Babylon (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

Babylon is a wild ride. Damien Chazelle's latest is also his largest, a massive and immersive cinematic experience of excess. In every way that La La Land was a sentimental look at making it big in Hollywood, this is the dark, wicked underbelly of that dream. It all looks glamorous and fun, especially from the outside, but this film delves deep into how much work and sacrifice "the biz" can be, especially for those whose broken dreams and desperation lead them to increasingly dangerous new paths.

The film immediately introduces us to Manny Torres (Diego Calva in a star-making performance), a Mexican immigrant in Los Angeles trying to deliver an elephant to a party. It shits all over one of the delivery drivers, and we see everything. It's this unabashed "fuck you" Chazelle gives us right away to set the tone of Babylon, a movie that pulls no punches with its nasty, icky, and bizarre depictions of all things taboo. By the time he gets to the party -- at a Kinescope Studios executive's mansion -- he sees it in all its Gatsby-like flair, in which an elephant is hardly the most gobsmacking element. It's a full-on bacchanal, dripping with drugs and booze, blasted with loud jazz, with the main ball room serving as a an orgy. Again, we see pretty much everything, as Chazelle pulls us though the middle of the party in long takes with a swiveling camera (thanks to cinematographer Linus Sandgren for some truly unforgettable visuals). It's Chazelle's Caligula, and time will only tell if this will be remembered as infamously. I suspect it will.

I could spend paragraphs talking about various aspects of this film. Its stellar cast -- including Jovan Adepo as a jazz trumpeter, Li Jun Li as a queer cabaret singer, and especially Jean Smart as a gossip journalist -- with no few notable cameos are a lot of fun. Apart from Calva, Margot Robbie leads with her usual panache as an aspiring actress and Brad Pitt shines with an almost too-personal level of gravitas as an actor on the way out. I would have liked to see more of his story, as it was just about the only thing that grounds this movie emotionally. What plot exists in this three-hour escapade hinges on the end of the silent film era, as "talkies" began making big waves; but this is hardly The Artist or Singin' in the Rain. And so, even though Tobey Maguire's shocking and uncomfortable extended cameo near film's end is well worth the wait, there is just too much muchness to discuss in this film. So that's really what I want to talk about.

(Vis-à-vis the cast, I do want to praise composer Justin Hurwitz's score for isolating recurring themes for each character that really help connect things thematically and emotionally through this odyssey of chaos.)

Babylon, if it weren't orchestrated on such an immense budget and with such big names attached, should be considered something like an experimental film. Chazelle, who also wrote it, has crafted a series of vignettes with few through-lines to connect them other than a general aesthetic of chaos and excess. Each is almost standalone in its incisive assault on our senses and on various specific aspects of the industry. Perhaps nowhere is this more obvious than a magnificent sequence probably an hour or so into the film in which Robbie, Pitt, and everyone else amasses in a desert field owned by Kinescope to shoot several movies at once. The insane reality of a live shoot on location is hammered home by the frenetic editing, bombastic score, lurid colorscape, and fevered performances; by the end, we feel as exhausted as everyone on set must feel. Its effect? To show us a Hollywood film -- with all its glamor -- that ultimately makes us feel sick; this is not the usual inspirational "dream it, be it" a-star-is-born movie.

In fact, I'd argue it often deliberately tries to ruin our opinion of itself by drawing special attention to bodily functions and fluids. Much like the elephant shit that opens the film, the film treats us to plentiful vomit, urine, blood, venom, etc., to the point that by its end -- paired as these elements are with grotesque imagery, vicious language, and bonkers new ideas -- I felt thoroughly drained and crushed by the sheer weight of manipulations thrown at me. And that's surely by design, as it is no doubt similar to how many of the characters (and real-life Hollywood workers of the time) felt about major studio climates, working conditions, and the impending threat of new media to displace their craft. Even on a purely verbal level, the film all but drowns us with actual historical detail and wacky urban legends to the point that the whole thing just zings with ambivalent energy. Not unlike Tarantino's Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood, you're never exactly sure if things should be funny or cringey, and who exactly the butt of each joke is meant to be.

And that's why the film, ambitious and huge and memorable as it is, doesn't really work for me. I'm all for a story about collapsed dreams and personal compromises against the glitz of pre-Golden-Age Hollywood, but we've had these before. One with so many tendencies toward a real narrative that doesn't actually follow through on that narrative can't maintain my attentions for such a long runtime, not even with spectacle coming out the wazoo. It doesn't help that the final act of this film desperately injects the experience with contrived urgency and moralistic lessons; it's all about the dangers of doing drugs in the industry and how deeply in trouble you can get if you're not careful. Really? One wonders if some producers needed Chazelle to end on a less hedonistic or debauched note, and it rings false not only for his project as a whole but for him as an artist. Otherwise, the idealistic mantra at film's end -- "wasn't it all worth it?" they ask -- lands flat. Which it kind of does anyway. Out the wazoo, indeed.

First Man (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

We all know the story; it's become a cultural watershed. The Cold War, the race for space, and the shining moments when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. A sort of nostalgia for an earlier America -- when, some might say, America was "great" -- when the sky was suddenly no longer the limit. The stories of real-life astronauts have been told so many times and in so many ways, from October Sky to Hidden Figures, and from Apollo 13 to, now, First Man.

It's a gorgeous film, shot mostly on 16mm and 35mm with practical effects. Claustrophobic in the best way, the movie keeps a tight focus on the man it takes as the hero, Neil Armstrong. Played by an excessively understated Ryan Gosling, the character acts as the movie's primary focus; very little spectacle is shown, and even moments that might ordinarily call for wide shots of the sky, space, the ships, or even the moon are restricted to his form, usually only his face or the reflections off his helmet. It's an interesting aesthetic for a movie that literally goes out of this world to stay so realistic, grounded, and gritty.

It's also an interesting choice to make the film such an intimate character study. Though it limits the scope of the film, I felt that it provides greater emotional payoff. We see the profound effects of this lifestyle on a single, iconic man; we see its toll on him personally as well as on his family, headed by a magnificent Claire Foy as his wife. And, though I found Gosling's performance nuanced and interesting, there's also nothing exciting or even memorable about it; perhaps that's because it's too small for the movie around it, though perhaps also because I found his character to be largely unlikable.

It's the technicality of the film that mesmerized me, and more than once I found myself dumbfounded while wondering how the hell some of the visuals were captured. Beyond that, too, is Damien Chazelle's clear labor of love here, dazzling and heartrending to behold. I only wish I cared more about the story or characters. I suspect this film might suffer a bit as a result of other, far more spectacular, space-adventure flicks in recent years -- thinking of Gravity and Interstellar -- which often favor spectacle and grandiosity in exploring metaphysics and even horror. It can be difficult to want to care about Ryan Gosling on the moon when every other superhero flick or sci-fi trip explodes with fantastic celestial imagery.

But, as a human drama and even, arguably, domestic thriller, First Man is a damn impressive exercise in craft.

IMDb: First Man

La La Land (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

A love letter to a bygone era, La La Land is anything but lost in its sentiment. One of the rare films in which blatant feelings and drastic heartstring-tugging actually work, this picture is a shining example of a true rom-com musical (To be fair, I'd call it a rom-dram, because the comedy by no means outweighs the final act melancholy). Featuring original jazz music and charming dances, the film sweeps us up in its otherwise familiar plot: up-and-coming young artists navigate their way through sunny Los Angeles in pursuit of their dreams. Despite being filmed in Cinemascope, the film keeps us intimate with these players: one, a barista hoping to be an actor, meets the other, a jazz pianist yearning for his big break, and the two fall madly in love. Their affections and aspirations meld together as they, in turn, achieve successes and failures. Eventually, they (and, by extension, we) learn the cost of following their dreams, and that wishes require sacrifice.

And yet, for all its nostalgic joie de vivre, this film may prove a game-changer for movie musicals. While many filmed musicals of the last decade or two, whether adapted or original, have been fresh and exciting in their own ways, none have declared themselves with this much innovation, style, or even sheer talent. Its simple story and direct execution belie a whirlwind of emotion and surprising spectacle, the impact of which will stay with audiences long after the credits roll. I dare you to try not dancing out of the theater at the end. Handled by the confident, technically excellent Damien Chazelle (Whiplash), the jazz and vibrant colors soak into our ears and eyes with intoxicating effect, transporting us to a realm of near-perfect escape. While I've often railed against "escapist" films, this time it works. Maybe because, in our current political and social climate, and after so many timely, heavy films this year, such a flamboyantly joyous and heartfelt film is exactly what we all need.

Of course, as I mentioned already, not all is fun and flair. The compromises our leads make along the way return to haunt them in the end, and yet for all the emotions we feel, these characters learn to appreciate not just the good things in their lives. The final scene (comprising a disturbingly kitschy, nonverbal fever-dream dance sequence) is one of the most positive, affirming scenes ever seen on screen, and yet I was ugly crying so loudly I had to cover my lower face with a knotted scarf. For a meditation on the differences between dreams and reality, love and desire, hope and work, and separating what is really around us from what we feel or want from our surroundings, La La Land is the film to beat this season. It's a consummate work of art.

IMDb: La La Land

Whiplash (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I don't know much about the percussion world, but Whiplash presents us with a cutthroat competition of academic drumming. The movie centers on young Andrew now enrolled at Shaffer Conservatory, supposedly the best music school in the United States. In a coming of age story, Andrew becomes increasingly isolated and obsessive over his ambitions; he longs to be "one of the greats" and allows nothing to interfere, including his new girlfriend, his distant family, and his own physical health.

Miles Teller (Rabbit Hole, The Spectacular Now) plays our protagonist with passion and strength. I don't know if he learned to play the drums like a pro -- a feat that is no small matter, even from my layperson perspective -- but his dramatic performance alone carries the film. His haunted stare and furious perseverance take the movie into a darker side of the "coming of age" narrative, without his becoming an antihero.

The other star of the film is his primary instructor, Fletcher, played by a terrifying J. K. Simmons. Fletcher is a monster, one who seems to have no personality traits other than aggressive violence and sadism. He terrorizes his students with unpredictable cruelty and often unjust punishments. He humiliates students in class, encourages backstabbing and jealousy, and even throws a chair at Andrew's head. He claims to do it all for a good reason -- that he seeks to continually push students to be better, and that "good job" are the most harmful words in the English language -- but his methods are barbaric. Simmons performs as a chameleon, hiding his true self behind a series of false caricatures. We get only brief glimpses into his true self, which vaguely reveal a tortured soul, before he dons another mask. The performance is a marvel.

Whiplash, named for one of its tough musical numbers but having a curious double meaning, is never less than brutal. Its depiction of competitive musical culture is perhaps even more compelling than any number of action-oriented "sports" movies, likely because it is so unexpected. This isn't Glee or even Stomp. Its focus on artistic and educational atmospheres make it feel more like Dead Poets Society -- but with a bad teacher, rather than Robin Williams -- and the self-torturing Teller and insane Simmons make it feel weirdly like Black Swan. So, yes, it's pretty great. The editing is tight and effective, Damien Chazelle's direction is wonderful, and the ending is nothing short of rousing. Well, okay, it's a bit of an incredulous stretch, but it's quite exciting anyway. Do yourself a favor and check this one out.

IMDb: Whiplash