (ooh, I'm cringing to even write that) when his gears grind to a halt and he explodes.

How does an everyman become a martyr? It starts when he spontaneously starts appearing in the dreams of others. There is no inciting incident, no cause, no rationale; there is also no pattern or correlation between dreamers who see Paul. His wife (a woefully underused Julianne Nicholson) doesn't dream of him, but his daughter does. Several of his students dream of him. Many strangers dream of him. They all do share, however, similar visions of him simply existing in the world of their dreams and being memorable, despite him doing nothing in the dream. He's just there, watching, much like he does in real life. He meekly strolls though, as we see, in his unflattering sweater and wide eyes, sometimes smiling in a passive but pleasant way. Though, of course, most people who dream of him don't even know that's his dominant character trait.

Norwegian director Kristoffer Borgli's first American film is a masterclass in balancing these seemingly disparate elements, and it's clear he feels passionately about it as both writer and director. Part of the film's beauty is that, while it does follow some familiar beats and raise predictable questions about its material, it actively resists categorization and feels endlessly believable. Dream sequences are almost never obvious, until of course they are. Unlike most dramatized dreams in bright white echo chambers or ethereal foggy soundstages, here the set/location, sound design, nor editing reveal that the scene is in fact a titular dream scenario. The cinematographer's use of film stock gives the proceedings a grainy reliability so that, when odd things do occasionally happen, you have to remind yourself that we're not seeing a fluke or fantasy. The dreams are also not predictably inserted, and so -- except for one darkly hilarious montage of dreams -- you're never quite ready for someone to float away or brutally kill another.

Because the point of the film, by its halfway point, is not why a nondescript man is appearing in the dreams of so many people, or even how sudden recognizability and fame without reason or purpose can affect someone's life. Rather, the point of the film is how fickle and dangerous that kind of fame (or infamy) actually is and how devastating it can be for those who can't handle it and don't understand it. Right around the time Paul is learning to embrace his popularity -- appearing on talk shows and publishing a book -- his presence in dreams suddenly turns violent. He is cruel and violent towards others, even sexually assaulting and murdering people; in real life, people are terrified of him to the point of group therapy and ostracizing Paul. Everything in his real life is jeopardized, from his car being vandalized to his daughter fearing him, his wife leaving him, his job being taken, his book being cancelled. Everything is gone, and he has done nothing to deserve any of it.

Dream Scenario may not make great insights or even solid statements about its subject matter, but its approach and convictions will haunt you. Cage -- being who he is -- is turned into a freak not because of his nature but because of everyone's perception of him, and it's the kind of role he excels in realizing (Adaptation comes to mind as the crucial counterpoint here). He has, especially recently, relished in metafictional roles that cater to him, but this is one of the first times his bizarre choices feel earnest and earned, and I often felt that he was supporting the film rather than the other way around. He plays the part as if it were a biopic about an innocent professor obsessed with ant evolution, so much so that his alarming presence in dream scenes feels a bit like a caricature or someone else entirely. Perhaps the emotional climax of the film occurs when, desperate for the prosecution to stop, Paul releases a video of himself weeping, begging for sympathy, and it's seen (as like most influencers) as a grab for yet more attention and weaponizing his own fame. It's telling, too, that Borgli cast Cage in a role that somewhat mirrors his own bizarre, meme-able fame that has little real basis in merited talent or skill yet increasingly perseveres in our virtual culture.

The things I dislike about the film, apart from Nicholson's dully written role, come from its screenplay, which feels at once thoughtfully inspired and tragically underbaked. Its grasp on concepts, especially the agony of being unable to control your own famous image, is strong. Its grasp on humans is less strong, and the presence of other famous names like Michael Cera, Dylan Gelula, and Dylan Baker comprise a cast of flat, unremarkable, and mostly hostile characters. Its grasp on horror is simple but effective (and, I should note, very little graphic violence), making the disturbing bits less horrifying and more horrified, as if the film itself doesn't want to perpetuate the scary stuff. Its grasp on humor is complex and less effective, taking frankly cheap shots at cancel culture, Fox News, capitalist influencers, and more while avoiding the admittedly difficult but more satisfying existential humor that the film could so easily harness. This satire is more about recognizing face-value references than about the Big Ideas those references should be, well, referencing. This makes the comedy element awkward and somewhat cringey. I'd have preferred a film that either goes in whole hog with its humor -- albeit in a fittingly complicated, absurdist way -- or with its horror, or one that at least threads those needles with more finesse from the writer's workshop.

Napoleon (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Thank heaven Ridley Scott is still making movies. His style may not always land for everyone, and his subject matter certainly doesn't, but I've liked every title I've seen of his directorial filmography. With this ambitious biopic and historical war thriller combination, however, I think the vastness that is Napoleon might be slightly beyond Scott's grasp. At least as a lesson in history. The film, while endlessly engaging and fabulous in spectacle, tries to do far too much in its two-and-a-half-hours, and rumor has it that a four-plus-hour director's cut is in the works already. I certainly hope it is.

Scott is here doing what he does best -- or, at least, most famously -- in fictionally dramatizing real historical events mobilized by massive wars. He's also creating a project few filmmakers have dared attempt, though the most immediate comparison point I can conceive might be Oliver Stone's storied (and in my opinion, utterly brilliant) biopic of Alexander the Great. His focus, of course, is here Napoleon Bonaparte, who Scott tries to epitomize from the French Revolution in 1973 (as he apparently watches the beheading of Marie Antoinette) right through his defeat in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. That's a massive amount of time -- and accomplishments -- to fit into any film, but it does flow rather nicely for what amounts to a bullet-pointed summary.

I confess not knowing a lot about the Napoleonic Wars, but I followed this film generally well, though my notes include several questions for light research. While I knew Egypt was part of his empire, I didn't know about the Battle of the Pyramids; while I knew his invasion of Russia is usually considered a failure, I didn't know that Moscow had been abandoned and burned in 1812. A better screenplay would have found ways of providing more context and information in addition to the "dramatic bits" that seem to dominate the dialogue. And really, that's my only complaint with this film in general: David Scarpa's screenplay just doesn't get deeper than a surface-level survey of Napoleon's wars, shallowly avoiding insight or even much explanation while tying together massive set pieces and Big Ideas. Stringing us from battle to battle, the screenplay only dramatizes Napoleon to the extent that he starts as a terrified soldier and ends as a tragically confident emperor, with only an enigmatic and erotic marital arrangement to flavor his life between wars.

The deeper parts of the screenplay -- and yes, they do exist -- are the more melodramatic and private. Scott's film is wielding a dual purpose: one, to chronicle Napoleon's imperial ambitions, and two, to dramatize the obsessive and contentious romantic relationship he shared with Josephine, an aristocratic widow who takes notice of him after his heroic victory in the Siege of Toulon (which is one of the film's best and most graphic battle scenes, and be warned if you dislike the idea of seeing a horse's torso explode from cannonball impact). Their meeting in 1795 starts a lifetime of passionate lovemaking, grueling political intrigue, and letter-writing that apparently served as inspiration for the entire project. Joaquin Phoenix is never less than arresting as Napoleon (though not always believable with his lack of discernible accent and his age, which doesn't always match the age of the character), but it is Vanessa Kirby whose performance deserves more attention. Kirby has the thankless job of playing a mysterious character mostly lost to history, whose sole purpose in the film -- and, arguably, in life -- is to be a mirror of sorts to the emperor, policing his ego, stroking his ambition, and of course providing sustenance for his desires. Josephine's inability to provide Napoleon with an air becomes the central problem in their relationship, but beyond that familiar plotline is a wealth of weighty power dynamics and sensual challenges between them.

Frankly, I'd have liked this film to either be a miniseries (which, with a potential four-plus-hour cut, I guess it essentially will be) or two separate films, one focusing on Napoleon's wars and public persona and one on his private struggles with family and politics. Both are deserving of more screen time and more dramatic and thematic depth. What is it about Josephine that makes Napoleon all but go mad for her? What is it about him that she apparently loves so much? We're never really given insight into their relationship; the actors are both masters of creating backstory and internal conflict with little more than a silent look, but the screenplay could and should help its audience a bit more. Especially since the film suggests to a lesser extent that it's in pursuit of Josephine that Napoleon finds his motivation for warmongering and empire-building. Neither the director nor writer seem interested in making broad statements about Napoleon as a man, tyrant, or anything else; there's nary a moment of insecurity about his height or attempts to compensate (as pop culture would otherwise imply), about colonialism, madness (I mean, not even a hint of insight into the Napoleon Complex, if you please), or anything that makes Napoleon out to be more than a figurehead, fated to rise and fall in preordained beats of life or a cinematic reel.

So, while it's frustrating to not know much more about Napoleon after viewing the film than before, it's also clear that Scott and his team aren't interested in a history lesson or character discussion. Those are movies that could (and should) be made. This is a period war movie, one that takes its apparent purpose as something akin to war epics of decades gone by. It uses relentlessly impressive battle scenes on enormous scale to cow us into awe, alternating these massive sequences with private bedchamber scenes to underscore Napoleon's "home" life and how it interplays with the man we know from history. With the graphic battle scenes, and the film's closing text discussing the estimated three million deaths during the Napoleonic Wars, I wish the film had leaned into an understanding of him as a warmonger, yes, but also a deathmonger; he seems most lively on screen only when battle rages around him and the threat of death is imminent. This would have been a fascinating lens to view the film through, especially given the contrasting desperation for new life Napoleon craves in begetting a son. It's telling that, once his son is born, he completely disappears from the film and is not mentioned even in the closing text.