Juror #2 (2024)

Score: 3.5 / 5

With the press indicating it might be his final film, 94-year-old Clint Eastwood churns out another feature in Juror #2. His work as both actor and director has hit notable high and low points, and his directorial work has gotten increasingly and obnoxiously tainted by his political messaging, but Eastwood is still a prolific and skilled proficient. Known for his efficiency behind the camera, Eastwood here tackles a convoluted and compelling courtroom drama as if it were a thriller. If you know me, you know I love a courtroom drama: by nature, their writing has to be brilliant. While screenwriter Jonathan Abrams is not a name I'm familiar with, his work in this particular mystery is admirable, perhaps most because it's not, strictly speaking, a mystery at all.

In Savannah, Georgia -- setting to one of Eastwood's most tonally unique films, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil -- at a time that seems to be close to the present day, journalist and recovering alcoholic Justin Kemp (Nicholas Hoult) is summoned and selected for jury duty. Though he does not wish to leave his at-risk wife home alone during her third trimester, duty calls, and he seems hell-bent on fulfilling it. The case: a year prior, Kendall Carter and her boyfriend James Sythe had a fight at a bar on the outskirts of town and was subsequently found dead under a nearby bridge. As opening statements wrap up, Kemp is struck with the horrific realization that he was at that bar the night of the fight. Distressed by his wife's stillborn twins, he went to that bar to mull things over over a glass of whiskey; he remembers not drinking and fleeing the bar in shame and regret, pulling out in the rain, and driving away before hitting something that vanished. Was it a deer? Or is he, juror number two, actually guilty for Carter's death?

It's a shocking revelation, all the more so because it happens so early in the film. Tension immediately ratchets as we watch Kemp decide how and if he might recuse himself, how to get his own legal counsel (from his AA sponsor and lawyer, played by Kiefer Sutherland, who urges him to keep quiet and do nothing). Sythe's public defender (Chris Messina) squares off with the county prosecutor running for DA (Toni Collete with, frankly, a gobsmackingly evocative if cartoonish accent) and the case proceeds through typically frenetic, peripatetic hoops of evidence and testimony. Finally, the jury is sequestered in deliberation, and they unanimously vote to convict Sythe.

Well, almost. Kemp is the holdout, and he attempts to Henry Fonda the shit out of his fellow jurors. It's compelling due to his tenuous culpability, and his efforts get frighteningly close to Jean Valjean's self-torment at the possibility of having another man pay for his crimes. He seems always on the verge of breaking, but then he'll do something desperate or stupid to cover his own ass, as when an ex-detective juror (JK Simmons) begins searching for his own evidence that would lead to Kemp and so Kemp leaks this illegality to their bailiff. Kemp grows distant from his wife (Zoey Deutch), who grows suspicious, especially after the prosecutor starts snooping around.

I won't spoil anything else, because courtroom dramas hinge on being compelling on their own unfolding of events, except to say that this film has a lot of annoying improbabilities. It's not a strictly realistic film, which did distract me more than usual. Too many convenient and unlikely coincidences make it all a bit untenable, especially for a story that requires narrative empathy to function, and its central conceit (that a sober and sane man could kill someone, have no realization of it, and then completely forget about it until it all flashes back to him a year later) strains credulity to its breaking point. And by its climax, Kemp's characterization surprisingly and unsatisfyingly flips without insight or justification from the screenplay or performances.

But this is an old-fashioned film with pleasures in store for anyone willing to bypass such shortcomings. It's the kind of mainstream feel-good procedural that pops up once in a while, with precedents from To Kill a Mockingbird to Where the Crawdads Sing, from The Verdict to any John Grisham adaptations from the '80s or '90s. Its middling budget -- all the money going to a wide cast of stars -- helps ground the film, and its unwieldy story develops a momentum of its own purely as a result of its integrity and determination. It's okay to have a straightforward genre flick that doesn't necessary do much in terms of novelty, seeks pure entertainment value, and encourages its audience to thoughtfully reflect and speculate. "What would you do in this situation?" Even trite questions like that can launch stimulating post-screening conversations with material this rich. And, whatever you think of Eastwood's layered criticisms of government, police and prosecutorial misconduct, personal liberties for rogue anarchy, and the judicial system in general, the denouement of Juror #2 will leave you breathless. So be sure to see it with other people, and plan to chat for a while afterwards. Eastwood is more transparent than usual, which makes this moral mess a doozy to try and concisely stake any claims in; it's a welcome change of tone from his overtly libertarian efforts of late.

I.S.S. (2024)

Score: 2 / 5

Space thrillers are always a fun time. By definition an exercise in claustrophobia, the subgenre works best when leaning into the restrictions of maintaining life in an impossible location. Whether it's in body suits and top-tier actors floating off into space, a derelict ship riddled with parasitic predatory aliens, or ghostly memories warping the minds of isolated astronauts orbiting a mysterious planet, the movies let paranoia mobilize their plot, inform and torment their characters, and infect and entertain their audience. I.S.S., the new thriller from director Gabriela Cowperthwaite (Blackfish, Megan Leavey, Our Friend) is well aware of its fearsome potential and utilizes its brief runtime to effectively chill and thrill us.

While there's a lot to be said for a B movie that knows exactly what it is and confidently presents itself, there's also a lot to be said for one that is also smart about what it offers. Unfortunately, that's where I.S.S. fails. Its brilliant premise -- as anyone who has seen the trailer knows -- takes us and a new astronaut to the titular International Space Station, home to a crew of three Russian and three American scientists. The six characters watch in horror when what appear to be nuclear explosions litter the surface of Earth shortly before each team receives private orders from their respective countries to take control of the station by any means necessary. Will their scientific and humanitarian camaraderie win the day, or will they disintegrate with suspicion and violence?

A brilliant premise only goes so far, though, and this screenplay by Nick Shafir squanders its opportunities at nearly every turn. A laborious opening act drops so many foreboding breadcrumbs it feels like a beginner's lecture on how suspense works in narrative; moment after moment drips with Portentous Significance, often with accompanying camera zooms and musical stings. We know the mice (there to be studied) are going to have a hard adjustment and their behavior will likely mimic that of the humans; we know the ominous warning about trusting the hum of the life support system will come true as if it's Chekhov's gun; we know the astronauts' supposedly spiritually revelatory view of Earth from their observation "cupola" will take on new horror when Earth is alight with radioactive fire. We don't need a screenplay to label and index the excessive amounts of breadcrumbs, pick them up for us, and then shove them down our throats. It's okay to trust your audience.

Even with the inherent tensions in this story, the screenplay further insults us by adding unnecessary and somewhat unbelievable conflict to the characters. Their early moment of viewing Earth without borders and coming to a transcendent mentality is swiftly undermined when, at a celebratory welcome dinner for the new astronaut, they aggressively split along nationalistic lines, defiantly allowing their linguistic differences and dubious microaggressions to trump what should be their unified, scientific, humanitarian purpose in being there. This also takes away their realism as characters, as it would have been much more interesting to see six apolitical people agonizingly decide whether or not to trust each other and obey their countries. Instead, except for the pair of star-crossed lovers, they are immediately painted on opposing teams vying for control, which would be more appropriate for an action movie than a thriller.

There are also too many weird story problems that didn't make sense to me; while it was only a single viewing for me, and usually these things don't bother me, the number of plot holes and conveniences shattered my suspension of disbelief. The transmissions from Russia and the US are supposed to be secret, but they chime aloud at the same time in the same room and nobody questions that, indeed sharing that they didn't actually receive any missives at all. When one character, working maintenance outside the station, becomes untethered and drifts away, we find out (SPOILER ALERT) much later that he was able to grab on to a panel and stay safe, which is absurd and deeply annoying after what Sandy B. had to deal with in Gravity. It's also bizarre to me that, whoever the aggressor was on Earth (we're never told), the initiating country in the conflict didn't give their team on ISS any advance warning, especially considering the potentially life-saving radiation-healing science aboard.

Despite my nagging, it's not all a bad time at the cinema (though my recommendation is to wait for rental or streaming, if you watch it at all). The film features some cool moments of space spectacle, such as when a character opens a liquor bottle without thinking, and they subsequently slurp the floating liquid spheres like anti-gravity shots. Semi-immersive cinematography by Nick Remy Matthews -- never as graceful as Emmanuel Lubezki's in Gravity or Seamus McGarvey's in Life -- bobs and twirls around the station effectively, making us feel adrift like the astronauts (though their suspension via wires is obvious more than once). There were some weird glitchy moments in my screening that seemed like digital buffering, but that could have just been a technical problem and not reflective of the film itself. But the film's uniquely terrible editing in all its frenetic confusion makes for a messy experience of even the best visual moments.

A likable cast of solid performers make the film watchable, but even they can't save it from itself. Ariana DeBose, fresh off her Oscar win, carries the film mostly through physical prowess and a certain queer charm about her. Her character is so thinly written and basic that she has almost nothing to work with, a near-complete waste of her talents. Chris Messina does his best as the American leader, and John Gallagher Jr. actually scared me for maybe the first time in his career as the (SPOILER ALERT) unbalanced and desperate quasi-villain. Unfortunately, his reveal as such is predictable and unsatisfying -- again, thanks to the screenplay's tendency to repeat anything important ad nauseam -- but he chews scenery with magnetic aplomb. Masha Mashkova, Costa Ronin, and especially Pilou Asbaek are solid as the Russian crew, though other than Asbaek their characters are also flat and uninspired.

Elementary writing and frenzied editing render I.S.S. mostly a breezy mess of a flick, enjoyable enough if you're not paying attention. Clunky fight scenes and dubious drama sap the film of what could easily be streamlined, adrenaline-pumping efficacy. Though far too numerous and awkwardly spliced in, the image of a burning Earth looming in the background is enough to make up for the film's budget; I'd have preferred fewer omniscient shots of the station superimposed over the fiery planet and more shots of the spectacle from within the station, to keep us grounded and immersed. That would also strengthen the focus on character drama, shifting loyalties, and interpersonal tension. Instead, the filmmakers try to balance those elements with practical matters, faulty technology, and lackluster action, watering down the potential on all fronts and losing focus on what should matter most. Kind of like the scientists-turned-would-be-patriots.

The Boogeyman (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

If you know the Stephen King short story on which this movie is based, you know this screenplay - by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods of A Quiet Place and 65 -- is already a strong work of imaginative horror. The story, though a bit chilling, is also annoyingly contrived and ends with a terribly cheesy gimmick. It is made up of a conversation between a bereaved man and his therapist, and that's all that happens. That scene basically becomes an early inciting incident in the new adaptation of The Boogeyman, released last week in cinemas, which is exactly where you should go see it. Feeding off both nostalgia for haunted house-type movies of the mid-aughts as well as so-called "elevated horror" of the late teens and now, it couches its plot of heavy tropes and jump scares in an earnest attempt to explore the process of grief and how to let go of it. Think Lights Out meets The Babadook and you're in exactly the right headspace.

Which is to say, effectively, that while The Boogeyman is by no means original, I thoroughly enjoyed it as B-level horror that wears its inspiration proudly on its sleeve. It's the sort of reliable popcorn chomper perfect for a date night or a spooky evening with friends or (older) kids. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking the road well traveled as long as you do it in style, which is why seeing it in a large dark auditorium works best.

Rob Savage has style. The director's previous outings included found-footage/screenlife films Host and Dashcam, which are far removed aesthetically from his work here. Here, his approach is deliberate and languid, forcing us to focus on the neo-Gothic beauty of his visuals, which mostly include very dark rooms and long shadows. He populates this film with plentiful jump scares, here more earned and more satisfying than their, well, jumpy nature in found footage flicks. The difference is that his earlier films were inventive, provocative, and timely. The Boogeyman, had it been released a decade ago, would probably have gone down as a classic, in the days when Insidious and The Conjuring ruled the genre, but now it's more quaint than anything.

Which is not to say it's not effective; Savage is still really good at what he does. The story, in brief, concerns therapist Will Harper (Chris Messina) and his two daughters Sadie and Sawyer (Sophie Thatcher and Vivien Lyra Blair) who are still reeling from the sudden accidental death of their wife and mother. The chemistry between the family members is really lovely, and the time this film takes in showcasing their relationship wonderfully raises the stakes for what follows. Sawyer is plagued by nightmares while Sadie can't quite connect with anyone at school. Will is visited by an unhinged man, Lester Billings (David Dastmalchian doing that creepy thing he does best), hoping to become a patient; Lester says his three children have died and that the evil spirit who killed them is now attached to him. Will calls the police while Lester, despairing, kills himself in the Harper house. Suddenly inexplicable, terrifying things start going bump in the night.

For some time now, the term "elevated horror" has been thrown around in reference to slow-burner horror dramas that deal with mental illness and thematic intangibles like grief, depression, codependency, etc. I resent that label, but this isn't the time or place for my manifesto! Anyone familiar with The Babadook or Smile or The Night House will be right at home in this film, dealing as it does with grief and healing, though The Boogeyman is much more straightforward in its literalization of the monster in question. The beautiful house that serves as primary setting here is starkly bleak, crawling with thick shadows even in the middle of a sunny afternoon. The children begin to notice a black moldy substance growing throughout the hallways, an annoying cliché that felt ripped from other films -- notably Mama -- which is the kind of trope that works best in face-value haunting movies, not ones trying to bridge the gap between emotional/psychological realism and supernatural horror.

What works much better is the monster itself, a nightmarish creature seen mostly in silhouette or shadow, like the best monsters of the genre. Sadie and Sawyer just want to find peace amidst their bereavement, and the monster's ever-present shenanigans provide only the opposite. It creeps around the house aggressively, popping up all over the place, unfurling its skeletal limbs and leering from darkened closets with glowing yellowish eyes. There's nothing novel about the way it scuttles under a bed, slams doors open and shut, or rises from impossible nooks of the upstairs hallway, but Savage and his cinematographer nail each moment, milking them for every terrifying beat. His use of negative space isn't as polished as the works of, say, James Wan, but it offers a lot for anyone who may be frustrated with what I'd call real elevated horror (exemplified in The Blair Witch Project or Skinamarink, but again, this is a conversation for another time!). And whoever thought of the use of the lit moon ball (lamp?) Sawyer sleeps with should be given some kind of Oscar for featured props, because it's fabulous.

It's the kind of horror film that works best when you don't think too much about it. The number of times someone in the cinema muttered "just turn on the damn lights already" reached a laughable height, to say nothing of the lacking mythology or gaping holes in logic (cell phone flashlights, anyone? And what about how the monster can apparently just blow out entire hallways filled with candles?). Better writing in that regard would have made the monster's terror linger long after the credits roll. As it is, the only chills that remain are our considerations of how grief manifests, and the lengths to which we can go to either embrace, control, deny, or grow from that grief. Sure, that's probably a better aim anyway, but couldn't the ride to that end have been a bit smarter?

Call Jane (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

One of the most unexpectedly timely movies of 2022, Call Jane is a fascinating and frustrating dramatization of the Jane Collective or "Janes" movement in the time before Roe v. Wade. I told you it was timely.

This film is fascinating for multiple reasons. Formally, because it's shot on sumptuous film with a warm '60s palette and a calm demeanor despite its tense material. Personally, because Phyllis Nagy (who wrote the screenplay for Carol and only directed one television film prior) as an already assured, confident director, didn't write this but handles it beautifully and has assembled a killer team and cast. Starring Elizabeth Banks, Sigourney Weaver, Chris Messina, and Kate Mara -- and featuring Wunmi Mosaku and a chilling Cory Michael Smith -- they all seem perfectly matched with the setting and style; I never doubted for a minute their authenticity as they step into illegal territory in order to receive the healthcare they need. The opening scene alone, in which our protagonist Joy (Banks) escorts her lawyer husband (Messina) to a dinner in Chicago while a raucous protest erupts outside. Fans of The Trial of the Chicago 7 will recognize the chant, "The whole world is watching," as Joy looks on not with fear or apprehension but rather with curiosity and some sympathy.

But Call Jane also frustrated me a bit in its storytelling (I'm unfamiliar with writers Hayley Schore and Roshan Sethi) because it can't quite decide whose story to tell or what the tone should be. It's very much Joy's story, and her dynamic journey makes the film eminently watchable. After her introduction at that swanky party, where we're immediately keyed into her innate curiosity about the status quo for women as well as her immense privilege in being shielded from these cultural contexts so far, she soon learns she's pregnant again (they have one teenage daughter, Charlotte, played by Grace Edwards), but something's wrong. Her doctor tells her that her pregnancy endangers her life, forcing her and her husband to meet with the hospital board -- entirely comprised of men -- who disrespect her presence and dignity before unanimously denying her "therapeutic termination" of pregnancy. They are helpless until Joy comes across a "Pregnant? Need help? Call Jane!" poster in town.

She indeed pays for the underground procedure and is whisked away to their secret location by a network of "Janes." Weaver plays Virginia, their fierce warrior of a leader, whose political and legal savvy almost singlehandedly keeps the organization running, including deals with the Mob who provide cheap, under-the-table rental spaces and presumably some protection. Refreshingly, this film is not all about Joy's laborious quest to get an abortion, as so many stories focus on that and not its aftermath. The bulk of this movie is about how Joy's successful operation leads her deeper into the organization as an increasingly active participant, first driving other women in need to their appointments and then helping with the operations themselves. Naturally, these developments make for some distracting subplots, because of course her family doesn't know what she's up to, and her friend and neighbor Lana (a wickedly boozy Kate Mara) offers a foil to her awakening as a liberated woman. 

Tonally, the film fluctuates between sober period drama and feminist comedy -- almost a buddy type film between some of the women -- and more than once I was reminded of other titles like Mad Men, Pieces of a Woman, and I'm Your Woman, but in a good way, and Call Jane is much peppier than those. Which is a little jarring, but also a welcome change. Maybe I should compare this more to Mildred Pierce and those Barbara Stanwyck-type vehicles of the early talkies, as the parts focused on Joy are basically about a lone woman fighting the odds and, if not always succeeding, at least surviving for the better. The crucial update here is that she bands together with other similar women to create a formidable and world-changing force. And then, there's always Sigourney Weaver, who really should make more movies to bless us with her incredible talents.

I Care a Lot (2021)

 Score: 4.5 / 5

Spoiler alert: Marla Grayson doesn't care.

Marla Grayson cares about her clients. She cares about getting lonely, elderly folk into nursing homes. Working closely with a doctor friend who can help her identify well-off patients on the brink of dementia, Marla petitions the court for an order asserting the patients can no longer care for themselves. Acting as the new legal guardian, she spirits her wards away to a nursing home whose manager is also working in tandem with Marla. Meanwhile, as guardian, Marla can siphon away every penny from her charge, leaving the infirm destitute and any remaining family or friends at arm's length.

Marla Grayson cares about her peers. Dr. Karen Amos (Alicia Witt) takes care of the first steps, and manager Sam Rice (Damian Young) does most of the heavy lifting -- via his staff, of course. And there's Marla's partner in business and in love, Fran (Eiza Gonzalez), who researches the potential wards to make sure there aren't any troublesome kids or spouses and that there is in fact a nest egg in store. The movie begins with another success story for Marla, as the court -- headed by a friendly and naive judge (Isiah Whitlock Jr.) -- denies a challenge to her guardianship. Shortly after, though, the ward dies, and the unexpected vacancy leads Marla to make a rather quick decision.

Marla Grayson cares about money. Her doctor friend recommends Jennifer Peterson (Dianne Wiest), a "cherry" as the vampiric women put it. She has no known family and she has a lot of money. Marla seems to be little more than the epitome of avarice, an entrepreneur who pirates booty out of people to dim to stop her and from a system too corrupt to save. She points out more than once that her methods are, largely, quite legal, implying that she's simply using the tools given to her by a culture of greed, misogyny, and ageism (it's interesting that her lesbian identity is never an issue in this movie). Despite her apparently passionate defense of her behavior to the judge early in the film, when her ward dies, she smoothly pulls her picture off the wall and trashes it without so much as a blink. Pike's cold, bitchy excellence is dazzling to behold in even these briefest of moments.

Marla Grayson cares about her appearance. Played to utter perfection by Rosamund Pike and her full star-power glory, the character is a vampire in broad daylight and light, monochromatic suits. Often shielded by oversized sunglasses, her sassy blonde bob, and smoke from her large vape pen, she nevertheless is always on the offensive, calculating her next move and searching for vulnerability. My favorite scene of hers is when Jennifer Peterson's dubious lawyer (Chris Messina) shows up, looking phenomenal in many-piece suits of vibrant hues, and the two square off in her office. It's a deadly game wherein two sociopaths slowly rip through the constraints of politeness. It's wicked fun, and the movie never quite recovers from it. At least, not in terms of performances; from here out, it's all about the plot.

Marla Grayson cares about control. She controls her clients, manipulates her fellow conspirators, and even the movie itself. From the start, we're put tightly in her headspace for most of the movie, even subjected at the beginning and end to her voiceover, a cold and ruthless diatribe about the nature of fairness in a world that has never been fair to her. But this isn't a revenge story; at least, it's not hers. Because before long, strangers start showing up looking for Jennifer Peterson. Large men attempt to break her out of the care facility. Her lawyer materializes, though he has no proof of being her lawyer. And when something terrible happens to Dr. Amos, Marla and Fran realize too late that they've finally targeted the wrong "cherry." Dianne Wiest, known for her idiosyncratic lilting voice and sickly sweet mannerisms, shifts into a terrifying creature eager for vengeance; she's a Lear raging against the ties that bind, but the difference is that she has hope of her own deliverance. "He's coming for you," she giggles darkly through blurry eyes in the nursing home, even as Marla determines to torture her in the meantime.

Marla Grayson cares about herself. And so, when Fran tries to downplay the imminent threat caused by Jennifer and the men looking for her -- I won't tell you who or why, because it's an absolute delight when it happens -- Marla rebukes her naiveté. "Don't get fooled by old people. Even sadistic, immoral assholes get old." One wonders what will become of Marla when she ages. Then again, she may not. The film begins with a cool, stylish air of pitch-black comedy, a satire of society and money and age plastered with vivid colors and underscored by synth-music that wouldn't be out of place in a John Carpenter movie from the '80s. But by about the halfway point, things get a lot darker and almost all of the comedy drops out, leaving a crime thriller that doesn't thrill so much as titillate. We watch with morbid interest as the chase becomes a standoff and the players seek the upper hand in brutality.

In the end, Marla must face an enemy she never expected, and decides that she wants to live. But her ability to care about most of the things that were so important to her before slip from her grasp. So, much as our former first lady declared to the world, "I really don't care, do u?" Marla Grayson, as we've established, doesn't care. She just wants. And it's as satisfying as it is terrifying.

She Dies Tomorrow (2020)

 Score: 4.5 / 5

Amy just bought a house. Amy is young. Amy is cute. Amy has a life to live. Amy should be excited. But our first shot of Amy is actually an extreme close-up of her eye, a vibrant hue of blue amidst black, smudgy mascara and bedewed with tears. She wanders slowly around her new house, drinks a lot, and has Mozart's "Lacrimosa" on repeat. Is she in quarantine like the rest of us? Well, yes. But not because of a viral pandemic in the film. This is apparently self-imposed, though there are suggestions otherwise. First, unlikely colored lights attract her to one room in particular. Second, as she approaches, staring out of the screen and into our eyes, we cannot tell what she's thinking. And, of course, there's her confession -- prediction? assertion? affirmation? intention? declaration? -- that she is going to die tomorrow. Amy is not well.

When Jane calls to congratulate Amy on her new house, Amy is dismissive and absent. Despite needing to go to a birthday party for her sister-in-law, Jane hurries over to check on her friend. Amy's morbidity has led her to search for urns online; it has also led to her looking at leather jackets. After she dies tomorrow, Amy tells Jane, she wants to be turned into a leather jacket, so she can be useful. Disturbed, Jane returns home and then goes to the party, carrying something of Amy's state of mind with her. It's not sorrow, exactly, or fear, or any other distinct emotion. It's more like a cold assertion, a harsh reality with which the subject is attempting to make peace or at least to accept. But it's catching.

Writer and director Amy Seimetz -- whose protagonist's name might suggest a frighteningly personal basis for this movie -- has crafted a movie about life that consistently rejects liveliness. Or at least any conventions of cinematic life. Almost inert, the film feels fragmented, stitched together like a Frankenstein monster with large episodes and oddball shots of microscopic cells, sunsets, and more abstract color-heavy images. There is no exposition, except in shorthand as scenes unravel and we see Amy (and, eventually, others) reveal their symptoms to others. Nobody likes to hear their friend, family member, patient, co-worker, passenger, client, or lover is going to die tomorrow, as if that was something any of us could even say. In that awkward conversation, which repeats uncomfortably in this movie, they laugh it off, sweetly deny it, get angry or afraid, express concern about sanity, and generally fail to comprehend until it is too late for themselves.

She Dies Tomorrow is not even typical arthouse fare. Don't let its starry cast fool you; this is a difficult watch, both due to its content and its delivery. Seimetz exerts incredible control over the film, keeping our attention on what plot exists while forcing our minds to metaphoric "what if" considerations. She shifts her storytelling between time and place, keeping us unsure even as we slowly realize what exactly is happening. It helps that cinematographer Jay Keitel's shots are often unexpected, moving to alarming perspectives that highlight disorientation in the screenplay and in the characters' lives. Deaths. Whatever.

In this way, it's a nearly perfect movie for isolating during a pandemic. Which is to say, it's a terrible movie to watch right now. An overpowering sense of doom compels the film, and it only gets worse as the contagious awareness of death spreads. Of course, there is also real death, which satisfies the horror fiend wanting entertainment even as it increases viewing anxiety in general; this contagion may be less visceral than COVID-19, but it is far more insidious as a disease of the mind. Though we know precious little about these characters, we are them in more ways than one. As they, one by one, gaze into the brightly colored lights like Amy did, they respond in as various ways to their own death as they did to news of hers. Is it fear spreading, or is it something far worse?

While watching, I thought of everything from The Happening to The Neon Demon, but ultimately this movie feels, to me, like the love child of It Follows and Melancholia. An unbearable, looming comprehension of death elicits strange responses from people. But, as we've learned over the past year, collectivity isn't the experience we ultimately undergo. We'll face death on our own, in the end.

Birds of Prey (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

This is the high-speed candy-colored f-bomb-littered roller coaster of a movie I really wanted from Suicide Squad. I liked that movie quite a lot, but it deserved more attitude and perhaps a less dire premise. Cathy Yan's Birds of Prey takes those extra steps to fashion a fun, violent, wicked, and smart action flick that feeds off the visuals of the earlier movie while making a strong case for more feminist content in superhero movies.

Along with some intense framing devices -- including an almost-annoying Deadpool-esque voiceover throughout the movie -- the film starts with a few narrative bangs that throw us right into the action. It's been rough for the antihero Harley Quinn after she and her comrades defeated the Enchantress, particularly because the Joker broke up with her. The first act of the movie is the sort of balls-out wacky fun we'd expect from her attempts at coping, and essentially comprises a fever-dream montage of her intoxicated clubbing, adopting a hyena pet named Bruce, cutting her hair, and taking up roller derby. This sequence ends when she drives a semi into the chemical plant where she and Joker became official, blowing it up in a trippy firework explosion. The female empowerment is infectiously fun, but eventually becomes earnest.

Despite the primary title of Birds of Prey, this is really Harley's movie, suggested by its subtitle the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn. An unwieldy title, it nevertheless manages to convey the spirit of the picture. Various threads of the story feel at first too convoluted for their own good, as we're yanked around between briefly introduced (or not introduced) characters at different times in the narrative. I'd have to rewatch the damn thing to figure out exactly which scene took place first chronologically. But that seems to be the point: if this is Harley's story, she's telling it as it would make sense to her. Hence the voiceover narration, I guess, which might be the first time I've felt voiceover is not only justified but possibly necessary to the telling of a particular story.

When crime lord Roman Sionis (who moonlights as the Black Mask) realizes Harley Quinn is single, he prepares to kill her off to eliminate an irritating liability. But the resourceful Harley offers to help Roman find a precious diamond that will lead him to a fortune. Silly MacGuffin as it may be, this diamond has been swallowed by street thief Cassandra Cain, whom Harley tracks down and saves from the Gotham police as well as bounty hunters and Roman's thugs. The two women bond even as Harley feeds Cassandra laxatives by the bottle, and the movie becomes a cat-and-mouse chase with lots of moving parts, including Black Canary (who works for Roman but informs to detective Renee Montoya) and Huntress (whose personal vendetta isn't fully revealed until late in the film). These women are all secondary in the screenplay, but are given strong scenes that showcase the actresses and their impressive physicality well.

Once the various pieces come together in a fabulously satisfying scene inside a fun house at an abandoned amusement park, the "Birds of Prey" take magnificent flight. Yan masterfully handles a balance between comedy and violence, keeping her unique aesthetic vision true to the material while serving up full helpings of technical accomplishments. She works brilliantly well with cinematographer Matthew Libatique (one of my favorites) to craft a fluid visual approach to the kind of hands-on violence we don't often get even in male-dominated superhero movies. These women are taking their punches and dealing out even harder ones, and the camera catches it all in dynamic, kinetic takes. And while Christina Hodson's (whose previous work is nothing special) screenplay is a little frenetic, it works beautifully in crafting our understanding of Harley's character -- and the very specific world in which she lives (this is not a Gotham we've seen before) -- as well as each of its ensemble cast.

I hope these Birds flock together again soon.

Live by Night (2017)

Score: 4 / 5

This Gatsby / Godfather mash-up is lovely, if not as fun as we might have hoped. The newest melancholy installment in his typically excellent directorial ventures is no let down in some important aspects. Beautifully shot, emphatically acted, awash in atmosphere and spectacle, Live by Night showcases some of the best talents of our Hollywood darling. Unfortunately, as many will no doubt complain, it doesn't present his best work, partly because the film feels hodgepodge and distracted, partly because it rehashes typical Affleck themes, and partly because it just isn't much fun.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed almost every moment. Dazzling cinematography and an impeccable sense of place and time keep things riveting. Entrancing performances by the likes of Chris Messina (in an unexpectedly hilarious role), Zoe Saldana, and Chris Cooper are the stuff of screen gold. And the plot has just enough twists and turns to keep you interested if irritated by its familiarity and predictability. There's a lot to be said for doing rote things really beautifully, and though this particular picture is nothing new for Affleck, he does what he knows and he does it reasonably well. If all would-be crime sagas or period thrillers were this good, it would be my favorite genre.

However, we can scarcely ignore the alarming problem with this film. It's just not something most audiences will want to watch. Sure, it has its action moments, its sexy shots, its gorgeous style, but it's a largely bland enterprise. Not sure if it wants to be a hardcore thriller or more calmly examine its central theme of the hollow and compromising nature of the American dream, not sure if its heart is with our leading man's troubled business affiliations or his romantic affairs, most of the film feels stuck in a limbo of indecision. Furthermore, this lack of focus trickles down to other elements of the film (also written by Affleck), which causes one to speculate why this film was made. Nothing about it feels urgent or necessary, and its lack of narrative trajectory or thematic force translate clearly across the void. Was he contracted to put out another picture before he dove into another Batman costume?

Maybe I'm being too critical. The film is fine, and if you like period crime dramas, it'll heat up your cuppa nicely. And its downfalls are less a criticism of Affleck's abilities as they are recognition that the well-trod and worn-down genre and themes have their limits. It's a lovely way to spend an evening, even if it doesn't really leave much of a lasting impression afterward. Depending on who you ask, that's the best way to spend an evening.

IMDb: Live by Night

Cake (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I was not expecting much sweet stuff from Cake. I haven't seen Jennifer Aniston do much, so I have no real opinion of her, and this film looked mostly like an award-grasping vehicle. But after her Golden Globe nomination, I thought I'd give it a go. And holy crap, I was wrong.

To be sure, the film works almost entirely because of Aniston's performance. She is Claire, an apparently kind, clever, and successful woman who has survived a car accident. Her son, however, did not survive, and Claire is left severely scarred and in chronic pain. Aniston poignantly and not-so-gently embodies the pain and bitterness of her character, both in her amazing physical work and in her desperate struggle to reconcile her past with her future. In fact, I would consider her journey to be not unlike that of the bereaved parents in David Lindsay-Abaire's Rabbit Hole. But I won't describe much of the movie here, because it's quite long and involved. Just take my word that it's an engaging, intelligent, and occasionally funny "story", if you're one of those people who obsess over plot.

Cake features a most unlikely cast, and yet the actors work in remarkable unity. Adriana Barraza skillfully mirrors Aniston's every move, though her character Silvana, Claire's hired help, is almost Claire's opposite: kind, motherly, affectionate, and fiercely loyal, even when she is obliged to help her boss smuggle drugs. The rest of the cast only appears in passing, but each performs with such strength in their few scenes that they balance the film's focus on Aniston. Felicity Huffman hilariously plays the support group's leader, William H. Macy pops in as the other party in the Accident, and Anna Kendrick plays the funny/creepy ghost of another woman in Claire's support group who committed suicide. The real treasures in this incredible ensemble are Chris Messina and Sam Worthington, who gently provide a male presence in the film and a romantic motivation for Claire.

The rest of the film isn't particularly novel in content, but it has several important stylistic and thematic characteristics. Director Daniel Barnz (Won't Back Down, 2012), of whom I expect even more great things in years to come, trains his focus on Aniston in moments of quiet isolation, giving Aniston the time to perfect her performance. These moments are contrasted sharply with her carefully guarded social presence: We see her acerbic aggression in the first scene, wherein she harnesses intense gallows humor to mock the group. In this way, Barnz works seamlessly with writer Patrick Tobin to craft a film with remarkably little "comfort" or sentimentality; instead, we get a clear, brutal picture of a life (of privilege, to be sure) plagued by pain and loneliness. One of the most shocking -- and, I think, timely -- moments happens as Claire is attempting therapy. After Claire yells, curses, and gives up, her trainer asks her if she even truly wants to get better. That moment felt like a great centerpiece to the film, wherein Claire recognizes that her identity has become this wounded, scarred shell of a woman, dictated by pain and painkillers and devoid of joy, love, or even hope.

Perhaps the greatest evidence of the filmmaker's intelligence is not allowing Aniston an "Oscar scene" of great weeping, shouts, and revelation. In fact, Barnz carefully allows Aniston the freedom to create a holistic performance, by which I mean that in watching the film I felt more like I was watching a stage play. Whether by some magic of the editors, the director, or the actor herself, we get a clear, unobstructed view of Claire through her tumultuous journey and achieve a certain release with her at the end.

IMDb: Cake