Missing (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

Who knew that 2018's Searching would spawn a franchise? That might be a bit ambitious to say, as Missing isn't really a sequel so much as a sister film or continuation of similar ideas. It's another "screenlife" film, as the relatively new terminology allows us, an evolution of found footage films that really kicked off in the early-to-mid 2010s. For reference, Paranormal Activity 4 and The Den were probably (arguably) the first forays into depicting most of their action on computer screens, and they were released in 2012 and 2013, respectively. Timur Bekmambetov coined "screenlife" and has directed or produced the most work in the burgeoning subgenre. Other than Searching, notable titles include Profile, Unfriended, and Host. The format isn't for everyone -- though it thankfully doesn't induce as much motion sickness as found footage films usually do -- and I personally find the constant clicking and multiple windows and tabs and speedy (read: reckless) web searches to be more anxiety-inducing than others might.

Yet, as Bekmambetov and Aneesh Chaganty have demonstrated time and again, it is a fabulous medium for mystery-thrillers with an edge for real-life horrors. I imagine it's also an editing nightmare, but it's telling that the directors of Missing previously edited Searching. The film begins with a barrage of images that includes references to the previous film, revealing that they are in the same shared universe of mystery, false identities, digital crimes, and deadly real-world consequences. This time, our protagonist is a young woman named June (played by the always surprising Storm Reid) who, after a wild week of partying while her mother (Nia Long) is on vacation in Colombia, is forced to start looking for her mother, who she declares missing. She does so almost entirely on her laptop, using social media, search engines, her linked cell phone and email, and even surveillance footage. She communicates this way with her mother's best friend, her own friends, a hired hand in Colombia, and an FBI agent assigned to her case. It may stretch credulity, but it also functions to stretch our conception of how to use these technologies; at least, it does for me, though I expect Gen Z viewers might relate a bit better.

Too many details will spoil this film, as it works best to be taken at face value. The mystery itself is breathless, presented in frenetic style by the worried teenager on her computer as she navigates Snapchat and Venmo and FaceTime and TikTok and Ring and Taskrabbit and online dating profiles and hacking into her mother's boyfriend's (Ken Leung) e-mails. She's resourceful in intimidating ways -- a call to her mother's hotel with its Spanish-speaking clerk works because of June's quick-witted use of Google Translate -- and finds local help on the ground in the form of Javi (played by a heartwarming Joaquim de Almeida, who has a surprisingly emotional role to play). But the screenplay is also hopelessly convoluted, as far too many red herrings make the central mystery sometimes forgettable. That's always the problem with mysteries, right? They're either too simple or far too complex. Here, at least, it seems appropriate, because the internet makes everything far too complex.

But that also makes Missing a hell of a lot of fun. And, in some ways, an interesting look at the ways technology both helps and hurts us these days.

Beatriz at Dinner (2017)

Score: 4 / 5

In the grand tradition of dinner parties gone wrong -- Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Carnage, this year's The Dinner -- Beatriz at Dinner starts innocently enough before descending through awkward humor, black comedy, social satire, and ultimately a sort of nihilistic melodrama. As everyone drinks and reveals more about themselves, the more they begin to hate each other. More accurately, the one outsider in their midst becomes hated by everyone else, who are more or less mirrors of each other, even though she warmly welcomed everyone with hugs and offers of free massages. But the film takes what would normally be a marginal moment -- the Latina maid rolling her eyes at the rich white master's silly prejudice and then returning to her assigned role -- and unpacks it into a whole film. Really, this flick is more of a play, and indeed might be more effective on stage (with more dialogue, which the film would have benefited from), where the spectacle of food and drama mix so very well.

This dinner tosses ethnic prejudice and class inequality into a blender filled with capitalist hierarchy and environmental violence and processes it until the gooey paste chokes our awareness of what's really happening. In a very real sense, we are seeing the proceedings from Beatriz's perspective, where all these elements are interconnected, and as the meal progresses we sympathize with her anger and indignation and we get as bewildered until we want to lash out as she does. In fact, during her feverish revenge fantasy at the film's climax, I heard one young woman cheering from the back of the theater. It's hard not to cheer; after the verbal sparring and rhetorical vitriol of the dinner, it only makes sense that the poisonous backstabbing becomes physical in some way.

While Beatriz may not be on par with the indictment of racism in Get Out, for example, but it serves to paint a fairly accurate portrait of early 2017 anxieties felt by Trump's America. We have the oily man who loves violence at the head of the table (John Lithgow, whose knowing performance never winks at us, to his immeasurable credit). We have his sycophantic supporters seeking their own social promotion (Chloe Sevigny and Transparent's Amy Landecker and Jay Duplass). We have the white liberal elite whose commonplace hypocrisies allow them to be comfortable without sacrifice (American Horror Story's Connie Britton). And we have the lone Other (poor, ethnic, female whose religion and lifestyle are distinctly marginal) who is forced into awkward and dangerous situations, ganged up on by the others, and ultimately bereft of the hope that has sustained her. Salma Hayek (Frida) plays the stripped-down, grounded Beatriz with earnestness and honesty, though her eccentric presence in the polished white film might make you chuckle at times. But she's not a clown by any means; her out-of-place figure is one of sympathy for us. It's an awesome performance of a child of the earth who loves to love and who profoundly feels everything. And, while all characters are easily described here, the actors all play expertly and knowingly in the sweet spot between realism and caricature.

In retrospect, I'm not even sure who the real villain is in this flick. It's easy to say Lithgow as the mogul is the big baddie; he even spits out several lines that could have been taken from Ted Levine's Warden in Shutter Island about violence and the death of the world. Can we really blame him though? He may be fiddling while Rome burns, and his predatory corporate devastation is at sharp odds with the film's pastoral images of life on a tropical river, but he's the devil we know. The movie's stab at the heart is delivered by Connie Britton's Kathy, the rich white "friend" who insists Beatriz stays for dinner and involves herself with people any sensitive person would know are not her friends. Her lack of perception gives way to open shame and eventual passive-aggressive cruelty, and her self-deception and betrayal of Beatriz are so complete that she doesn't even feel sorry about her behavior. Take note: If the scene hits you a little too hard, it means you have some soul-searching to do, too.

Its too-brief duration on screen has the taste of melodrama and dark comedy, befitting the tradition its furthers, but in the last twenty minutes or so the filmmakers lace the brew with shocking horror and Greek tragedy. Whether they are trying to reference Kate Chopin or a transcendent earth religion, the last scene bothered me because it spells defeat for our heroine. Yet at the same time, we completely understand her pain and loss of hope; it's a love letter and a fierce warning for those of us in despair over the state of our country and our world. Beatriz, in her loving and sacrificial way, loses hope so that we don't have to.

IMDb: Beatriz at Dinner